Brother Cadfael 16: The Heretic's Apprentice

to make an offer on your behalf. And if you think we shall either of us draw off and leave you unfriended for fear of a few overzealous sniffers-out of evil, with tongues that wag at both ends, you're mistaken in us. My name stands sturdy enough in this town to survive a deal of buffeting by gossips. And so shall yours, before this is over. What we hoped was to have you released to come home with us, on my guarantee of your good behaviour. I pledged you to answer to your bail when you were called, and told them there's now a place for you in my employ. Why not? You had no hand in Aldwin's death and neither did I, nor would either of us ever have turned him off to make way for you. But for all that, it's done! The poor soul's gone, I need a clerk, and you need somewhere to lay your head when you get out of here. Where better than in the house you know, dealing with a business you used to know well, and can soon master again? So if you're willing, there's my hand on it, and we're both bound. What do you say?"
    "I say there's nothing in the world I'd like better!" Elave's face, carefully composed these last days into a wary calm, had slipped its mask and flushed into a warmth of pleasure and gratitude that made him look very young and vulnerable. It would cost him something to reassemble his breached defences when these two were gone, Cadfael reflected. "But we should not be talking of it now. We must not!" Elave protested, quivering. "God knows I'm grateful to you for such generosity, but I dare hardly think of the future until I'm out of here. Out of here, and vindicated! You have not told me what they answered, but I can guess at it. They would not turn me loose, not even into your charge."
    Girard owned it regretfully. "But the abbot gave us leave to come and see you, and tell you what I propose for you, so that you may at least know you have friends who are stirring for you. Every voice raised in your support must be of some help. I've told you what I am keeping for you. Now Fortunata has somewhat to say to you on her own account."
    Girard on entering had sensibly laid down the burden he was carrying upon the pallet beside Elave. Fortunata stirred out of her tranced stillness, and leaned to take it up and sit down beside him, nursing the box on her knees.
    "You remember how you brought this to our house? Father and I brought it here today to pledge as bail for your release, but they would not let you go. But if we could not buy your liberty with it one way," she said in a low, deliberate voice, "there are other ways. Remember what I said to you when last we were together."
    "I do remember," he said.
    "Such matters need money," said Fortunata, choosing her words with aching care. "Uncle William sent me a lot of money. I want it to be used for you. In whatever way may be needful. You've given no parole now. The one you did give they violated, not you."
    Girard laid a restraining hand upon her arm, and said in a warning whisper, which nevertheless found a betraying echo from the stone walls: "Gently, my girl! Walls have ears!"
    "But no tongues," said Cadfael as softly. "No, speak freely, child, it's not me you need fear. Say all you have to say to him, and let him answer you. Expect no interference from me, one way or the other."
    For answer Fortunata took up the box she was nursing, and thrust it into Elave's hands. Cadfael heard the infintesimal chink of small coins shifting, and turned his head in time to see the slight start Elave made as he received the weight, the stiffening of the young man's shoulders and the sharp contraction of his brows. He saw him tilt the box between his hands to elicit a fainter echo of the same sound, and weigh it thoughtfully on his palms.
    "It was money Master William sent you?" said Elave consideringly. "I never knew what was in it. But it's yours. He sent it for you, I brought it here for you."
    "If it profits you, it profits me," said Fortunata. "Yes, I will say what I came to say, even though I know Father does not approve. I don't trust them to do you justice. I am afraid for you. I want you far away from here, and safe. This money is mine, I may do what I choose with it. It can buy a horse, shelter, food, perhaps even a man to turn the key and open the door. I want you to accept it - to accept the use of it, and whatever I can buy with it for you. I'm not afraid, except for you. I'm not ashamed. And wherever you may go, however far, I'll follow you."
    She had begun in a bleak,