Hermit of Eyton Forest (17 page)

“No,”
said Hyacinth firmly, “I won’t run. I’ll hide for as long as I must, but I
won’t run any further. It’s what I meant to do, when I set off this way, but
I’ve changed my mind.”

“Why?”
demanded Cadfael simply.

“For
two good reasons. One, because Richard’s lost, and Richard saved my skin for me
by bringing warning, and I’m his debtor until I know he’s safe, and back where
he should be. And two, because I want my freedom here in England, here in
Shrewsbury, and I mean to get work in the town when I can with safety, and earn
my living, and take a wife.” He looked up with a bright, challenging flash of
his amber eyes at Eilmund, and smiled. “If Annet will have me!”

“You’d
best ask my leave about that,” said Eilmund, but with such good humour that it
was plain the idea was not entirely new to him, nor necessarily unwelcome.

“So
I will, when the time comes, but I would not offer you or her what I am and
have now. So let that wait, but don’t forget it,” warned the faun, gleaming.
“But Richard I must find, I will find! That’s first!”

“What
can you do,” said Eilmund practically, “more than Hugh Beringar and all his men
are doing? And you a hunted man yourself, with the hounds close on your tail!
You stay quiet like a sensible lad, and hide your head until Bosiet’s hunt for
you starts costing him more even than his hatred’s worth. As it will, in the
end. He has manors at home now to think about.” But whether Hyacinth was, by
ordinary standards, a sensible lad was a matter for conjecture. He sat very
still, in that taut, suggestive way he had, that promised imminent action, the
soft glow of Annet’s fire glowing in the subtle planes of his cheeks and brow,
turning his bronze to gold. And Annet, beside him on the cushioned bench by the
wall, had something of the same quality. Her face was still, but her eyes were
sapphire bright. She let them talk about her in her presence, and felt no need
to add a word on her own account, nor did she so much as touch Hyacinth’s
slender shoulder to confirm her secure tenure. Whoever had doubts about Annet’s
claims on the future, Annet had none.

“Richard
left you as soon as he’d delivered his warning?” asked Cadfael.

“He
did. Hyacinth wanted to go with him to the edge of the wood,” said Annet, “but
he wouldn’t have it. He wouldn’t stir unless Hyacinth went into hiding at once,
so we promised. And he set off back along the track. And we came back here to
Father, as he’s told you, and saw no one else along the way. Richard would not
have gone anywhere near Eaton, or I’d have thought his grandmother might have
taken him. But he was bent on getting back to his bed.”

“It
was what we all thought,” owned Cadfael, “not least Hugh Beringar. But he was
there early and turned the place wrong side out, and the boy is not there. I
think John of Longwood and half the household beside would have told if he’d
been seen there. Dame Dionisia is a formidable lady, but Richard is the lord of
Eaton, it’s his bidding they’ll have to do in the future, not hers. If they dared
not speak out before her face, they’d have done it softly behind her back. No,
he is not there.”

It
was long past time for Vespers. Even if he started back now he would be too
late for Compline, but still he sat stubbornly going over this whole new situation
in his mind, looking for the best way forward, where there seemed to be nothing
to be done but wait, and continue to evade the hunt. He was grateful that
Hyacinth was no murderer, that at least was a gain. But how to keep him out of
the hands of Bosiet was another matter.

“For
God’s sake, boy,” he said, sighing, “what was it you did to your overlord,
there in Northamptonshire, to get yourself so bitterly hated? Did you indeed
assault his steward?”

“I
did,” acknowledged Hyacinth with satisfaction, and a red reminiscent spark
kindled in his eyes. “It was after the last of the harvest, and there was a
girl gleaning in the poor leavings in one of the demesne fields. There never
was a girl safe from him if he came on her alone. It was only by chance I was near.
He had a staff, and dropped her to swing at my head with it when I came at him.
I got a few bruises, but I laid him flat against the stones under the headland,
clean out of his wits. So there was nothing I could do but run for it. I’d
nothing to leave, no land. Drogo distrained on my father two years before, when
he was in his last illness and I had all to do, our fields and Bosiet’s harvest
labour, and we ended in debt. He’d been after us a long while, he said I was
for ever rousing his villeins against him… Well, if I was it was for their
rights. There are laws to defend life and limb even for villeins, but they
meant precious little in Bosiet’s manors. He’d have had me half-killed for
attacking the steward. He’d have had me hanged if I hadn’t been profitable to
him. It was the chance he’d been waiting for.”

