Brother Cadfael 19: The Holy Thief

there were two murderers, at least in intent, and this wretched brother, once he knew he had struck down the wrong man, had no reason in the world to wish him further harm."
    That is what I believe," said Cadfael.
    "And you, my lord sheriff?"
    "By all I know of Jerome," said Hugh, "that is how I read it."
    "Then, by the same token," said the earl, "you are saying that the man who finished the work was one who did have cause to want Aldhelm removed from the world, before he ever reached the abbey gatehouse. Not Tutilo, but Aldhelm. This one did know his man, and made sure he should never arrive. For the shepherd's hood fell back when he fell. This time there was no mistake made, he was known, and killed not for another, but for himself."
    There was a brief, deep silence, while they looked at one another and weighed possibilities. Then Abbot Radulfus said slowly: "It is logical. The face was then exposed to view, though Jerome had to kneel and look closely, for the night was dark. But if he could distinguish and recognize, so could the other."
    "There is another point," said Hugh. "I doubt if Aldhelm would have lain helpless for more than a quarter of an hour from that blow on the head. Whoever killed him, killed him within that time, for he had not stirred. There was no sign of movement. If his body jerked when he was struck again, and fatally, it was no more than an instant's convulsion. The murderer must have been close. Perhaps he witnessed the first assault. Certainly he was on the spot within a very short time." And he asked sharply: "Father, have you released Tutilo?"
    "Not yet," said Radulfus, unsurprised. Hugh's meaning was plain enough. "Perhaps there should be no haste. You are right to remind us. Tutilo came down that same path and found the dead man. Unless, unless at that time he was still living. Yes, it could still have been Tutilo who finished what Jerome had begun."
    "He told me," said Hugh, "as I think he told you, that he did not know in the darkness who the dead man might be. If the murderer had been before him, that would be truth. Even by daylight we could not tell who he was until Cadfael turned up the whole side of his face to the light. He told you, Father Abbot, how he put his hand upon the shattered left side of the dead man's head. All that, everything about him, his bearing, his voice, the cold of horror that was on him, for he shook as he spoke of it, all rang true to me. And yet it may still be true that he came within minutes of Jerome's flight, found the man only stunned, stooped close and knew him, for then knowing was possible, and killed him. And only then took thought how to escape suspicion, and came running into the town, to me."
    "Neither of the pair of them looks a likely case," said the earl consideringly, "to crush another man's head with a stone, though there's no saying what any man may do in extremes. But then to have the wit and the cold blood to fit the stone back and cover the traces, that could be out of reach of most of us. Well, you have them both under guard, there's no haste."
    "There is a matter of timing," said Cadfael. "You told me, Hugh, what the priest's man of Upton said, how he parted from Aldhelm at Preston, while Aldhelm went on to the ferry."
    "At about six they separated," Hugh confirmed positively. "From there, ferry and all, to the place where he was ambushed, would take him at the most half an hour. The ferryman speaks to the same effect. By half past six at the latest he reached the place where he died. If you can show me plainly where Tutilo was until past that hour, we may strike him from the roll and forget him."
    Chapter Eleven.
    "I have not so far had the opportunity," said Robert Bossu, "of cultivating your acquaintance. But I must tell you, if you do not already know it, for I think you miss very little, and can see as far through a forest by moonlight as the next man, that the name of Hugh Beringar has not gone unnoted by men of sense. How could it, when the exchequer is in chaos most of the time, and the chancery clerks out of touch with much of the land? How many shires, how many sheriffs, do you suppose, pay their annual farms regularly and on time? Yours is known never to be in default, and your county enjoys at least a kind of peace, a man can hope to travel to the Abbey fair here safely, and your courts manage to keep the roads relatively free of what we modestly call evil customs. Moreover, you contrive to be on amicable terms with