The Confession of Brother Haluin (17 page)

“Where
did you find her?”

That
her husband did answer, scrubbing wearily at his furrowed forehead. “Past the
halfway to Elford by the short road, lying beside the path. And she’d been there
no long time, for there was snow under her. It was on her way back here that
someone struck her down.”

“You
think,” said Emma in a low voice, “she had been to Elford?”

“Where
else by that path? I’ve sent Edred on there, to find out if she came, and who
has spoken with her. In an hour or so they should be back, but whether with any
news, God alone knows.”

They
were both of them moving delicately about and about the heart of the matter,
avoiding the mention of Roscelin’s name, or any word of the reason why Edgytha
should go rushing out alone in a wintry night. True, word had gone round even
in the kennels and mews by then, and the entire household of Vivers was
gathering uneasily, the indoor servants hovering in an anxious group in the
corners of the hall, those from without prowling and peering over their
shoulders, unable to withdraw to their own proper business or their normal rest
until something should happen within here to scatter them. Few of all these, if
any, could be in their lord’s confidence in the matter of Roscelin’s outlawed
love, but many of them might have guessed at the undercurrents sweeping
Helisende into this hasty marriage. Some reserve in speech would have to be
observed in front of all this clan.

And
here, to complicate matters further, came Jean de Perronet from the chamber
above, where he had retired out of courtesy, but not to sleep, for he was still
in his supper-table finery. And here, too, was Brother Haluin from his bed,
anxious and silent. All those under the roof of Vivers that night had been
drawn gradually and almost stealthily into the hall.

No,
not quite all. Cadfael looked round the assembly, and missed one face. Where
all others forgathered, Helisende absented herself.

By
the look on his face de Perronet had been doing some serious thinking since he
bowed to his host’s wish, and let the search party go out into the night
without him. He came into the hall with a face composed and grave, revealing
nothing of what went on in his mind, took his time about looking all round the
mute and dour circle of them, and looked last and longest at Cenred, who stood
with his boots steaming in the ashes of the hearth, and his head bent to stare
blankly into the embers of the fire.

“I
think,” said de Penonet with deliberation, “this has not ended well. You have
found your maidservant?”

“We
have found her,” said Cenred.

“Misused?
Dead? Do you tell me you have found her dead?”

“And
not of cold! Stabbed to death,” said Cenred bluntly, “and left by the wayside.
And no sign of another soul have we seen or heard along the road, though this
befell no long time ago, after the snow began to fall.”

“Eighteen
years she has been with us,” said Emma, wringing her hands together wretchedly
under her breast. “Poor soul, poor soul, to end like this—struck down by some
outlaw vagabond to die in the cold. I would not for the world have had this
happen!”

“I
am sorry,” said de Perronet, “that such a thing should be, and at such a time
as this. Can there be some link between the occasion that brought me here and
this woman’s death?”

“No!”
cried husband and wife together, rather resisting the thought already in their
minds than lying to deceive the guest.

“No,”
said Cenred more softly, “I pray there is not, I trust there is not. It is of
all chances the most unhappy, yet surely no more than chance.”

“There
are such unblessed chances,” admitted de Perronet, but with evident reserve.
“And they do not spare to mar festivals, even marriages. You do not wish to put
off this one beyond tomorrow?”

“No,
why so? It is our grief, not yours. But it is murder, and I must send to the
sheriff, and loose a hunt for the murderer. She has no living kin that I know
of, it is for us to bury her. What’s needful we shall do. It need not cast a
shadow upon you.”

“I
fear it already has,” said de Perronet, “upon Helisende. The woman, I believe,
was her nurse, and dear to her.”

“The
more reason you should take her away from here, to a new home and a new life.”
He looked round for her then for the first time, startled not to find her there
among the women, but relieved that she was not there to complicate a matter
already vexed enough. If she had indeed been able to fall asleep, so much the
better, let her sleep on, and know nothing worse until morning. The
maidservants were drifting back from the room where they had been busy making
Edgytha’s body seemly. There was nothing more they could now do here, and their
uneasy presence, mute and fearful in hovering groups, became oppressive. Cenred
stirred himself with an effort to be rid of them.

