Brother Cadfael 04: St. Peter's Fair

attention for Philip, "the young gentleman who came to help us on the jetty, along with Brother Cadfael. He has been very kind to me."
    Philip did remember, though his bludgeoned senses at the time had seen everything distorted; a slender, elegant, assured lordling who leaped a rolling cask to catch her in his arm at the water's edge, and further, to be just to him, had appeared in the sheriff's court and borne out Emma's honest story - even if he had also produced his falconer to testify to the silly threats Philip had been indulging in, drunk as he was, later that evening. Testimony Philip did not dispute, since he knew he had been incapable of clear thought or positive recollection. He recalled his disgusting self, and smarted at the thought. And the young lord with the bright gold crest and athlete's prowess had showed so admirable by contrast.
    "I'll take my leave," said Philip, and allowed her hand to slip out of his, though with reluctance and pain. "For the journey, and always, I wish you well."
    "So do I you," she said, and with unconscious cruelty added: "Will you ask Messire Corbiere to come in?"
    Never in his life until then had Philip been required to draw himself to his full stature, body and mind. His departure was made with a dignity he had not dreamed he could achieve, and meeting Corbiere face to face in the hall, he did indeed bid him within, at Mistress Emma's invitation, very civilly and amiably, while he burned with jealousy inwardly. Ivo thanked him pleasantly, and if he looked him over, did so with interest and respect, and with no apparent recollection of ever having seen him in less acceptable circumstances.
    No one would have guessed, thought Philip, marching out into the sunshine of the great court, that a working shoemaker and a landed lord rubbed shoulders there. Well, he may have several manors in Cheshire and one in Shropshire, and be distant kin of Earl Ranulf, and welcome at his court; but I have something I can try to do for her, and I have a craft as honourable as his noble blood, and if I succeed, whether she comes my way or no, she'll never forget me.
    Brother Cadfael came in at the gatehouse after some hours of fruitless prowling about the fair and the riverside. Among hundreds of men busy about their own concerns, the quest of a gashed sleeve, or one recently and hastily mended, is much the same as hunting one straw in a completed stack. His trouble was that he knew no other way to set about it. Moreover, the hot and settled weather continued unbroken, and most of those about the streets and the stalls were in their shirt-sleeves. There was a point there, he reflected. The glover's dagger had drawn blood, therefore it had reached the skin, but never a thread of white or unbleached linen had it brought away with the sliver of brown cloth. If the intruder had worn a shirt, he had worn it with sleeves rolled up, and it had emerged unscathed, and could now cover his graze, and if the wound had needed one, his bandage. Cadfael returned to tend the few matters needing him in his workshop, and be ready for Vespers in good time, more because he was at a loss how to proceed than for any other reason. An interlude of quiet and thought might set his wits working again.
    In the great court his path towards the garden happened to cross Philip's from the guest-hall to the gatehouse. Deep hi his own purposes, the young man almost passed by unnoticing, but then he checked sharply, and turned to look back.
    "Brother Cadfael!" Cadfael swung to face him, startled out of just as deep a preoccupation. "It is you!" said Philip. "It was you who spoke for me, after Emma, in the sheriff's court. And I knew you then for the one who came to help me to my feet and out of trouble, when the sergeants broke up the fight on the jetty. I never had the chance to thank you, brother, but I do thank you now."
    "I fear the getting you out of trouble didn't last the night," said Cadfael ruefully, looking this lanky youngster over with a sharp eye, and approving what he saw. Whether it was time spent in self-examination in the gaol, or time spent more salutarily still in thinking of Emma, Philip had done a great deal of growing up in a very short time. "I'm glad to see you about again among us, and none the worse."
    "I'm not clear of the load yet," said Philip. "The charge still stands, even the charge of murder has not been withdrawn."
    "Then it stands upon one leg only," said Cadfael heartily, "and may fall at any