Brother Cadfael 14: The Hermit of Eyton Forest

presentable before abbot and sheriff after supper. Aymer Bosiet, who had looked on with a certain malevolent satisfaction at someone else's crisis and confusion as a relief from his own, detached himself moodily and went across the court to the guest hall. But Cadfael, suddenly moved to look back, missed the one figure he was seeking. Rafe of Coventry was no where to be seen, and now that Cadfael came to think of it, he must have taken himself off quietly some time before the intriguing scene ended. Because he had no interest in it, and was quite capable of detaching himself from a spectacle which held most men spellbound? Or because he had found something in it that interested him deeply and urgently?
    Fulke Astley was left hesitant, eye to eye with Hugh, and unsure whether it would serve him better to attempt explanations and justification, or to withdraw-if he was allowed to withdraw-in dignified silence, or at least with as few words as possible, and no concessions.
    'Tomorrow, then, my lord,' he said, settling upon brevity, 'I shall be at Cuthred's hermitage as I have promised.'
    'Good! And you might do well,' said Hugh, 'to acquaint the hermit's patroness with what's mooted against him. She may wish to be present herself. As at this time, my lord, I have no more immediate need of you. And should I have need in the future, I know where to find you. You may have good reason to be glad that Richard slipped his collar. Mischief undone is best forgotten. Provided, of course, there's no further mischief in contemplation.'
    Of that Fulke made the best he could. With a curt reverence to the abbot he turned to reclaim his horse, mounted, and rode out at the gatehouse at a deliberate and stately walking pace.
    Brother Cadfael, summoned to join the colloquy in the abbot's lodging after supper, turned aside on his way, on a sudden impulse, and went into the stable yard. Richard's black pony was contented and easy in his stall after his strenuous ride, groomed and watered and placidly feeding. But the big chestnut with the white blaze down his forehead was gone from his place, saddle and harness and all. Whatever the occasion for his silent departure, Rafe of Coventry had ridden forth on some local errand of his own.
    Richard sat on a low stool at the abbot's knee, washed and brushed and meekly grateful to be home, and told his story, or as much of it as he felt justified in telling. He had an interested audience. There were present, besides the abbot, Hugh Beringar, Brother Cadfael at Hugh's accepted request, and Brother Paul, still reluctant to let the returned prodigal out of his sight. Richard had tolerated, even enjoyed, being shaken, slapped, scrubbed and made much of, the whole chaotic process which had produced this neat, shining schoolboy for the abbot's inspection. There were gaps in his story, and he knew they would be questioned, but Radulfus was of noble family, and would understand that a nobleman cannot betray those who have helped him, or even certain underlings who at the instance of their masters have injured him.
    'Would you know them again, the two who captured you and took you into Wroxeter?' asked Hugh.
    Richard considered the tempting prospect of revenge on the strapping young fellow who had laughed at his struggles and hindered him at the ford, but rejected it reluctantly as unworthy of his nobility.
    'I couldn't be sure of them. It was getting dark.'
    They did not press him. Instead, the abbot asked: 'Had you help in escaping from Leighton? You could hardly have broken out on your own, or you would have done it earlier.'
    Answering that presented something of a problem. If he told the truth it would certainly do Hiltrude no harm here among his friends, but if ever it reached her father it could do her harm enough. Better stick to the story as she must have told it, that the door had been mistakenly left unbolted, and he had made his own way out. Cadfael observed the slight flush that mantled in the boy's well-scrubbed cheeks as he recounted that part of his adventures, with notable brevity and modesty. If it had been true he would have been exulting in it.
    'He should have known what a slippery fish he had caught,' said Hugh, smiling. 'But you still have not told us why you rode out from the abbey in the first place, nor who told you that the hermit is not the priest he purports to be.'
    This was the crux, and Richard had been thinking about it with unaccustomed labour and pain while he submitted to