“Emma,
send the women to their beds. There’s no more to be done here, and they need
not wait. And you, fellows, be off and get your sleep. All’s done that can be
done till Edred gets back from Elford, no need for the whole household to wait
up for him.” And to de Perronet he said, “I sent him on with two others of my
men to inform my overlord of this death. Murder in these parts is within his
writ, this will be his business no less than mine. Come, Jean, with your leave
we’ll withdraw to the solar, and leave the hall to the sleepers.”

Doubtless,
thought Cadfael, watching the harassed lines of Cenred’s face, he would be
happier if de Perronet chose to draw off once again from all involvement, and
stand apart, but there’s no chance of that now. And however he hedges round the
truth of why his steward has pushed on to Elford, the very name of that place
has now assumed a significance there’s no evading. And this is not a man who
likes deception, or practices it with pleasure or skill.

The
women had accepted their orders at once, and dispersed, still whispering and
fearful, to their quarters. The menservants quenched the torches, leaving only
two by the great door to light the way in, and fed and damped down the fire to
burn slowly through the night. De Perronet followed his host to the door of the
solar, and there Cenred, turning, waved Cadfael to join them within.

“Brother,
you were a witness, you can testify to how we found her. It was you showed how
the snow had begun to fall before she was struck down. Will you wait with us,
and see what word my steward brings back with him?”

There
was no word said as to whether Brother Haluin should consider this invitation
as applying equally to him, but he caught Cadfael’s eye, deprecating rather
than recommending such a move, and chose rather to ignore it. Enough had
already happened to exercise his mind, if he was to join two people whose
imminent marriage was at least suspect of bringing about a death. He needed to
know what lay behind these nocturnal wanderings, and followed the company into
the solar, his crutches heavy and slow in the rushes, and starting a dull echo
as he stepped onto the floorboards within. He took his seat on a bench in the
dimmest corner, an unobtrusive listener, as Cenred sat down wearily at the
table, and spread his elbows on the board, propping his head between muscular
hands.

“Your
men are on foot?” asked de Perronet.

“Yes.”

“Then
we may have a long wait yet before they can be here again. Had you other
parties out on other roads?”

Cenred
said starkly, “No,” and offered no further words by way of explanation or
excuse. Not a quarter of an hour ago, thought Cadfael, watching, he would have
evaded that, or left it unanswered. Now he is gone beyond caring for discretion.
Murder brings out into the open many matters no less painful, while itself
still lurking in the dark.

De
Perronet shut his lips and clenched his teeth on any further questioning, and
set himself to wait in uncommitted patience. The night had closed in on the
manor of Vivers in hushed stillness, ominous and oppressive. Doubtful if anyone
in the hall slept, but if any of them moved it was furtively, and if any spoke
it was in whispers.

Nevertheless,
the wait was not to be as long as de Perronet had prophesied. The silence was
abruptly shivered by the thudding of galloping hooves on the hard-frozen earth
of the courtyard, a furious young voice yelling peremptorily for service, the
frantic running of grooms without, and the hasty stirring of all the wakeful
retainers within. Feet ran blindly in the dark, stumbling and rustling in the
rushes, flint and steel spat sparks too brief and hasty to catch the tinder,
the first torch was plunged into the turfed-down fire, and carried in haste to
kindle others. Before the listeners in the solar could burst out into the hall
a fist was thumping at the outer door, and an angry voice demanding entry.

Two
or three ran to unbar, knowing the voice, and were sent reeling as the heavy
door was flung back to the wall, and into the brightening flurry of torchlight
burst the figure of Roscelin, head uncovered, flaxen hair on end from the speed
of his ride, blue eyes blazing. The cold of the night blew in with him, and all
the torches guttered and smoked, as Cenred, erupting out of the solar, was
halted as abruptly on the threshold of the hall by his son’s fiery glare.

