Brother Cadfael 05: Leper of Saint Giles

is of his party here, and the canon is also his kinsman ..."
    Simon hovered, wordless. He inclined his head and swallowed hard, eyeing the body on the litter.
    "This is a very ill turn for such a day to take," said Radulfus heavily, "and we extend our sorrow and fellow-feeling to all those thus bereaved. And naturally, our hospitality for as long as may be needed, the services of our order, and the privacy of our guest-halls. It is a time for quietness and prayer. Death is present with us every day of our lives, it behooves us to take note of its nearness, not as a threat, but as our common experience on the way to grace. There is no more to be said. It is better to accept the will of God, and be silent."
    "With respect, Father," Picard spoke up in a voice thin as steel, yet very civil and respectful. Cadfael had been trying to read the man's face, and made little headway; there was dismay there, certainly, and rage, and frustration, but instant calculation, too. "With respect, I say, should we so tamely accept that this is the will of God? Huon de Domville knows this region, he has a hunting-lodge no great way off, near the Long Forest. He has ridden lifelong without mishap, by day or by night, are we to believe he uses less skill and less awareness suddenly on his wedding-eve, when you and I both know he rode from here sober and unwearied? He told his squire he would take the air a little before sleeping. Surely that was all he intended. Now in a moment we have him brought back dead, a man in his prime and in his full powers! No, I do not believe it! There is some evil-dealing here, and I must know more before I can be satisfied."
    It seemed that Prestcote had deliberately delayed the full assault of his news, in order to see if any among his hearers showed signs of gratification at the likelihood that the death would pass as an accident. If so, and if he discovered anything, for all the narrowed glances with which he was sweeping the ring of shocked faces, he was more successful than Cadfael, who was pursuing the same quest. Nowhere could he discover any shadow of guilt or fear in any face, only the expected and obligatory grief and shame.
    "I have not said his death was accidental," said the sheriff, bluntly now. "Not even his fall was chance. He was fetched down out of the saddle by a rope stretched across the path between two trees, at a level that took him in the throat. But it was not the fall that killed him. Whoever laid the ambush for him was present to complete his work, while Domville lay senseless. A man's two hands round his throat killed him."
    The whole circle shifted as though a rough wind had shaken them, and drew hard, audible breath. The abbot raised his head to stare.
    "You are saying this was murder?"
    "As cold and thorough as ever was committed."
    "And we know by whom!" Picard leaned forward, blazing up in malevolent triumph like a thorn fire. "Did I not say it? This is the work of that thieving youth who was dismissed my lord Domville's service. He has taken his devil's revenge by killing his lord. Who else? Who else had any grudge? Joscelin Lucy did this!"
    Light flashed suddenly on darting gold at his back, and there stood Iveta confronting him, yesterday's sacrificial lamb become a spitting yellow wildcat. Dilated iris eyes glittered like amethyst. Her voice rose high and challenging, even triumphant, even derisive, as she cried:
    "It's false! You know, you all know, that cannot be true! Have you forgotten? He of all men must be innocent of this - he's behind locked doors in Shrewsbury castle these two days - and that charge as false as this! - but thank God for it, the sheriff's own gaoler is witness he cannot have done murder."
    Understanding fell upon Brother Cadfael somewhat after the fashion of a great blow on the head, and left him dazed, unable to catch at first the full implications of what she had said. Not so hard now to guess the meaning of her resolute composure when questioned by the abbot. They had cased her up securely within, and kept her from knowing anything of Joscelin's escape, when it would have been comfort and joy to her. Now, when it destroyed all her comfort, they would turn on her and hurl it in her face. They were at it already, both the Picards, Agnes the shriller and more savage of the two.
    "Fool girl, he is not prisoner. He broke free before ever they got him over the bridge, he's at large with his grudge ..."
    "Thief he was, and now a hunted wolf in the