Brother Cadfael 20: Brother Cadfael's Penance

but Stephen had his field, and bestrode it commandingly.
    "Now let us have some room for thought before we accuse or exonerate any man. And before all, let someone who knows his business make good sure that the man is out of reach of help, or we are all guilty of his death. One lad falling over him in the dark, whether he himself struck the blow or not, can hardly give a physician's verdict. William, do you make sure."
    William Martel, long in experience of death by steel through many campaigns, kneeled beside the body, and turned it by the shoulder to lie flat, exposing to the torchlight the bloody breast, the slit coat, and the narrow, welling wound. He drew wide an eyelid and marked the unmoving stare.
    "Dead. Through the heart, surely. Nothing to be done for him."
    "How long?" asked the king shortly.
    "No telling. But very recently."
    "During Compline?" The office was not a long one, though on this fateful evening it had been drawn out somewhat beyond its usual time.
    "I saw him living," said Martel, "only minutes before we went in. I thought he had followed us in. I never marked that he wore steel."
    "So if this young man is shown to have been within throughout the office," said the king practically, "he cannot be guilty of this murder. Not fair fight, for de Soulis never had time to draw. Murder."
    A hand reached softly for Cadfael's sleeve. Hugh had been worming his way inconspicuously through the press to reach him. In Cadfael's ear his voice whispered urgently: "Can you speak for him? Was he within? Did you see him?"
    "I wish to God I had! He says he came later. I was well forward in the choir. The place was full, the last would be pinned just within the doors." In corners unlit, and possibly with none or few of their own acquaintance nearby to recognize or speak to them. All too easy not to be noticed, and a convincing reason why Yves should be one of the first to move out into the cloister and clear the way, to stumble over a dead man. The fact that his first cry had been a wordless one of simple alarm when he fell should speak for him. Only a minute later had he cried out the cause.
    "No matter, let be!" said Hugh softly. "Stephen has his finger on the right question. Someone surely will know. And if all else fails, the empress will never let Philip FitzRobert lay a finger on any man of hers. Not for the death of a man she loathes? Look at her!"
    Cadfael had to crane and shift to do so, for tall though she was, for a woman, she was surrounded by men far taller. But once found, she shone fiercely clear under the torchlight, her handsome face composed and severe, but her large eyes glittering with a suggestion of controlled elation, and the corners of her lips drawn into the austere shadow of an exultant smile. No, she had no reason at all to grieve at the death of the man who had betrayed Faringdon, or to sympathize with the grief and anger of his lord and patron, who had handed over her castle of Cricklade to the enemy. And as Cadfael watched, she turned her head a little, and looked with sharp attention at Yves Hugonin, and the subtle shadows that touched the corners of her lips deepened, and for one instant the smile became apparent. She did not move again, not yet. Let other witnesses do all for her, if that was possible. No need to spend her own efforts until or unless they were needed. She had her half-brother beside her, Roger of Hereford at one shoulder, Hugh Bigod at the other, force enough to prevent any action that might be ventured against any prot� of hers.
    "Speak up!" said Stephen, looking round the array of watchful faces, guarded and still now, side-glancing at near neighbours, eyeing the king's roused countenance. "If any here can say he saw this man within the church throughout Compline, then speak up and declare it, and do him right. He says he came unarmed, in all duty, to the worship of God, and was with us to the end of the office. Who bears him out?"
    No one moved, beyond turning to look for reaction from others. No one spoke. There was a silence.
    "Your Grace sees," said Philip at length, breaking the prolonged hush, "there is no one willing to confirm what he says. And there is no one who believes him."
    "That is no proof that he lies," said Roger de Clinton. "Too often truth can bring no witness with it, and find no belief. I do not say he is proven true, but neither is he proven a liar. We have not here the testimony of every man who came to Compline this night. Even if we