Brother Cadfael 05: Leper of Saint Giles

woods, and has murdered your bridegroom! And will hang for it."
    All the brightness, all the valor, was stricken from her face. She hung a moment quite still, and just once her lips formed a protesting "No!" that made no sound. Then her cheeks blanched whiter than snow. She put up a hand to her heart, and fell down like a shot bird, in a little crumpled heap of gold.
    The maid Madlen came rushing officiously, all the women crowded in upon the small, spilled body, Picard gave a cry rather of exasperation than concern, and stooped to gather her up by the wrist and haul her to her feet. She was a reproach and an embarrassment, they wanted her hustled away out of sight and out of mind. Cadfael could not forbear from interfering, before they stifled her among their skirts, or tugged a wrist out of joint. He plunged into the midst of them and spread his arms to press them back from her.
    "Peace, let her breathe! She has swooned, don't lift her yet."
    Brother Edmund, versed in such collapses, seconded him valiantly on the other side, and with Abbot Radulfus looking on, the guests could hardly reject the help and authority of those who tended the sick within these walls. Even Agnes stood back, though with a chill and wary face, as Cadfael went on his knees beside the girl, and straightened her tumbled limbs to lie at ease, her head raised on his arm. "A cloak to fold under her head! And where is Brother Oswin?"
    Simon threw off his cloak and rolled it eagerly into a pillow. Oswin came running from among the staring novices.
    "Go and fetch me the little flask of mint and sorrel vinegar from the shelf by the door, and a bottle of the draught of bitter herbs. And be quick!"
    He laid her head down gently on the pillow Simon had made for it, and took her wrists into his hands and began to chafe them steadily. Her face had the pinched, bluish white of ice. Oswin came back at the same devoted gallop, and moreover, had brought the right medicines. There was hope of him yet. Brother Edmund knelt on the other side, and held the little bottle of vinegar, hot and sharp with mint and sorrel, to her nostrils, and saw them dilate and flutter. A small convulsion like a cough heaved her childish breast, and the steel-sharp lines of cheekbones and chin gradually softened. Over her oblivious head her uncle, having abandoned her to her physicians, returned to his vengeance with renewed venom.
    "Can there be any doubt? He broke loose without weapons, and with no means of getting away. Only a man deprived of other means needs to kill with his bare hands. He is a big, strong rogue, capable of such an act. No one else had any grievance against Huon. But he had a grudge, and a bitter one, and he has taken to extremes to have his revenge. Now it is mortal! Now he must be hunted down like a mad dog, shot down at sight if need be, for he's perilous to anyone who approaches him. This is a hanging matter."
    "My men are beating the woods and orchards for him at this moment," said Prestcote shortly, "and have been ever since a patrol reported flushing a man out of cover into the Foregate early this morning. Though it was not yet light, and they got but the briefest glimpse of him, and for my part I doubt if it was Lucy. More likely some rogue in a small way pilfering from hen-houses and backyards by night. The hunt goes on, and will until we take him. Every man I can spare is out already."
    "Make use of my men also," offered Picard eagerly, "and of Huon's. We are all of us bound now to hunt down his murderer. There's surely no doubt in your mind that Joscelin Lucy is his murderer?"
    "It seems all too clear. This has all the marks of an act of desperate hate. We know of no other present enemy of his."
    Cadfael worked unhurriedly upon Iveta, but listened to all that passed, the abbot's few words and reserved silences, Picard's vindictive urgings, the sheriff's measured dispositions for the continued and extended hunt, all the deployment of the law closing round Joscelin Lucy. In the middle of it he noted that faint colour was returning to Iveta's face, and watched the first delicate flutterings of her eyelids, the shadow of long dark-gold lashes quivering on her cheekbones. Dazed purple eyes opened at him, and gazed in uncomprehending terror. Her lips parted. As if by chance he laid a fingertip upon them, and briefly closed his own eyes. Joscelin's peril, far more effectively than her own, had made her wits quick. The eyelids, veined like harebells, closed