Brother Cadfael 20: Brother Cadfael's Penance

what I want to know."
    "After king and empress and all their following have denied any knowledge of where Olivier may be?" Hugh pointed out gently.
    "Even then. There were some here who did know," said Cadfael with certainty. "But, Hugh, there is also this matter of Yves. True, the empress has spread her cloak over him and taken him hence in safety, but is that enough? He'll have no peace until it's known who did the thing he surely did not do. Give me a few more days, and let me at least give some thought to this death. I have asked the brothers here to let me know of anything they may have heard concerning the surrender of Faringdon, give me time at least to be sure the word has gone round, and to get an answer if any man here has an answer to give me."
    "I can stretch my leave by a day or two," Hugh allowed doubtfully. "And indeed I'd be loathe to go back without you. Let us by all means put the boy's mind at rest if we can, and lay the blame where it belongs. If," he added with a grimace, "there should be any great measure of blame for removing de Soulis from the world. No, say nothing! I know! Murder is murder, as much a curse to the slayer as to the slain, and cannot be a matter of indifference, whoever the dead may be. Do you want to look at him again? An accurate stab wound, frontal, no ambush from behind. But it was dark there. A knowledgeable swordsman, if he had been waiting and had his night eyes, would have no difficulty."
    Cadfael considered. "Yes, let's take another look at the man. And his belongings? Are they still here in the prior's charge? Could we ask, do you think?"
    "The bishop might allow it. He's no better pleased at having a murderer active within the pale than you are."
    Brien de Soulis lay on the stone slab in the chapel, covered with a linen sheet, but not yet shrouded, and his coffin still in the hands of the carpenters. It seemed money had been left to provide a noble funeral. Was that Philip's doing?
    Cadfael drew down the sheet to uncover the body as far as the wound, a mere thin blue-black slit now, with slightly ribbed edges, a stroke no more than a thumbnail long. The body, otherwise unmarked, was well muscled and comely, the face retained its disdainful good looks, but cold and hard as alabaster.
    "It was no sword did that," said Cadfael positively. "The flow of blood hid all when he was found. But that was made by a dagger, not even a long one, but long enough. It's not so far into the heart. And fine, very fine. The hilt has not bruised him. It was plunged in and withdrawn quickly, quickly enough for the slayer to draw off clean before ever the bleeding came. No use looking for stained clothing, so fine a slit does not open and gush like a fountain. By the time it was flowing fast the assailant was gone."
    "And never stayed to be sure of his work?" wondered Hugh.
    "He was sure of it. Very cool, very resolute, very competent." Cadfael drew up the sheet again over the stone-still face. "Nothing more here. Shall we consider once again the place where this happened?"
    They passed through the south door, and emerged into the north walk of the cloister. Outside the third carrel the body had lain, its toes just trailing across the threshold. There was a faint pink stain, a hand's length, still visible, where his blood had seeped down under his right side and fouled the flags. Someone had been diligent in cleaning it away, but the shape still showed. "Yes, here," said Hugh. "The stones will show no marks, even if there was a struggle, but I fancy there was none. He was taken utterly by surprise."
    They sat down together there in the carrel to consider the alignment of this scene.
    "He was struck from before," said Cadfael, "and as the dagger was dragged out he fell forward with it, out of the carrel into the walk. Surely he was the one waiting here within. For someone. He wore sword and dagger himself, so he was not bound for Compline. If he designed to meet someone here in private, it was surely someone he trusted, someone never questioned, or how did he approach so close? Had it been Yves, as we know it was not, de Soulis would have had the sword out of the scabbard before ever the boy got within reach. The open hostility between those two was not the whole story. There must have been fifty souls within these walls who hated the man for what he did at Faringdon. Some who were there, and escaped in time, many others of the empress's following who were not there, but hold the treason