Brother Cadfael 08: The Devil's Novice

lord sought his blood and he ran - who could blame him?'
    'Villein?' asked Hugh resignedly.
    'Surely.'
    'And sought, probably vindictively. Well, they'll have a vain hunt if they hunt him into Shrewsbury castle, we can hold him securely enough. And you think he tells truth?'
    'He's too far gone to lie," said Cadfael. 'Even if lying came easily, and I think this is a simple soul who leans to truth. Besides, he believes in my habit. We have still a reputation, Hugh, God send we may deserve it.'
    'He's within a charter town, if he is in prison,' said Hugh with satisfaction, 'and it would be a bold lord who would try to take him from the king's hold. Let his master rejoice in thinking the poor wretch held for murder, if that gives him pleasure. We'll put it about, then, that our murderer's taken, and watch for what follows.'
    The news went round, as news does, from gossip to gossip, those within the town parading their superior knowledge to those without, those who came to market in town or Foregate carrying their news to outer villages and manors. As the word of Peter Clemence's disappearance had been blown on the wind, and after it news of the discovery of his body in the forest, so did every breeze spread abroad the word that his killer was already taken and in prison in the castle, found in possession of the dead man's dagger, and charged with his murder. No more mystery to be mulled over in taverns and on street-corners, no further sensations to be hoped for. The town made do with what it had, and made the most of it. More distant and isolated manors had to wait a week or more for the news to reach them.
    The marvel was that it took three whole days to reach Saint Giles. Isolated though the hospice was, since its inmates were not allowed nearer the town for fear of contagion, somehow they usually seemed to get word of everything that was happening almost as soon as it was common gossip in the streets; but this time the system was slow in functioning. Brother Cadfael had given anxious thought to consideration of what effect the news was likely to have upon Meriet. But there was nothing to be done about that but to wait and see. No need to make a point of bringing the story to the young man's ears deliberately, better let it make its way to him by the common talk, as to everyone else.
    So it was not until two lay servants came to deliver the hospital's customary loaves from the abbey bakery, on the third day, that word of the arrest of the runaway villein Harald came to Meriet's ears. By chance it was he who took in the great basket and unloaded the bread in the store, helped by the two bakery hands who had brought it. For his silence they made up in volubility.
    'You'll be getting more and more beggars coming in for shelter, brother, if this cold weather sets in in earnest. Hard frost and an east wind again, no season to be on the roads.' Civil but taciturn, Meriet agreed that winter came hard on the poor.
    'Not that they're all honest and deserving,' said the other, shrugging. 'Who knows what you're taking in sometimes? Rogues and vagabonds as likely as not, and who's to tell the difference?'
    'There's one you might have got this week past that you can well do without,' said his fellow, 'for you might have got a throat cut in the night, and whatever's worth stealing made away with. But you're safe from him, at any rate, for he's locked up in Shrewsbury castle till he comes to his trial for murder.'
    'For killing a priest, at that! He'll pay for it with his own neck, surely, but that's poor reparation for a priest.'
    Meriet had turned, stiffly attentive, staring at them with frowning eyes. 'For killing a priest? What priest? Who is this you speak of?'
    'What, have you not heard yet? Why, the bishop of Winchester's chaplain that was found in the Long Forest. A wild man who's been preying on the houses outside the town killed him. It's what I was saying, with winter coming on sharp now you might have had him shivering and begging at your door here, and with the priest's own dagger under his ragged coat ready for you.'
    'Let me understand you,' said Meriet slowly. 'You say a man is taken for that death? Arrested and charged with it?'
    'Taken, charged, gaoled, and as good as hanged,' agreed his informant cheerfully. 'That's one you need not worry your head about, brother.'
    'What man is he? How did this come about?' asked Meriet urgently.
    They told him, in strophe and antistrophe, pleased to find someone who had not