Brother Cadfael 05: Leper of Saint Giles

path he surely went, when he left his squire at the gate. It is my wish, if you give leave, to follow that path, and find this flower. I believe lives - innocent of anything beyond youth, folly and anger - may hang upon so small a thing."
    "Such things have happened times without number," said Abbot Radulfus. "Our purpose is justice, and with God lies the privilege of mercy. You have leave, Brother Cadfael, to pursue this as long as may be needful. You have my trust."
    "God knows I value it," said Cadfael truly. "And you have, and shall have, mine. Whatever I may find, I submit to you."
    "Not to the sheriff?" asked Radulfus, and smiled.
    "Surely. But through you, Father."
    Brother Cadfael went to his bed in the dortoir, and slept like an innocent babe safely cradled, until the bell rang for Matins.
    Chapter Seven
    When Cadfael emerged from Prime, the following morning, Prestcote was already abroad marshalling his renewed hunt on the northern side of the Foregate. This time they would make a great, slow sweep for some three miles out, so exhaustive that barely a weasel or a hare would elude their net. The sheriff was determined to fetter his quarry this time, and reasonably sure that he had not already slipped through the cordon, which had been strengthened overnight. Picard was out with all the men of his household marshalled at his back, and Canon Eudo was probably exhorting Domville's people at the bishop's house to the same forced service. And though some, no doubt, turned out reluctantly, nevertheless there is something infectious about the zeal of a hunt, that would have most of these beaters in full cry if ever they scented their quarry.
    Not for the first time, Brother Cadfael wished heartily that he had Hugh Beringar here, to temper the chill of Prestcote's proceedings. The deputy sheriff had room in his head and conscience for healthy doubts of his own omniscience, and was always perversely suspicious of what seemed a foregone conclusion to others. But Hugh Beringar was in the north of the shire, at his own manor of Maesbury, and certainly would not consent to move from there these coming few weeks, for his wife was near her time with their first child, and that is a peak of experience in any young man's life. No help for it, this matter would have to be settled under Gilbert Prestcote's direction. And at that, thought Cadfael fairly, we're luckier than many a shire. He's an honest, fair-minded man, if he is too urgent for quick resolutions and summary justice, and not inclined to look too far beyond the obvious. Nevertheless, show him a provable truth, and he'll accept it. Provable truths are what we need.
    Meantime, he took some care over giving Brother Oswin his tasks for the day. Only a week ago, he would have found him enough rough digging and outdoor work to keep him occupied, and prayed heartily that the great maladroit need not even set foot in the workshop. Today he handed over to him some early winter pruning, but also the tending of a batch of wine just beginning to work, and the making of an ointment for the infirmary. They had made the same ointment together once, the process fully explained as they went. Cadfael nobly refrained from repeating and underlining every stage, and left Oswin with only the most modest and trusting recapitulation.
    "I leave the workshop in your hands," he said firmly. "I place full confidence in you."
    "And God forgive me the lie," he muttered to himself when he was out of earshot, "and turn it to truth. Or at least count it as merit to me rather than sin. If I've been setting your teeth on edge, Oswin, my lad, now's your chance to spread your wings on your own. Make the most of it!"
    Now he had the day at his disposal, and his starting-point must be the spot where Domville had died. He took the quickest way to it, a risky and unorthodox route he had sometimes used on more obscure business of his own. The Meole brook, where it bordered the abbey fields and gardens, was fordable except in flood-time, provided a man knew it well, and Cadfael knew it perfectly. He thus cut off a detour by the roads, at the mere cost of kilting his habit above the knees, and sandals let out water as freely as they let it in. By the time chapter ended at the abbey, he was on the path where the baron had been ambushed, and pushing on along it at a good pace.
    This part of the path he knew, it lay directly across a great winding bend of the brook, and he was approaching the second ford which