Monk's Hood (17 page)

There
was no help for it. Vows of obedience, voluntarily taken, cannot be discarded
whenever they become inconvenient. Cadfael inclined his head—bowed would have
been the wrong word, it was more like a small, solid and formidable bull
lowering its armed brow for combat!—and said grimly: “I shall observe the order
laid upon me, as in duty bound.”

“But
you, young man,” he was saying to Brother Mark in the garden workshop, a
quarter of an hour later, with the door shut fast to contain the fumes of
frustration and revolt, rather Mark’s than his own, “you have no such order to
observe.”

“That,”
said Brother Mark, taking heart, “is what I was thinking. But I was afraid you
were not.”

“I
would not involve you in my sins, God knows,” sighed Cadfael, “if this was not
urgent. And perhaps I should not… Perhaps he must be left to fend for himself,
but with so much against him…”

“He!”
said Brother Mark thoughtfully, swinging his thin ankles from the bench. “The
he whose something, that was not a vial, we did not find? From all I gather,
he’s barely out of childhood. The Gospels are insistent we should take care of
the children.”

Cadfael
cast him a mild, measuring and affectionate look. This child was some four
years older than the other, and his childhood, since his mother’s death when he
was three years old, no one had cared for, beyond throwing food and grudged
shelter his way. The other had been loved, indulged and admired all his life,
until these past months of conflict, and the present altogether more desperate
danger.

“He
is a spirited and able child, Mark, but he relies on me. I took charge of him
and gave him orders. Had he been left on his own, I think he would have
managed.”

“Tell
me only where I must go, and what I must do,” said Mark, quite restored to
cheerfulness, “and I will do it.”

Cadfael
told him. “But not until after High Mass. You must not be absent, or any way
put your own repute in peril. And should there be trouble, you’ll hold aloof
and safe—you hear?”

“I
hear,” said Brother Mark, and smiled.

By
ten o’clock of that morning, when High Mass began, Edwin was heartily sick of
obedience and virtue. He had never been so inactive for so long since he had
first climbed mutinously out of his cradle and crawled into the yard, to be
retrieved from among the wagon wheels by a furious Richildis. Still, he owed it
to Brother Cadfael to wait in patience, as he had promised, and only in the
darkest middle of the night had he ventured out to stretch his legs and explore
the alleys and lanes about the horse-fair, and the silent and empty stretch of
the Foregate, the great street that set out purposefully for London. He had
taken care to be back in his loft well before the east began to lighten, and
here he was, seated on an abandoned barrel, kicking his heels and eating one of
Cadfael’s apples, and wishing something would happen. From the slit air-vents
enough light entered the loft to make a close, dim, straw-tinted day.

If
wishes are prayers, Edwin’s was answered with almost crude alacrity. He was
used to hearing horses passing in the Foregate, and the occasional voices of
people on foot, so he thought nothing of the leisurely hoof-beats and
monosyllabic voices that approached from the town. But suddenly the great
double doors below were hurled open, their solid weight crashing back to the
wall, and the hoof-beats, by the sound of them of horses being walked on
leading reins, clashed inward from the cobbles of the apron and thudded dully
on the beaten earth floor within.

Edwin
sat up, braced and still, listening with pricked ears.
One
horse… two… more of them, lighter in weight and step, small, neat hooves—mules,
perhaps? And at least two grooms with them, probably three or four. He froze,
afraid to stir, wary of even the crunching of his apple. Now if they were only
meaning to stall these beasts during the day, all might yet be well, and all he
had to do was keep quiet and sit out the time in hiding.

There
was a heavy trapdoor in the cleared space of flooring, so that at need grooms
could gain access to the loft without having to go outside, or carry the other
key with them. Edwin slid from his barrel and went to stretch himself
cautiously on the floor, and apply an ear to the crack.

A
young voice chirruped soothingly to a restive horse, and Edwin heard a hand
patting neck and shoulder. “Easy there, now, my beauty! A very fine fellow you
are, too. The old man knew his horse-flesh, I’ll say that for him. He’s spoiled
for want of work. It’s shame to see him wasted.”

