Brother Cadfael 05: Leper of Saint Giles

comfort. They sat down together over the ale and oatcakes the old housekeeper brought, and talked of the weather and the season, and the prospects for the winter, and even of the sad state of the country, torn two ways between King Stephen and the empress. Shropshire might be at peace just now, but peace was precarious everywhere in this divided land. The empress had been allowed to join her half-brother Robert of Gloucester in Bristol, and others were throwing in their lot with her, Brian FitzCount, the castellan of Wallingford, Miles, the constable of Gloucester, and others besides. It was rumoured that the city of Worcester was being threatened with attack from Gloucester. Devoutly they agreed to hope that the tide of war would come no nearer, perhaps even spare Worcester.
    But for all this innocuous talk, Brother Cadfael's senses were on the alert; and it might, after all, have been a miscalculation on the steward's part to invite him in, so that he could see for himself how all was empty, well-kept and innocent. For it certainly was not the old woman who had brought that faint, indefinable perfume into the room. Nor had the one who distilled it been gone from here very long, for such a fragrance would have faded away within a few days. Cadfael had a nose for floral essences, and recognized jasmine.
    There was nothing more to be discovered here within. He rose to take his leave and give thanks for his entertainment, and the steward went out with him dutifully, no doubt to make sure that he set off back to the abbey without deceit. It was pure chance that the old woman should be coming out of the stables in the yard just as they emerged, and had let the door swing wide open behind her before she was aware of them. Her son was deft and quick to spring across and close it, shooting the bar home. But he had not been quite quick enough.
    Cadfael gave no sign of having noticed more than he should, but said his farewell cheerfully at the gate, beside the broom-bush that bore blue flowers instead of gold, and set off at a swinging pace back along the path by which he had come.
    There was a horse in that stable certainly not built to carry Huon de Domville's lusty weight, or sustain a day's hunting even under one of his retinue. Cadfael had glimpsed the small, delicate white head and curious face peering out, the arched neck and braided mane, and the light, ornate harness hanging on the inner side of the swinging door. A pretty little white jennet, such as a lady would ride, and such elabourate and decorative accoutrements as would be provided for a lady. Yet he would have been prepared to swear that there was no lady there at the hunting-lodge now. There had been no warning of his approach, no time to hide her away. He had been brought in expressly to see for himself that she was not there, that no one was there but the usual custodians.
    Why, then, however dismayed she might be at the thought of being hunted out of her privacy, displayed as having some dark connection with Domville's death, perhaps even suspected of collusion in it, why should she choose to depart on foot, and leave her mount idle behind? And where, on foot, in such a remote solitude, could such a lady go?
    He did not return directly to the abbey, but continued along the green ride until it emerged on the Foregate, and made his way to the bishop's house. The great courtyard, usually such a bustle, was quiet indeed on this afternoon, for even the grooms and able-bodied servants had been drafted into the hunt as beaters, and were out somewhere in the woods. Only the older men were left here, which suited Cadfael well enough, for the oldest servants were the most likely to know all their lord's private business, whether they ever acknowledged it or not, and the absence of the busy and sharp-eared young made confidences more likely.
    He sought out Domville's chamberlain, who had, it seemed, been in his master's service many years, and moreover, had the shrewd good sense to see the force of telling unvarnished truth, now that Domville himself was gone. There was no one here to be feared, complete frankness would serve his turn best with the sheriff. There would be an inevitable interregnum, and then a new master. The servants were under no suspicion, and had nothing to fear, why conceal anything that might be of significance?
    The chamberlain was a man well past sixty, grey-haired and staid, with illusionless eyes and the withdrawn, resigned dignity of most