Brother Cadfael 06: A Virgin In The Ice

know of it. We may yet find them all alive," he said, clapping Yves reassuringly on the shoulder, "even if they've lost their home and goods."
    "But not Sister Hilaria," said Yves, clinging to a quarrel which had become his own, and bitterly felt. "If they could run away in time, why could they not save Sister Hilaria?"
    "That you shall ask them, if by God's grace we do find them. I do not forget Sister Hilaria. Come, we've found all we are going to find here."
    "One small thing," said Cadfael. "When you heard the horses, Yves, in the dark, and ran out to try to follow your sister, which way did they lead you from here?"
    Yves turned to view the sorry remains of the house from which he had run. "To the right, there, behind the house. There's a little stream comes down, it was not frozen then - they started up the slope beside it. Not towards the top of the hills, but climbing round the flank."
    "Good! That direction we may try, another day. I'm done, Hugh, we can go."
    They mounted and turned back by the way they had come, out of the desolation and ruin of the hollow, over the ridge between the trees, and down the track towards the village of Cleeton. A hard place, bleak to farm, meagre to crop, but good for sheep, the rangy upland sheep that brought the leanest meat but the longest fleeces. Across the uphill edge of the settlement there was a crude but solid stockade, and someone was on the watch for strangers arriving, for a whistle went before them into the huddle of house, shrill and piercing. By the time they rode in there were three or four sturdy fellows on hand to receive them. Hugh smiled. Outlaws living wild, unless they had considerable numbers and sufficient arms, might be wise to fight shy of Cleeton.
    He gave them good-day and made himself known. Doubtful if men in isolated places hoped much from the king's protection, or the empress's either, but a county sheriff did offer hope of his being on their side in the fight to survive. They brought their reeve, and answered questions eagerly. Yes, they knew of the destruction of John Druel's holding, and yes, John was safe here, sheltered and fed by the village, at least alive if he had lost everything but life. And his wife and son with him, and the shepherd who laboured for him, all saved. A long-legged boy ran eagerly to bring Druel to answer for himself.
    At sight of the lean, wiry husbandman approaching, Yves scrambled down from his saddle and ran to meet him, incoherent in his relief. The man came up with an arm about the boy's shoulders.
    "My lord, he says you've been up there ... where my home was. God knows how grateful I am for the kindness here, that won't let us starve when all our goods and gear are gone, but what's to become of us poor souls that work hard to make a living, if it's to be clawed away in a night, and the roof burned over us? It's hard to live solitary in the hills," he said roundly, "at best. But outlawry the like of this we never thought to see."
    "Friend," said Beringar ruefully, "you may take it I never looked for it, either. Reparation for your losses I cannot offer, but some of what was yours may still be recovered, if we can trace the raiders who took it from you. The boy, here, lodged with you several nights since, and his sister with him ..."
    "And vanished from us in the night," said John, and gave Yves a disapproving frown.
    "That we know, he has told us, and he, at least, had sound reasons, and took his own grave risks. But what we need from you is some account of this attack that fell upon you ... when?"
    "Two nights after the lady and the lad fled us. The night of the fourth of the month, it was, but very late, towards dawn. We woke to hear the dogs going mad, and rushed out thinking there might be wolves, in such hard weather. For the dogs were chained, d'you see? - and wolves they were, but of the two-legged kind! Once out, we could hear the sheep bellowing up the hill and see torches up there. Then they begin to come bounding down the slope, knowing the dogs had given the alarm. I don't know how many men, there might have been a dozen or more. We could not stand, we could only run. From the ridge there we saw the barn take fire. The wind was wild, we knew it must all burn out. And here we are, master, bereft, to make a new start from villeinry, if there's a yardland to be had under any lord. But with our lives, thanks be to God!"
    "So they came first to your sheep-fold," said Hugh. "From which direction along that