“What
is this Edred tells me of you?” demanded Roscelin. “What have you done behind
my back?”

Chapter Nine

FOR ONCE
PATERNAL AUTHORITY WAS CAUGHT at a disadvantage, and Cenred was all too aware
of it. Nor had he the past reputation of a family tyrant to fall back on, but
he did his best to wrest back the lost initiative.

“What
are you doing here?” he demanded sternly. “Did I send for you? Did your lord
dismiss you? Has either of us released you from your bond?”

“No,”
said Roscelin, glittering. “I have no leave from any man, and have not asked
for any. And as for my bond, you loosed me from it when you played me false.
It’s not I who have broken faith. And as for the duty I owe to Audemar de
Clary, I’ll return to it if I must, and abide whatever his displeasure visits
on me, but not until you render me account here openly of what you intended in
the dark behind my back. I listened to you, I owned you right, I obeyed you.
Did you owe me nothing in return? Not even honesty?”

Another
father might well have felled him for such insolence, but Cenred had no such
option. Emma was plucking anxiously at his sleeve, troubled for both her
menfolk. De Perronet, alert and grim, loomed at his shoulder, eyeing the
enraged boy confronting them, and already apprised of an inevitable threat to
his own plans. What else could have brought this youngster haring through the
night? And by all the signs he had come by the shortest road, dangerous in the
dark, or he could not have arrived so soon. Nothing that had happened this
night was accident or chance. The marriage of Helisende Vivers had brought
about all this coil of murder and search and pursuit, and what more was to come
of it there was as yet no knowing.

“I
have done nothing,” said Cenred, “of which I need to be ashamed, and nothing
for which I need account to you. Well you know what your own part must be, you
have agreed to it, do not complain now. I am the master in my own house, I have
both rights and duties towards my family. I will discharge them as I see fit.
And for the best!”

“Without
the courtesy of a word to me!” flared Roscelin, burning up like a stirred fire.
“No, I must hear it only from Edred, after the damage has already begun, after
a death that can surely be laid at your own door. Was that for the best? Or
dare you tell me Edgytha is dead for some other cause, by some stranger’s hand?
That’s mischief enough, even if it’s no worse than that. But whose plans sent
her out into the night? Dare you tell me she was on some other errand? Edred
says she was on her way to Elford when someone cut her off. I am here to
prevent the rest.”

“Your
son refers, as I suppose,” said de Perronet, loudly and coldly, “to the
marriage arranged between the lady Helisende and me. In that matter, I think, I
too have a say.”

Roscelin’s
wide blue stare swung from his father’s face to the guest’s. It was the first
time he had looked at him, and the encounter held him silent for a long moment.
They were not strangers to each other, Cadfael recalled. The two families were
acquainted, perhaps even distant kin, and two years ago de Perronet had made a
formal offer for He lisende’s hand. There was no personal animosity in
Roscelin’s glare, rather a baffled and frustrated rage against circumstance
than against this favored suitor, to whom he could not and must not be a rival.

“You
are the bridegroom?” he said bluntly.

“I
am, and will maintain my claim. And what have you to urge against it?”

Animosity
or not, they had begun to bristle like fighting cocks, but Cenred laid a
restraining hand on de Perronet’s arm, and frowned his son back with a
forbidding gesture.

“Wait,
wait! This has gone too far now to be left in the dark. Do you tell me, boy,
that you heard of this marriage, as you heard of Edgytha’s death, only from
Edred?”

“How
else?” demanded Roscelin. “He came puffing in with his news and roused the household,
Audemar and all. Whether he meant me to hear when he blurted out word of this
marriage I doubt, but I did hear it, and here am I to find out for myself what
you never meant me to question. And we shall see if all is being done for the
best!”