Brother Cadfael 19: The Holy Thief

lodgings, a couple of round-eyed, inquisitive schoolboys who were chased away less indulgently than usual by Brother Paul.
    "Who last handled her?" suggested Brother Cadfael reasonably. "Someone... more than one... carried her up to Cynric's rooms. Any of you here?"
    Brother Rhun came through the press of curious and frightened brothers, the youngest among them, the special protege of his saint, and her most devoted servitor, as every man here knew.
    "It was I, with Brother Urien, who wrapped her safely. But to my grief, I was not here when she was moved from her place."
    A tall figure came looming over the heads of the nearest brothers, craning to see what was causing the stir. "That was the load from the altar there?" asked B�zet, and thrust his way through to look more closely. "The reliquary, the saint's coffin? And now this ...? But I helped to carry it up to the verger's rooms. It was one of the last things we moved, late in the evening. I was here helping, and one of the brothers, Brother Matthew I've heard him named, called me to give him a hand. And so I did. We hefted her up the stairs and stowed her safely enough." He looked round in search of confirmation, but Brother Matthew the cellarer was not there to speak for himself. "He'll tell you," said B�zet confidently. "And this, a log of wood? Is this what we took such care of?"
    "Look at the brychan," said Cadfael, reaching in haste to open it before the man's eyes and spread it wide. "The outer wrapping, look at it closely. Did you see it clearly when you had the load in your hands? Is this the same?" By chance it was Welsh woollen cloth, patterned in a regular array of crude four-petalled flowers in a dim blue; many of its kind found their way into English homes through the market of Shrewsbury. It was worn thin in places, but had been of a solid, heavy weave, and bound at the edges with flax.
    B�zet said without hesitation: "The same."
    "You are certain? It was late in the evening, you say. The altar was still lighted?"
    "I'm certain." B�zet's long lips delivered his certainty like an arrow launched. "I saw the weave plainly. This is what we lifted and carried, that night, and who was to know what was inside the brychans?"
    Brother Rhun uttered a small, grievous sound, more a sob than a cry, and came forward almost fearfully to touch and feel, afraid to trust his eyes, young and clear and honest though they might be.
    "But it is not the same," he said in a muted whisper, "in which Brother Urien and I wrapped her, earlier that day, before noon. We left her ready on her altar, with a plain blanket bound round her, and an old, frayed altarcloth stretched over her. Brother Richard let us take it, as fitting her holiness. It was a beautiful one, great love went into the embroidery. That was her coverlet. This is no way the same. What this good man carried from here to the high place meant for Saint Winifred, was not that sweet lady, but this block, this mockery. Father Prior, where is our saint? What has become of Saint Winifred?"
    Prior Robert swept one commanding glance round him, at the derisory object uncovered from its shroud, at the stricken brothers, and the boy bereaved and accusing, burning white as a candleflame. Rhun went whole, beautiful and lissome by Saint Winifred's gift, he would have no rest nor allow any to his superiors, while she was lost to him.
    "Leave all here as it lies," said Prior Robert with authority, "and depart, all of you. No word be said, nothing done, until we have taken this cause to Father Abbot, within whose writ it lies."
    "There is no possibility of mere error," said Cadfael, in the abbot's parlour, that evening. "Brother Matthew is as certain as this lad B�zet of what they carried, or at least of the pattern of the brychan that was wound about it. And Brother Rhun and Brother Urien are just as certain of what they took to wrap and cover her. By all the signs, no one meddled with the wrappings. A new burden was substituted for the first one on the altar, and borne away to safety in good faith, no blame to those who aided."
    "None," said Radulfus. "The young man offered in all kindness. His merit is assured. But how did this come about? Who could wish it? Who perform, if he did wish it? Brother Cadfael, consider! There was flood, there was watchfulness but hope during the day, there was urgent need at night. Men prepare for a sudden and strange threat, but while it holds off they do not believe in it. And when it