Brother Cadfael 08: The Devil's Novice

breast; he lay helpless but shaking.
    'I must go! Help me!'
    'There is nowhere you need go,' said Mark, leaning over him. 'If there is any message you wish sent to any man, lie still, and only tell me. You know I will do it faithfully. You had a fall, you must lie still and rest.'
    'Mark ... It is you?' He felt outside his blankets blindly, and Mark took the wandering hand and held it. 'It is you,' said Meriet, sighing. 'Mark - the man they've taken ... for killing the bishop's clerk ... I must tell them ... I must go to Hugh Beringar ... '
    'Tell me,' said Mark, 'and you have done all. I will see done whatever you want done, and you may rest. What is it I am to tell Hugh Beringar?' But in his heart he already knew.
    'Tell him he must let this poor soul go ... Say he never did that slaying. Tell him I know! Tell him,' said Meriet, his dilated eyes hungry and emerald-green on Mark's attentive face, 'that I confess my mortal sin ... that it was I who killed Peter Clemence. I shot him down in the woods, three miles and more from Aspley. Say I am sorry, so to shame my father's house.' He was weak and dazed, shaking with belated shock, the tears sprang from his eyes, startling him with their unexpected flood. He gripped and wrung the hand held. 'Promise! Promise you will tell him so ... '
    'I will, and bear the errand myself, no other shall,' said Mark, stooping low to straining, blinded eyes to be seen and believed. 'Every word you give me I will deliver. If you will also do a good and needful thing for yourself and for me, before I go. Then you may sleep more peacefully.'
    The green eyes cleared in wonder, staring up at him. 'What thing is that?'
    Mark told him, very gently and firmly. Before he had the words well out, Meriet had wrenched away his hand and heaved his bruised body over in the bed, turning his face away. 'No!' he said in a low wail of distress. 'No, I will not! No ... '
    Mark talked on, quietly urging what he asked, but stopped when it was still denied, and with ever more agitated rejection. 'Hush!' he said then placatingly. 'You need not fret so. Even without it, I'll do your errand, every word. You be still and sleep.'
    He was instantly believed; the body stiff with resistance softened and eased. The swathed head turned towards him again; even the dim light within the barn caused his eyes to narrow and frown. Brother Mark put out the lantern, and drew the brychans close. Then he kissed his patient and penitent, and went to do his errand.
    Brother Mark walked the length of the Foregate and across the stone bridge into the town, exchanging the time of day with all he met, enquired for Hugh Beringar at his house by Saint Mary's, and walked on undismayed and unwearied when he was told that the deputy-sheriff was already at the castle. It was by way of a bonus that Brother Cadfael happened to be there also, having just emerged from applying another dressing to the festered wound in the prisoner's forearm. Hunger and exposure are not conducive to ready healing, but Harald's hurts were showing signs of yielding to treatment. Already he had a little more flesh on his long, raw bones, and a little more of the texture of youth in his hollow cheeks. Solid stone walls, sleep without constant fear, warm blankets and three rough meals a day were a heaven to him.
    Against the stony ramparts of the inner ward, shut off from even what light there was in this muted morning, Brother Mark's diminutive figure looked even smaller, but his grave dignity was in no way diminished. Hugh welcomed him with astonishment, so unexpected was he in this place, and haled him into the anteroom of the guard, where there was a fire burning, and torchlight, since full daylight seldom penetrated there to much effect.
    'I'm sent with a message,' said Brother Mark, going directly to his goal, 'to Hugh Beringar, from Brother Meriet. I've promised to deliver it faithfully word for word, since he cannot do it himself, as he wanted to do. Brother Meriet learned only yesterday, as did we all at Saint Giles, that you have a man held here in prison for the murder of Peter Clemence. Last night, after he had retired, Meriet was desperately troubled in his sleep, and rose and walked. He fell from the loft, sleeping, and is now laid in his bed with a broken head and many bruises, but he has come to himself, and I think with care he'll take no grave harm. But if Brother Cadfael would come and look at him I should be easier in my mind.'
    'Son, with all my