Brother Cadfael 08: The Devil's Novice

Only this one thing was taken from him before ever those reached him who built him into his pyre. And only one person, last to see him alive, first to see him dead, can have taken this from his cloak as he lay, and that was his murderer.' He turned to Roswitha, who stood pale to translucency, like a woman of ice, staring at him with wide and horrified eyes.
    'Who gave it to you?' She cast one rapid glance around her, and then as suddenly took heart, and drawing breath deep, she answered loudly and clearly: 'Meriet!' Cadfael awoke abruptly to the realisation that he possessed knowledge which he had not yet confided to Hugh, and if he waited for the right challenge to this bold declaration from other lips he might wait in vain, and lose what had already been gained. For most of those here assembled, there was nothing incredible in this great lie she had just told, nothing even surprising, considering the circumstances of Meriet's entry into the cloister, and the history of the devil's novice within these walls. And she had clutched at the brief general hush as encouragement, and was enlarging boldly: 'He was always following me with his dog's eyes. I didn't want his gifts, but I took it to be kind to him. How could I know where he got it?'
    'When?' demanded Cadfael loudly, as one having authority. "When did he give you this gift?'
    'When?' She looked round, hardly knowing where the question had come from, but hasty and positive in answering it, to hammer home conviction. 'It was the day after Master Clemence left Aspley - the day after he was killed - in the afternoon. He came to me in our paddock at Linde. He pressed me so to take it ... I did not want to hurt him ... '
    From the tail of his eye Cadfael saw that Meriet had come forth from his shadowy place and drawn a little nearer, and Mark had followed him anxiously though without attempting to restrain him. But the next moment all eyes were drawn to the tall figure of Leoric Aspley, as he came striding and shouldering forward to tower over his son and his son's new wife.
    'Girl,' cried Leoric, 'think what you say! Is it well to lie? I know this cannot be true.' He swung about vehemently, encountering in turn with his grieved, grim eyes abbot and canon and deputy-sheriff. 'My lords all, what she says is false. My part in this I will confess, and accept gladly whatever penalty is due from me. For this I know, I brought home my son Meriet, that same day that I brought home the dead body of my guest and kinsman, and having cause, or so I thought, to believe my son the slayer, I laid him under lock and key from that hour, until I had considered, and he had accepted, the fate I decreed for him. From late afternoon of the day Peter Clemence died, all the next day, and until noon of the third, my son Meriet was close prisoner in my house. He never visited this girl. He never gave her this gift, for he never had it in his possession. Nor did he ever lift hand against my guest and his kinsman, now it is shown! God forgive me that ever I credited it!'
    'I am not lying!' shrilled Roswitha, struggling to recover the belief she had felt within her grasp. 'A mistake only - I mistook the day! It was the third day he came came ... '
    Meriet had drawn very slowly nearer. From deep within his shadowing cowl great eyes stared, examining in wonder and anguish his father, his adored brother and his first love, so frantically busy twisting knives in him. Roswitha's roving, pleading eyes met his, and she fell mute like a songbird shot down in flight, and shrank into Nigel's circling arms with a wail of despair.
    Meriet stood motionless for a long moment, then he turned on his heel and limped rapidly away. The motion of his lame foot was as if at every step he shook off dust.
    'Who gave it to you?' asked Hugh, with pointed and relentless patience.
    All the crowd had drawn in close, watching and listening, they had not failed to follow the logic of what had passed. A hundred pairs of eyes settled gradually and remorselessly upon Nigel. He knew it, and so did she.
    'No, no, no!' she cried, turning to wind her arms fiercely about her husband. 'It was not my lord - not Nigel! It was my brother gave me the brooch!' On the instant everyone present was gazing round in haste, searching the court for the fair head, the blue eyes and light-hearted smile, and Hugh's officers were burrowing through the press and bursting out at the gate to no purpose. For Janyn Linde had vanished silently and