Brother Cadfael 20: Brother Cadfael's Penance

one man's fate beside the fate of the realm?"
    "Every man's fate is the fate of the realm," cried Yves boldly. "If injustice is done to one, it is one too many. The injury is to all, and the whole realm suffers."
    Over the growing hubbub of many voices busily crying one another down, the bishop raised authoritative hands. "Silence! Whether this is the time and place or no, this young man speaks truth. A fair law should apply to all." And to Yves, standing his ground apprehensive but determined: "You have, I think, a particular case in mind. One of those made prisoner after Faringdon fell."
    "Yes, my lord. And held in secret. No ransom has been asked, nor do his friends, or my uncle, his lord, know where to enquire for his price. If his Grace would but tell me who holds him..."
    "I did not parcel out my prisoners under my own seal," blared the king, growing louder and more restive, but as much because he wanted his dinner, Cadfael judged, as because he had any real interest in what was delaying him. It was characteristic of him that, having gained a large number of valuable prizes, he should throw the lot of them to his acquisitive supporters and walk away from the bargaining, leaving them to bicker over the distribution of the booty. "I knew few of them, and remember no names. I left them to my castellan to hand out fairly."
    Yves took that up eagerly, before the point could be lost. "Your Grace, your castellan of Faringdon is here present. Be so generous as to let him give me an answer." And he launched the question before it could be forbidden. "Where is Olivier de Bretagne, and in whose keeping?"
    He had kept his voice deliberate and cool, but he hurled the name like a lance for all that, and not at the king, but clean across the open space that divided the factions, into the face of de Soulis. Stephen's tolerance he needed if he was to get an answer. Stephen could command where no one else could do more than request.
    And Stephen's patience was wearing thin, not so much with the persistent squire as with the whole process of this overlong session.
    "It is a reasonable request," said the bishop, with the sharp edge still on his voice.
    "In the name of God," agreed the king explosively, "tell the fellow what he wants to know, and let us be done with the matter."
    The voice of de Soulis rose in smooth and prompt obedience, from among the king's unseen minor ranks, well out of Cadfael's sight, and so modestly retired from prominence that it sounded distant. "Your Grace, I would willingly, if I knew the answer. At Faringdon I made no claim for myself, but withdrew from the council and left it to the knights of the garrison. Those of them who returned to your Grace's allegiance, of course," he said with acid sweetness. "I never enquired as to their decisions, and apart from such as have already been offered for ransom and duly redeemed, I have no knowledge of the whereabouts of any. The clerks may have drawn up a list. If so, I have never asked to see it."
    Long before he ended, the deliberate sting against those of the Faringdon garrison who had remained true to their salt had already raised an ominous growl of rage among the empress's followers, and a ripple of movement along the ranks, that suggested swords might have been half out of scabbards if they had not been forbidden within the hall. Yves's raised voice striking back in controlled but passionate anger roused a counter roar from the king's adherents. "He lies, your Grace! He was there every moment, he ordered all. He lies in his teeth!"
    Another moment, and there would have been battle, even without weapons, barring the common man's weapons of fists, feet and teeth. But the Bishop of Winchester had risen in indignant majesty to second Roger de Clinton's thunderous demand for order and silence, king and empress were both on their feet and flashing menacing lightnings, and the mounting hubbub subsided gradually, though the acrid smell of anger and hatred lingered in the quivering air.
    "Let us adjourn this session," said Bishop de Clinton grimly, when the silence and stillness had held good for uneasy and shaming minutes, "without further hot words that have no place here. We will meet again after noon, and I charge you all that you come in better and more Christian condition, and further, that after that meeting, whatever it brings, you who truly mean in the heart what your mouths have uttered, that you seek peace here, shall attend at Vespers, unarmed, in