Brother Cadfael 20: Brother Cadfael's Penance

daylight, and found himself crossing the path of Philip FitzRobert, just dismounted after his ride and striding across the ward to his hall, shrugging off his cloak on to one arm as he went. They met and halted, two or three yards between them, mutually at gaze.
    The rising wind of evening had ruffled Philip's black hair, for he had ridden with head uncovered. The short, blown strands laced his high forehead, and caused him to frown as he stared. He went in the plainest of dark gear, independent of any manner of ornament or finery. His own bearing was his distinction. Physically, in motion or in stillness, he had an elongated elegance, and a tension like a strung bow.
    "They told me I had a guest," he said, and narrowed his full, dark brown eyes. "Brother, I think I have seen you before."
    "I was in Coventry," said Cadfael, "among many others. Though whether you ever noticed me is more than I can say."
    There was a brief silence, and neither of them moved. "You were present," Philip said then, "close by, but you did not speak. I do remember, you were by when we found de Soulis dead."
    "I was," said Cadfael.
    "And now you come to me. To have speech with me. So they have said. On whose behalf?"
    "On behalf of justice and truth," said Cadfael, "at least in my view. On behalf of myself, and of some for whom I am advocate. And ultimately, perhaps, my lord, even on yours."
    The eyes narrowed to sharpen vision through the fading light studied him in silence for a moment, without, apparently, finding any fault with the boldness of this address.
    "I shall have time to listen," said Philip then, the courteous level of his voice unshaken even by curiosity, "after supper. Come to me after I leave the hall. Any man of the household will show you where to find me. And if you wish, you may assist my chaplain at Compline. I respect your habit."
    "That I cannot," said Cadfael bluntly. "I am not a priest. Even the full right of this habit I cannot now claim. I am absent without leave from my abbot. I have broken the cord. I am apostate."
    "For cause!" said Philip, and stared upon him steadily for a long moment, his interest both caught and contained within measure. Then he said abruptly: "Nevertheless, come!" and turned and walked away into his hall.
    Chapter Eight
    In Philip Fitzrobert's hall the service was Spartan, and the company exclusively male. He presided at the high table among his knights, and the young men of his following used him with confident candour, not in awe, but to all appearances in willing duty. He ate sparingly and drank little, talked freely with his equals and courteously with his servants. And Cadfael, from his place beside the chaplain at a lower table, watched him and wondered what went on behind the lofty forehead and the deep brown eyes like slow-burning fires, and all that was mysterious in him, if not ominous.
    He rose from the table early, leaving the men of his garrison to continue at their leisure, and after his going there was an easing of manners and further circling of ale and wine, and some who could make music fetched their instruments to enliven the evening. Small doubt there was a strong guard set, and all gates closed and barred. Musard, so the chaplain had reported, had foolishly gone forth hunting, and ridden straight into Philip's ambush, and been forced to surrender his castle in order to regain his freedom, and possibly also to keep himself man alive; though threats against life in order to gain possession of a fortress were more likely to remain threats than to be put into action, and often met with obstinate defiance even with necks noosed and hangmen ready, in the assurance that they dared not be carried out. Family loyalties and complex intermarriages had baulked a great many such attempts. But Musard, not having a powerful relative on Stephen's side, of greater importance to the king than Philip himself, had been less confident of his safety, and given in. That was hardly likely ever to happen to Philip. He showed no fear of any man, but neither would he leave gates unbarred, or fail to set good sentries on the walls.
    "I am bidden to your lord's presence," said Cadfael, "after he withdraws from the hall. Will you point me the way? I think he is not a man to be kept waiting when he has named the time."
    The chaplain was old and experienced, beyond surprise. In any case nothing that their castellan did, nothing he denied, nothing he granted, no princeling he rejected, no humble