“Get
him into a stall,” ordered a gruff voice shortly, “and come and lend a hand
with these mules.”

There
was a steady to-ing and fro-ing about settling the beasts. Edwin got up
quietly, and put on his Benedictine habit over his own clothes, for if by
ill-luck he was seen around this building, it would be the best cover he could
have. Though it seemed that everything would probably pass off safely. He went
back to his listening station just in time to hear a third voice say: “Fill up
the hay-racks. If there’s not fodder enough down here, there’s plenty above.”

They
were going to invade his refuge, after all! There was already a foot grating on
the rungs of the ladder below. Edwin scrambled up in haste, no longer troubling
to be silent, and rolled his heavy barrel on its rim to settle solidly over the
trapdoor, for the bolts must be on the underside. The sound of someone
wrestling them back from stiff sockets covered the noise of the barrel landing,
and Edwin perched on top of his barricade, and wished himself three times as
heavy. But it is very difficult to thrust a weight upwards over one’s head, and
it seemed that even his slight bulk was enough. The trap heaved a little under
him, but nothing worse.

“It’s
fast,” called a vexed voice from below. “Some fool’s bolted it on top.”

“There
are no bolts on top. Use your brawn, man, you’re no such weed as all that.”

“Then
they’ve dumped something heavy over the trap. I tell you it won’t budge.” And
he rattled it again irritably to demonstrate.

“Oh,
come down, and let a man try his arm,” said he of the gruff voice disgustedly.
There was an alarming scrambling of heavier feet on the rungs, and the ladder
creaked. Edwin held his breath and willed himself to grow heavier by virtue of
every braced muscle. The trap shook, but lifted not an inch, and the struggling
groom below panted and swore.

“What
did I tell you, Will?” crowed his fellow, with satisfaction.

“We’ll
have to go round to the other door. Lucky I brought both keys. Wat, come and
help me shift whatever’s blocking the trap, and fork some hay down.”

Had
he but known it, he needed no key, for the door was unlocked. The voice receded
rapidly down the ladder, and footsteps stamped out at the stable-door. Two of
them gone from below, but only a matter of moments before he would be discovered;
not even time to burrow deep into the hay, even if that had been a safe
stratagem when they came with forks. If they were only three in all, why not
attempt the one instead of the two? Edwin as hastily rolled his barrel back to
jam it against the door, and then flung himself upon the trap, hoisting
mightily. It rose so readily that he was almost spilled backwards, but he
recovered, and lowered himself hastily through. No time to waste in closing the
trap again, all his attention was centered on the perils below.

They
were four, not three! Two of them were still here among the horses, and though
one of them had his back squarely turned, and was forking hay into a manger at
the far end of the long stable, the other, a lean, wiry fellow with shaggy grey
hair, was only a few feet from the foot of the ladder, and just striding out
from one of the stalls.

It
was too late to think of any change of plan, and Edwin
never
hesitated. He scrambled clear of the trap, and launched himself in a flying
leap upon the groom. The man had just caught the sudden movement and raised his
head sharply to stare at its source, when Edwin descended upon him in a cloud
of overlarge black skirts, and brought him to the ground, momentarily winded.
Whatever advantage the habit might have been to the boy was certainly lost
after that assault. The other youth, turning at his companion’s startled yell,
was baffled only briefly at the sight of what appeared to be a Benedictine
brother, bounding up from the floor with gown gathered in one hand, and the
other reaching for the pikel his victim had dropped. No monk the groom had ever
yet seen behaved in this fashion. He took heart and began an indignant rush
which halted just as abruptly when the pikel was flourished capably in the
direction of his middle. But by then the felled man was also clambering to his
feet, and between the fugitive and the wide open doorway.

There
was only one way to go, and Edwin went that way, pikel in hand, backing into
the stall nearest him. Only then did he take note, with what attention he had
to spare from his adversaries, of the horse beside him, the one which had been
so restive, according to the young groom, spoiling for want of work and
shamefully wasted. A tall, high-spirited chestnut beast with a paler mane and
tail, and a white blaze, stamping in excitement of the confusion, but reaching
a nuzzling lip to Edwin’s hair, and whinnying in his ear. He had turned from
his manger to face the fray, and the way was open before him. Edwin cast an arm
over his neck with a shout of recognition and joy.

