Brother Cadfael 19: The Holy Thief

had brightened since his glum morning face almost into benevolence. R� had lost a manservant, but secured his future with a very influential patron: a manservant is easily replaced, but entry to the household of one of the foremost earls of the land is a prize for life. R� was not disposed to complain. He had not even lost the horse with the man, the stolen beast belonged to Robert Bossu's squire. B�zet's sedate and aging roan, relieved of his saddlebags, waited now imperturbably for another rider. Nicol could ride, and leave his fellow to drive the wheeled cart. Everything was settling into the ordinary routines of life, however deflected from their course hitherto.
    And suddenly there was Alan Herbard in the gateway, just dismounting, curious and a little awed at approaching Hugh in this illustrious company.
    "We have the man, sir. I rode ahead to tell you. They are bringing him after. Where would you have him taken? There was no time to hear why he ran, and what he was accused of."
    "He is charged with murder," said Hugh. "Get him safe into the castle under lock and key, and I'll follow as soon as I may. You were quick. He cannot have got far. What happened?"
    "He took us a mile or more into the Long Forest, and we were gaining on him, and he turned off the open ride to try and lose us among thick woodland. I think they started a hind, and the horse baulked, for we heard him curse, and then the horse screamed and reared. I think he used the dagger..."
    The squire had drawn close to hear what had befallen his mount. Indignantly he said: "Conradin would never endure that."
    "They were well ahead, we could only judge by the sounds. But I think he reared, and swept the fellow off against a low branch, for he was lying half-stunned under a tree when we picked him up. He goes lame on one leg, but it's not broken. He was dazed, he gave us no trouble."
    "He may yet," said Hugh warningly.
    "Will's no prentice, he'll keep safe hold of him. But the horse," said Alan, somewhat apologetic on this point, "we haven't caught. He'd bolted before we ever reached the place, and for all the searching we dared do with the man to guard, we couldn't find him close, nor even hear anything ahead of us. Riderless, he'll be well away before he'll get over his fright and come to a stay."
    "And my gear gone with him," said the unlucky owner with a grimace, but laughed the next moment. "My lord, you'll owe me new clothes if he's gone beyond recall."
    "We'll make a proper search tomorrow," promised Alan. "We'll find him for you. But first I'll go and see this murderer safely jailed."
    He made his reverence to the abbot and the earl, and remounted at the gate, and was gone. They were left looking at one another like people at the hour of awaking, uncertain for a moment whether what they contemplate is reality or dream.
    "It is well finished," said Robert Bossu. "If this is the end!" And he turned upon the abbot his grave, considerate glance. "It seems we have lived this farewell twice, Father, but this time it is truth, we must go. I trust we may meet at some happier occasion, but now you will be glad to have us out of your sight and out of your thoughts, with all the troubles we have brought you between us. Your household will be more peaceful without us." And to Cadfael he said, turning to take his horse's bridle: "Will you ask the lady if she feels able to join us? It's high time we took the road."
    He was gone only a few moments, and he emerged through the south door and the cloister alone.
    "She is gone," said Brother Cadfael, his tone temperate and his face expressionless. "There is no one in the church but Cynric, Father Boniface's verger, trimming the candles on the parish altar, and he has seen no one come or go within the past halfhour."
    Afterwards he sometimes wondered whether Robert Bossu had been expecting it. He was a man of very dangerous subtlety, and could appreciate subtlety in others, and see further into a man at short acquaintance than most people Nor was he at all averse to loosing cats among pigeons. But no, probably not. He had not known her long enough for that. If she had ever reached his Leicester household, and been in his sight a few weeks, he would have known her very well, and been well able to assess her potentialities in other pursuits besides music. But at the least, this was no great surprise to him. It was not he, but R� of Pertuis, who raised the grieving outcry: "No! She cannot be gone. Where could