“How
were you profitable to him?” asked Cadfael.

“I
had a turn for fine leather-work belts, harness, pouches, and the like. When
he’d made me landless he offered to leave me the toft if I’d bind myself to
turn over all my work to him for my keep. I’d no choice, I was still his
villein. But I began to do finer tooling and gilding. He wanted to get some
favour out of the earl once, and he had me make a book cover to give him as a
present. And then the prior of the Augustinian canons at Huntingdon saw it, and
ordered a special binding for their great codex, and the sub-prior of Cluny at
Northampton wanted his best missal rebound, and so it grew. And they paid well,
but I got nothing out of it. Drogo’s done well out of me. That’s the other
reason he wanted me back alive. And so will his son Aymer want me.”

“If
you have a trade the like of that at your finger-ends,” said Eilmund
approvingly, “you can make your way anywhere, once you’re free of these Bosiets.
Our abbot might very well put some work your way, and some town merchant would
be glad to have you in his employ.”

“Where
and how did you meet with Cuthred?” asked Cadfael, curiously.

“That
was at the Cluniac priory in Northampton. I lay up for the night there, but I
dared not go into the enclave, there were one or two there who knew me. I got
food by sitting with the beggars at the gate, and when I was making off before
dawn, Cuthred was for starting too, having spent the night in the guest hall.” An
abrupt dark smile plucked at the corners of Hyacinth’s eloquent lips. He kept
his startling eyes veiled under their high-arched golden lids. “He proposed we
should travel together. Out of charity, surely. Or so that I should not have to
thieve for my food, and sink into a worse condition even than before.” As
abruptly he looked up, unveiling the full brilliance of wide eyes fixed full
and solemnly on Eilmund’s face. The smile had vanished. “It’s time you knew the
worst of me, I want no lies among this company. I came this way owing the world
nothing, and ripe for any mischief, and a rogue and a vagabond I could be, and
a thief I have been at need. Before you shelter me another hour, you should
know what cause you have to think better of it. Annet,” he said, his voice soft
and assuaged on her name, “already knows what you must know too. You have that
right. I told her the truth the night Brother Cadfael was here to set your
bone.”

Cadfael
remembered the motionless figure sitting patiently outside the cottage, the
urgent whisper: “I must speak to you!” And Annet coming out into the dark, and
closing the door after her.

“It
was I,” said Hyacinth with steely deliberation, “who dammed the brook with
bushes so that your seedlings were flooded. It was I who undercut the bank and
bridged the ditch so that the deer got into the coppice. It was I who shifted a
pale of the Eaton fence to let out the sheep to the ash saplings. I had my
orders from Dame Dionisia to be a thorn in the flesh to the abbey until they
gave her her grandson back. That was why she set up Cuthred in his hermitage,
to put me there as his servant. And I knew nothing then of any of you, and
cared less, and I was not going to quarrel with what provided me a comfortable
living and a safe refuge until I could do better. It’s my doing, more’s the
pity, that the worse thing happened, and the tree came down on you and pinned
you in the brook, my doing that you’re lamed and housebound here though that
slip came of itself, I didn’t touch it again. So now you know,” said Hyacinth,
“and if you see fit to take the skin off my back for it, I won’t lift a hand to
prevent, and if you throw me out afterwards, I’ll go.” He reached up a hand to
Annet’s hand and added flatly: “But not far!”

There
was a long pause while two of them sat staring at him, intently and silently,
and Annet watched them no less warily, all of them withholding judgement. No
one had exclaimed against him, no one had interrupted this half-defiant
confession. Hyacinth’s truth was used like a dagger, and his humility came very
close to arrogance. If he was ashamed, it did not show in his face. Yet it
could not have been easy to strip himself thus of the consideration and
kindness father and daughter had shown him. If he had not spoken, clearly Annet
would have said no word. And he had not pleaded, nor attempted any extenuation.
He was ready to take what was due without complaint. Doubtful if anyone,
however eloquent or terrible a confessor, would ever get this elusive creature
nearer to penitence than this.