“Rufus…
oh, Rufus!”

He
dropped his pikel, knotted a fist in the flowing mane, and leaped and scrambled
astride the lofty back. What did it matter that he had neither saddle nor
bridle, when he had ridden this mount bareback more times than he could
remember, in the days before he fell utterly out of favour with the owner? He
dug in his heels and pressed with his knees, and urged an all too willing
accomplice into headlong flight.

If
the grooms had been ready to tackle Edwin, once they
realised
his vocation was counterfeit, they were less eager to stand in the way of
Rufus. He shot out of his stall like a crossbow bolt, and they leaped apart
before him in such haste that the older one fell backwards over a truss of hay,
and measured his length on the floor a second time. Edwin lay low on the
rippling shoulders, his fists in the light mane, whispering incoherent
gratitude and encouragement into the laidback ears. They clattered out on to
the triangle of the horse-fair, and by instinct Edwin used knee and heel to
turn the horse away from the town and out along the Foregate.

The
two who had mounted by the rear staircase, and had difficulty in getting the
door open, not to mention finding it inexplicably unlocked in the first place,
heard the stampede and rushed to stare out along the road.

“God
save us!” gasped Wat, round-eyed. “It’s one of the brothers! What can he be at
in such a hurry?”

At
that moment the light wind filled Edwin’s cowl and blew it back on to his
shoulders, uncovering the bright tangle of hair and the boyish face. Will let
out a wild yell, and began to scurry down the stairs. “You see that? That’s no
tonsure, and no brother, either! That’s the lad the sheriff’s hunting. Who else
would be hiding in our barn?”

But
Edwin was already away, nor was there a horse left in the stable of equal
quality, to pursue him. The young groom had spoken the truth, Rufus was baulked
and frustrated for want of exercise, and now, let loose, he was ready to gallop
to his heart’s content. There was now only one obstacle to freedom. Too late
Edwin remembered Cadfael’s warning not, in any circumstances, to take the
London road, for there was certainly a patrol out at St. Giles, where the town
suburbs ended, to check on all passing traffic in search of him. He recalled it
only when he saw in the distance before him a party of four riders spread well
across the road and approaching at a relaxed amble. The guard had just been
relieved, and here was the off-duty party making its way back to the castle.

He
could not possibly burst a way through that serried line, and the black gown
would not deceive them for a moment,
on a rider proceeding at
this desperate speed. Edwin did the only thing possible. With pleading voice
and urgent knees he checked and wheeled his displeased mount, and set off back
the way he had come, at the same headlong gallop. And well behind him he heard
a gleeful shout that told him he was now pursued by a posse of determined
men-at-arms, fully persuaded they were on the heels of a miscreant, even if
they were not yet certain of his identity.

Brother
Mark, hurrying along the horse-fair after High Mass, primed with his part to
enter the loft unobserved, so that no one should be able afterwards to swear
that only one went in where two came out, arrived close to the barn just in
time to hear the commotion of a hue and cry, and see Edwin on his elated
war-horse come hurtling back along the Foregate, cowl and skirts streaming,
head stooped low to the flying mane. He had never before set eyes on Edwin
Gurney, but there was no doubt as to who this careering desperado must be; nor,
alas, any doubt that Mark’s own errand came much too late. The quarry was
flushed from cover, though not yet taken. But there was nothing, nothing at
all, Brother Mark could do to help him.

The
head groom Will, a stout-hearted man, had hastily hauled out the best of the
remaining horses in his care, and prepared to pursue the fugitive, but he had
no more than heaved himself into the saddle when he beheld the chestnut
thundering back again in the opposite direction. He spurred forward to try and
intercept it, though the prospect was daunting; but his mount’s courage failed
of matching his, and it baulked and swerved aside before Rufus’s stretched
neck, laidback ears and rolling eye. One of the undergrooms hurled a pikel
towards the pounding hooves, but if truth be told rather half-heartedly, and
Rufus merely made a startled sidewise bound, without checking speed, and was
past and away towards the town.