Brother Cadfael 05: Leper of Saint Giles

for he was actually allowed to be alone with her. Agnes was withdrawing, smiling her benevolence in her best public manner. "Only a few minutes. She should not exert herself longer tonight."
    She was gone, and the door had closed after her. Simon's pleasant, boyish face shed its wariness instantly, and he came striding to Iveta's bedside, pulled up a stool, and sat down beside her. She raised herself gladly on her pillows, the gold mane of her hair loose over the shoulders of her linen gown.
    "Softly!" he warned, finger to lip. "Speak low, your dragon may be set on to listen. I'm let in briefly to pay my respects and enquire how you are. God knows I was sorry to see you so shocked. Did they never tell you he broke free?"
    She shook her head, almost too full to speak. "Oh, Simon, is there news? Not ..."
    "Not good nor ill," he said quickly, in the same low and rapid whisper. "Nothing has changed. He's still at liberty, and pray God he will be. They'll be hunting for him, I know. But so shall I," he said meaningly, and took the small hand that groped out blindly towards him. "Take heart! They've searched all day, and no one has laid hand or eye on him yet, who knows but he's away out of the circle long since. He's strong, and bold ..."
    "Too bold!" she said ruefully.
    "And still has friends, for all they've charged against him. Friends who don't believe in his guilt!"
    "Oh, Simon, you do me so much good!"
    "I would I might do more, for you and for him. But take comfort, all you need do is be patient and wait. One threat is gone from you. Now, if he continues free, there's no urgency, you can wait."
    "And truly you don't believe he ever stole? Nor that he has killed?" she pleaded hungrily.
    "I know he has not," said Simon firmly, with all the self-assurance with which Guy had good-naturedly charged him. "The only wrong he has done is to love where love was not allowed. Oh, I know!" he said quickly, seeing her flinch and turn her face aside. "Forgive me if I'm presumptuous, but he's my friend and has spoken with me as a friend. I do know!" He cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder, and smiled wry reassurance at her. "Your aunt will be beginning to frown. I should go. But remember, Joss is not friendless."
    "I will," she said fervently, "and thank God and you for it. You'll come again, Simon, if you can? You can't imagine how you comfort me."
    "I'll come," he promised, and stooped hurriedly to kiss her hand. "Goodnight now! Sleep well, and don't be afraid."
    He was on his way to the door when Agnes opened it, still benevolent, but watchful all the same. This young man was Huon de Domville's nephew, and partook of the deference accorded his uncle in life. But the watch on Iveta would never be wholly relaxed until she was profitably disposed of, and the gains secured.
    The door closed. Iveta was ready now for sleep, the load on her heart greatly lightened. She drank Brother Cadfael's potion, honeysweet and heavy, and blew out her candle.
    When Madlen came prowling suspiciously, Iveta was already asleep.
    After Compline Brother Cadfael asked audience of Abbot Radulfus, in his own study in the abbot's lodging. It was a good hour for grave conversation, a day of many passions over at last, the night's needful composure closing in.
    "Father, I have told you all I know of this matter, but for one thing. You know that I have knowledge of herbs. In the capuchon I brought back and delivered to the sheriff this evening, I found a herb which I know to be exceedingly rare, even in Wales, where it does habit in some places. Here I had never before met with it. Yet Huon de Domville, in his last night in this world, was where this herb grows. Father, I think this circumstance of the greatest importance, and it is my wish to find this place, and discover what business the dead man had there, on his marriage eve. I believe it may have a bearing on his death, the manner of it, and the maker of it."
    He had the little faded posy in his palm, a drying bunch of thin stems, thread-like green leaves and wilting, starry flowers, still surprisingly blue.
    "Show me," said the abbot, and gazed with wondering attention. "And you can say where such a thing grows, and where it does not grow?"
    "It grows in a few, a very few places, where the chalk or limestone crops out. I have never before seen it in England."
    "And by this you believe you can divine where our murdered man spent his night?"
    "We know the path by which he was returning. By that same