Brother Cadfael 16: The Heretic's Apprentice

had risen to her feet, but had not moved from her place, uncertain what he meant to do, but filled with a kind of passive wonder that kept her from making any move of her own. He gripped her by the arm with his left hand, sliding his arm through hers to hold her close and fondly by the wrist, close as a lover or an affectionate father. There was never a word said of threatening or pleading, no request for her silence and submission. Perhaps he was already sure of it, if she was not. But she watched him turn the naked knife he held in his right hand, so that the blade lay along his forearm, and the sleeve concealed it. His long fingers were competent and assured on the shaped haft. He drew her with him to the door, and she went unresisting. With the hand that nursed the knife he set the door wide open, and led her out with him onto the green meadow, into the gentle, cloudless evening light that from within had seemed to be ultimate darkness.
    "Good news is always welcome," he said, confronting Hugh at a few yards distance with an open and untroubled countenance, from which he had banished the brief, icy pallor by force of will. "I should have heard it soon - we're bound for home now. My niece has been sweeping and tidying my workshop for me. You need not have gone out of your way for me, my lord, but it was gracious in you."
    "I am not out of my way," said Hugh. "We were close, and your brother said you would be here. The matter is, I've set your shepherd free. A liar Conan may be, but a murderer he is not. Every part of his day is accounted for at last, and he's back home and clear of blame. As well you should hear it from me, you may well have been wondering yourself, after all the lies he told, how deep he was mired in this business."
    "Then does this mean," asked Jevan calmly, "that you have found the real murderer?"
    "Not yet," said Hugh, with an equally confident and deceptive face, "though it narrows the field. You'll be glad to get your man back. And he's mortal glad to be back, I can tell you. I suppose that affects your brother's side of the business rather than yours, but according to Conan he has been known to help you with the skins sometimes." He had advanced to the door of the workshop, and was peering curiously within, into a cavern dimly lit by the little glowworm lamp, still burning on the lid of the chest. The yellow gleam faded in the light flooding in through the wide-open door. Hugh's eyes roamed with an inquisitive layman's interest over the great table under the shuttered window, the chests, the lime tanks, and arrived at the long rack of knives ranged along the wall, knives for dressing, for fleshing, for scraping, for trimming. And one of the sheaths empty.
    Cadfael, standing a little apart with the horses, between the belt of trees that curved round close to the river on his left hand, and the open slope of meadow on his right, had a brightly lit view of the exterior of the workshop, the grassy slope, and the three figures gathered outside the open door. The sun was low, but not yet sunk behind the ridge of bushes, and the slanting westward light picked out detail with golden, glittering clarity, and found every point from which it could reflect. Cadfael was watching intently, for from this retired position he might see things hidden from Hugh, who stood close. He did not like the way Jevan was clasping Fortunata's arm, holding her hard against his side. That embrace, uncharacteristic of so cool and self-sufficient a person as Jevan of Lythwood, Hugh certainly would not have missed. But had he seen, as Cadfael had, in one ruby-red shaft from the setting sun, and for one instant only, the steel of the knife flashing from under the cuff of Jevan's right sleeve?
    There was nothing strange in the girl's appearance, except perhaps the unusual stillness of her face. She had nothing to say, made no motion of fear or distrust, was not uneasy at being held so, or if she was, there was no discerning it in her bearing. But she knew, quite certainly, what Jevan had in his other hand.
    "So this is where you perform your mysteries," Hugh was saying, advancing curiously into the workshop. "I've often wondered about your craft. I know the quality of what you produce, I've seen it in use, but how the leaves come by that whiteness, seeing what the raw hides are like, I've never understood."
    Like any inquisitive stranger, he was prowling about the room, probing into corners, but avoiding the rack of knives,