Eilmund
stirred, settling his broad shoulders more easily against the wall, and blew
out a great, gusty breath. “Well, if you brought the tree down on me, you also
hoisted it off me. And if you think I’d give up a runaway villein to slavery
again because he’d played a few foul tricks on me, you’re not well acquainted
with my simple sort. I fancy the fright I gave you that day was all the
thrashing you needed. And since then you’ve done me no more injury, for from
all I hear there’s been quiet in the woods from that day. I doubt if the lady’s
satisfied with her bargain. You show sense, and stay where you are.”

“I
told him,” said Annet, confidently smiling, “you would not pay back injury for
injury. I never said a word, I knew he would out with it himself. And Brother
Cadfael knows now Hyacinth’s no murderer, and has owned to the worst he knows
about himself. There’s not one of us here will betray him.”

No,
not one! But Cadfael sat somewhat anxiously pondering what could best be done
now. Betrayal was impossible, certainly, but the hunt would go on, and might
well drag all these woods over again, and in the meantime Hugh, in his natural
concentration on this most likely quarry, might be losing all likelihood of
finding the real murderer. Even Drogo Bosiet was entitled to justice, however
he infringed the rights of others. Withholding from Hugh the certainty and
proof of Hyacinth’s innocence might be delaying the reassessment that would set
in motion the pursuit of the guilty.

“Will
you trust me, and let me tell Hugh Beringar what you have told me? Give me
leave,” urged Cadfael hastily, seeing their faces stiffen in consternation, “to
deal with him privately—”

“No!”
Annet laid her hand possessively on Hyacinth’s shoulder, burning up like a
stirred fire. “No, you can’t give him up! We have trusted you, you can’t fail
us.”

“No,
no, no, not that! I know Hugh well, he would not willingly give up a villein to
mistreatment, he is for justice even before law. Let me tell him only that
Hyacinth is innocent, and show him the proof. I need say nothing as to how I
know or where he is, Hugh will take my word. Then he can hold off this search
and leave you alone until it’s safe for you to come forth and speak openly.”

“No!”
cried Hyacinth, on his feet in one wild, smooth movement, his eyes two yellow
flames of alarm and rejection. “Not a word to him, never a word! If we’d
thought you’d go to him we’d never have let you in to us. He’s the sheriff, he
must take Bosiet’s part—he has manors, he has villeins of his own, do you think
he’d ever side with me against my legal lord? I should be dragged back at
Aymer’s heels, and buried alive in his prison.”

Cadfael
turned to Eilmund for help. “I swear to you I can lift this suspicion from the
lad by speaking with Hugh. He’ll take my word and hold off from the
hunt—withdraw his men, or send them elsewhere. He has still Richard to find.
Eilmund, you know Hugh Beringar better than to doubt his fairness.”

But
no, Eilmund did not know him, not as Cadfael knew him. The forester was shaking
his head doubtfully. A sheriff is a sheriff, pledged to law, and law is rigid
and weighted, all in all, against the peasant and the serf and the landless
man. “He’s a decent, fair-minded man, sure enough,” said Eilmund, “but I dare
not stake this boy’s life on any king’s officer. No, leave us keep as we are,
Cadfael. Say nothing to any man, not until Bosiet’s come and gone.”

They
were all linked against him. He did his best, arguing quietly what ease it
would be to know that the hunt would not be pressed home against Hyacinth, that
his innocence, once communicated privily to Hugh, would set free the forces of
law to look elsewhere for Drogo’s murderer, and also allow them to press their
search for Richard more thoroughly, and with more resources, through these
forests where the child had vanished. But they had their arguments, too, and
there was matter in them.

“If
you told the sheriff, even secretly,” urged Annet, “and if he did believe you,
he would still have Bosiet to deal with. His father’s man will tell him it’s as
good as certain his runaway is somewhere here in hiding, murderer or no. He’ll
go the length of using hounds, if the sheriff draws his men off. No, say
nothing to anyone, not yet. Wait until they give up and go home. Then we’ll
come forth. Promise! Promise us silence until then!” There was nothing to be
done about it. He promised. They had trusted him, and against their absolute
prohibition he could not hold out. He sighed and promised.