Brother Cadfael 05: Leper of Saint Giles

bridge. The sky was starry over her, still half-veiled as in the day, but pallidly luminous beyond the veil. The air was chill, fresh, heady, like wine. In the church they were still chanting, leisurely and intently, thank God! Thank God and thank Simon! The only loyal friend ...
    Under the deep eaves of the herbarium workshop Joscelin was waiting, flattened against the wall in the black shade. He reached both arms to her and caught her to him, and she wound her own slight arms about him passionately. They hung silent a long moment, hardly breathing, clinging desperately. Utter silence and stillness, as though the leat, and the brook, and the river itself had stopped moving, the breeze ceased to breathe with them, the very plants to grow.
    Then the urgency swept back to swallow everything, even the first stammering utterances of love.
    "Oh, Joscelin ... It is you ..."
    "My dear, my dear ... Hush, softly! Come, come quickly! This way ... take my hand!"
    She clung obediently and followed blindly. Not by the way she had come. Here they were over the leat, only the brook remained to be crossed. Out from the closed garden into the fringe of the pease-fields, new-ploughed at this season, that ran down to the Meole. Under the hedge he paused a moment to view the empty dusk and listen with stretched ears for any betraying sound, but all was still. Close to his ear she whispered: "How did you cross? How will you manage with me ...?"
    "Hush! I have Briar down the field - did Simon not tell you?"
    "But the sheriff has every way closed," she breathed, shivering.
    "In the forest ... in the dark? We'll get through!" He drew her close in his arm, and began to descend the field, keeping close to the dark shelter of the hedge.
    The silence was abruptly torn by a loud, indignant neighing, that halted Joscelin in mid-stride. Below at the water's edge the bushes threshed wildly, hooves stamped, a man's voice bellowed. Confused shouting broke out, and from the covering bulk of the hedge Briar lunged into the open, dragging one man with him. Other moving shadows followed, four at least, dancing to avoid being trampled as they sought to subdue and calm the rearing horse.
    Armed men, the sheriff's men, ranged the bank between them and freedom. Escape that way was lost, Briar was lost. Without a word Joscelin turned, sweeping Iveta with him in his arm, and began to retrace his steps in furious haste, keeping close to the bushes.
    "The church," he whispered, when she sought to question in terror, "the parish door ..." Even if they were still at Vespers, everyone would be in the choir, and the nave of the great church unlighted. They might yet be able to slip through unseen from the cloister, and out by the west door which alone lay outside the precinct wall, and was never closed but in time of great danger and disorder. But even then he knew it was a very meagre hope. But if it came to the worst, there could be sanctuary within.
    Rapid movement betrayed them. Down by the water, where Briar stood now snorting and quivering, a voice bellowed: "There he goes, back into the garden! We have him in a noose! Come on!" And someone laughed, and three or four men began to surge up the slope, without undue haste. They were quite sure of their prize now.
    Joscelin and Iveta fled hand in hand, back through the herb-garden, over the leat, along the alley between the black, clipped hedges, and out into the perilous open spaces of the great court. No help for it now, there was no other way left to them. The gathering darkness might hide identities, but could not hide the haste of their running. They never reached the cloister. An armed man stood blocking the way. They swung towards the gatehouse, where torches were already burning in their sconces on the wall, and two more men-at-arms drew together before the gate. From the garden emerged their pursuers, content and at leisure. The foremost of them swaggered into the flickering light of the torches, and showed the grinning, complacent face of that same astute or well-informed fellow who had suggested to his officer the searching of the bishop's grounds, and been commended for it. He was in luck again. The sheriff and all but a meagre handful of his men out scouring the woods, and the remnant left behind were the ones to run the quarry to ground!
    Joscelin drew Iveta into the corner of the guest-hall wall, where the stone steps ascended to the doorway, and put her behind him. Though he was unarmed, they took