Brother Cadfael 09: Dead Man's Ransom

the ford in the forest where that grudge had come to birth. And the pickings... Elis turned his forehead into the chill of the stone against which he leaned and swallowed terror. A parcel of women! He was more than paid for that silly flaunt, who had a woman of his own there to sweat and bleed for, young, beautiful, fair as flax, tall like a willow. The square dark men of Powys would come to blows over her, kill one another for her, kill her when they were done.
    He had started out of his shelter under the wall before he even knew what he intended. The patient, drooping horse might have given him away, but there was no groom holding it, and it stood its ground silently, unstartled, as he stole past, a hand raised to caress and beseech acceptance. He did not dare take it, the first clatter of hooves would have brought them out like hornets disturbed, but at least it let him pass unbetrayed. The big body steamed gently, he felt its heat. The tired head turned and nuzzled his hand. He drew his fingers away with stealthy gentleness, and slid past towards the elongated wicket that offered a way out into the night.
    He was through, he had the descent to the castle Foregate on his right, and the way up into the town on his left. But he was out of the castle, he who had given his word not to pass the threshold, he who was forsworn from this moment, false to his word, outcast. Not even Eliud would speak for him when he knew.
    The town gates would not open until dawn. Elis turned left, into the town, and groped his way by unknown lanes and passages to find some corner where he could hide until the morning. He was none too sure of his best way out, and did not stop to wonder if he would ever manage to pass unnoticed. All he knew was that he had to get to Godric's Ford before his countrymen reached it. He got his bearings by instinct, blundering blindly round towards the eastward gates. In Saint Mary's churchyard, though he did not know it for that, he shrank into the shelter of a porch from the chill of the wind. He had left his cloak behind in his dishonoured cell, he was half naked to shame and the night, but he was free and on his way to deliver her. What was his honour, more than his life, compared with her safety?
    The town woke early. Tradesmen and travellers rose and made their way down to the gates before full daylight, to be out and about their proper business betimes. So did Elis ap Cynan, going with them discreetly down the Wyle, cloakless, weaponless, desperate, heroic and absurd, to the rescue of his Melicent.
    Eliud put out his hand, before he was fully awake, to feel for his cousin, and sat up in abrupt shock to find Elis's side of the bed empty and cold. But the dark red cloak was still draped over the foot of the bed, and Eliud's sense of loss was utterly irrational. Why should not Elis rise early and go out into the wards before his bedfellow was awake? Without his cloak he could not be far away. But for all that, and however brief the separation, it troubled Eliud like a physical pain. Here in their imprisonment they had hardly been a moment out of each other's company, as if for each of them faith in a final happy delivery depended upon the presence of the other.
    Eliud rose and dressed, and went out to the trough by the well, to wash himself fully awake in the shock of the cold water. There was an unusual stir about the stables and the armoury, but he saw no sign of Elis anywhere in either place, nor was he brooding on the walls with his face towards Wales. The want of him began to ache like an amputation.
    They took their meals in hall among their English peers, but on this clear morning Elis did not come to break his fast. And by this time others had remarked his absence.
    One of the sergeants of the garrison stopped Eliud as he was leaving the hall. 'Where is your cousin? Is he sick?'
    'I know no more than you,' said Eliud. 'I've been looking for him. He was out before I awoke, and I've seen nothing of him since.' And he added in jealous haste, seeing the man frown and give him the first hard stare of suspicion: 'But he can't be far. His cloak is still in the cell. There's so much stirring here, I thought he might have risen early to find out what was all the to do.'
    'He's pledged not to set foot out of the gates,' said the sergeant. 'But do you tell me he's given up eating? You must know more than you pretend.'
    'No! But he's here within, he must be. He would not break his word, I promise you.'
    The