Brother Cadfael 08: The Devil's Novice

better needlewoman than I.' With a placid face and steady hand Isouda sat down and did as she was asked, and refrained from casting another glance at the box that held the brooch. But when the hour of Compline came, she snapped off her thread at the final stitch, laid her work aside, and announced that she was going to attend the office. Roswitha, already languidly undressing for bed, made no move to dissuade, and certainly none to join her.
    Brother Cadfael left the church after Compline by the south porch, intending only to pay a brief visit to his workshop to see that the brazier, which Brother Oswin had been using earlier, was safely out, everything securely stoppered, and the door properly closed to conserve what warmth remained. The night was starry and sharp with frost, and he needed no other light to see his way by such familiar paths. But he had got no further than the archway into the court when he was plucked urgently by the sleeve, and a breathless voice whispered in his ear: 'Brother Cadfael, I must talk to you!'
    'Isouda! What is it? Something has happened?' He drew her back into one of the carrels of the scriptorium; no one else would be stirring there now, and in the darkness the two of them were invisible, drawn back into the most sheltered corner. Her face at his shoulder was intent, a pale oval afloat above the darkness of her cloak.
    'Happened, indeed! You said I might pull down the thunderbolt. I have found something,' she said, rapid and low in his ear, 'in Roswitha's jewel box. Hidden at the bottom. A great ring-brooch, very old and fine, in gold and silver and enamels, the kind men made long before ever the Normans came. As big as the palm of my hand, with a long pin. When she saw what I had, she came and thrust it back into the box and closed the lid, saying that was too heavy and old-fashioned to wear. So I let it pass, and never said word of what I knew. I doubt if she understands what it is, or how whoever gave it to her came by it, though I think he must have warned her not to wear or show it, not yet ... Why else should she be so quick to put it out of my sight? Or else simply she doesn't like it - I suppose it might be no more than that. But I know what it is and where it came from, and so will you when I tell you ... ' She had run out of breath in her haste, and panted soft warmth against his cheek, leaning close. 'I have seen it before, as she may not have done. It was I who took the cloak from him and carried it within, to the chamber we made ready for him. Fremund brought in his saddle-bags, the cloak I carried ... and this brooch was pinned in the collar.'
    Cadfael laid a hand over the small hand that gripped his sleeve, and asked, half-doubting, half-convinced already: 'Whose cloak? Are you saying this thing belonged to Peter Clemence?'
    'I am saying it. I will swear it.'
    'You are sure it must be the same?'
    'I am sure. I tell you I carried it in, I touched, I admired it.'
    'No, there could not well be two such,' he said, and drew breath deep. 'Of such rare things I doubt there were ever made two alike.'
    'Even if there were, why should both wander into this shire? But no, surely every one was made for a prince or a chief and never repeated. My grandsire had such a brooch, but not near so fine and large, he said it came from Ireland, long ago. Besides, I remember the very colours and the strange beasts. It is the same. And she has it!' She had a new thought, and voiced it eagerly. 'Canon Eluard is still here, he knew the cross and ring, he will surely know this, and he can swear to it. But if that fails, so can I, and I will. Tomorrow-how must we deal tomorrow? For Hugh Beringar is not here to be told, and the time so short. It rests with us. Tell me what I can best do?'
    'So I will,' said Cadfael slowly, his hand firm over hers, 'when you have told me one more most vital thing. This brooch - it is whole and clean? No stain, no discolouration anywhere upon it, on metals or enamels? Not even thin edges where such discolourings may have been cleaned away?'
    'No!' said Isouda after a sudden brief silence, and drew in understanding breath. 'I had not thought of that! No, it is as it was made, bright and perfect. Not like the others ... No, this has not been through the fire.'
    Chapter Twelve.
    The wedding day dawned clear, bright and very cold. A flake or two of frozen snow, almost too fine to be seen but stinging on the cheek, greeted Isouda as she crossed the court for Prime, but