Brother Cadfael 08: The Devil's Novice

was to astonish, to warm, to quicken an absurd but utterly credible hope, and then to depart.
    When she thought fit to go, Meriet brought her from the barn by the hand. They had both a high colour and bright eyes, and by the way they moved together they had broken free from the first awe, and had been arguing as of old; and that was good. He stooped his cheek to be kissed when they separated, and she kissed him briskly, gave him a cheek in exchange, said he was a stubborn wretch as he always had been, and yet left him exalted almost into content, and herself went away cautiously encouraged.
    'I have as good as promised him I will send my horse to fetch him in good time tomorrow morning,' she said, when they were reaching the first scattered houses of the Foregate.
    'I have as good as promised Mark the same,' said Cadfael. 'But he had best come cloaked and quietly. God, he knows if I have any good reason for it, but my thumbs prick and I want him there, but unknown to those closest to him in blood.'
    'We are troubling too much,' said the girl buoyantly, exalted by her own success. 'I told you long ago, he is mine, and no one else will have him. If it is needful that Peter Clemence's slayer must be taken, to give Meriet to me, then why fret, for he will be taken.'
    'Girl,' said Cadfael, breathing in deeply, 'you terrify me like an act of God. And I do believe you will pull down the thunderbolt.'
    In the warmth and soft light in their small chamber in the guesthall after supper, the two girls who shared a bed sat brooding over their plans for the morrow. They were not sleepy, they had far too much on their minds to wish for sleep. Roswitha's maid-servant, who attended them both, had gone to her bed an hour ago; she was a raw country girl, not entrusted with the choice of jewels, ornaments and perfumes for a marriage. It would be Isouda who would dress her friend's hair, help her into her gown, and escort her from guest-hall to church and back again, withdrawing the cloak from her shoulders at the church door, in this December cold, restoring it when she left on her lord's arm, a new-made wife.
    Roswitha had spread out her wedding gown on the bed, to brood over its every fold, consider the set of the sleeves and the fit of the bodice, and wonder whether it would not be the better still for a closer clasp to the gilded girdle.
    Isouda roamed the room restlessly, replying carelessly to Roswitha's dreaming comments and questions. They had the wooden chests of their possessions, leather-covered, stacked against one wall, and the small things they had taken out were spread at large on every surface; bed, shelf and chest. The little box that held Roswitha's jewels stood upon the press beside the guttering lamp. Isouda delved a hand idly into it, plucking out one piece after another. She had no great interest in such adornments.
    'Would you wear the yellow mountain stones?' asked Roswitha, 'to match with this gold thread in the girdle?'
    Isouda held the amber pebbles to the light and let them run smoothly through her fingers. 'They would suit well. But let me see what else you have here. You've never shown me the half of these.' She was fingering them curiously when she caught the buried gleam of coloured enamels, and unearthed from the very bottom of the box a large brooch of the ancient ring-and-pin kind, the ring with its broad, flattened terminals intricately ornamented with filigree shapes of gold framing the enamels, sinuous animals that became twining leaves if viewed a second time, and twisted back into serpents as she gazed. The pin was of silver, with a diamond-shaped head engraved with a formal flower in enamels, and the point projected the length of her little finger beyond the ring, which filled her palm. A princely thing, made to fasten the thick folds of a man's cloak. She had begun to say: 'I've never seen this ... ' before she had it out and saw it clearly. She broke off then, and the sudden silence caused Roswitha to look up. She rose quickly, and came to plunge her own hand into the box and thrust the brooch to the bottom again, out of sight.
    'Oh, not that!' she said with a grimace. 'It's too heavy, and so old-fashioned. Put them all back, I shall need only the yellow necklace, and the silver hair-combs.' She closed the lid firmly, and drew Isouda back to the bed, where the gown lay carefully outspread. 'See here, there are a few frayed stitches in the embroidery, could you catch them up for me? You are a