The Devils Novice (12 page)

She
drew up her knees and wrapped her slender arms around them, and told him. “I am
the lady of a manor, left young, and left to my father’s neighbour as his ward,
my Uncle Leoric, though he is not my uncle. He is a good man.

I
know my manor is as well-run as any in England, and my uncle takes nothing out
of it. You must understand, this is a man of the old kind, stark upright. It is
not easy to live with him, if you are his and a boy, but I am a girl, and he
has been always indulgent and good to me. Madam Avota, who died two years
back—well, she was his wife first, and only afterwards Meriet’s mother. You saw
Nigel—what more could any man wish for his heir? They never even needed or
wished for Meriet. They did all their duty by him when he came, but they could
not even see past Nigel to notice the second one. And he was so different.”

She
paused to consider the two, and probably had her finger on the very point where
they went different ways.

“Do
you think,” she asked doubtfully, “that small children know when they are only
second-best? I think Meriet knew it early. He was different even to look at,
but that was the least part. I think he always went the opposing way, whatever
they wished upon him. If his father said white, Meriet said black; wherever
they tried to turn him, he dug in his heels hard and wouldn’t budge. He
couldn’t help learning, because he was sharp and curious, so he grew lettered,
but when he knew they wanted him a clerk, he went after all manner of low
company, and flouted his father every way. He’s always been jealous of Nigel,”
said the girl, musing against her raised knees, “but always worshipped him. He
flouts his father purposely, because he knows he’s loved less, and that grieves
him bitterly, and yet he can’t hate Nigel for being loved more. How can he,
when
he
loves him so much?”

“And
Nigel repays his affection?” asked Cadfael, recollecting the elder brother’s
troubled face.

“Oh,
yes, Nigel’s fond of him, too. He always defended him. He’s stood between him
and punishment many a time. And he always would keep him with him, whatever
they were about, when they all played together.”

They?”
said Cadfael. “Not “we”?”

Isouda
spat out her chewed stem of late grass, and turned a surprised and smiling
face. I’m the youngest, three years behind even Meriet, I was the infant
struggling along behind. For a little while, at any rate. There was not much I
did not see. You know the rest of us? Those two boys, with six years between
them, and the two Lindes, midway between. And me, come rather late and too
young. You’ve seen Roswitha. I don’t know if you’ve seen Janyn?”

“I
have,” said Cadfael, “on my way here. He directed me.”

“They
are twins. Had you guessed that? Though I think he got all the wits that were
meant for both. She is only clever one way,” said Isouda judicially, “in
binding men to her and keeping them bound. She was waiting for you to turn and
look after her, and she would have rewarded you with one quick glance. And now
you think I am only a silly girl, jealous of one prettier,” she said
disconcertingly, and laughed at seeing him bridle. “I would like to be
beautiful, why not? But I don’t envy Roswitha. And after our cross-grained
fashion we have all been very close here. Very close! All those years must
count for something.”

“It
seems to me,” said Cadfael, “that you of all people best know this young man.
So tell me, if you can, why did he ever take a fancy for the cloistered life? I
know as well as any, now, how he clings to that intent, but for my life I do
not see why. Are you any wiser?”

She
was not. She shook her head vehemently. “It goes counter to all I know of him.”

“Tell
me, then, everything you recall about the time when this resolve was made. And begin,”
said Cadfael, “with the visit to Aspley of the bishop’s envoy, this Peter
Clemence. You’ll know by now—who does not!—that the man never got to his next
night’s lodging, and has not been seen since.”

She
turned her head sharply to stare. “And his horse is found, so they’re saying
now. Found near the Cheshire border. You don’t think Meriet’s whim has anything
to do with that? How could it? And yet. ..” She had a quick and resolute mind,
she was already making disquieting connections. “It was the eighth night of
September that he slept at Aspley. There was nothing strange, nothing to
remark. He came alone, very early in the evening. Uncle Leoric came out to
greet him, and I took his cloak indoors and had the maids make ready a bed for
him, and Meriet cared for his horse. He always makes easy friends with horses.
We made good cheer for the guest. They were keeping it up in hall with music
after I went to my bed. And the next morning he broke his fast, and Uncle
Leoric and Fremund and two grooms rode with him the first part of his way.”

“What
like was he, this clerk?”

She
smiled, between indulgence and mild scorn. “Very fine, and knew it. Only a
little older than Nigel, I should guess, but so travelled and sure of himself.
Very handsome and courtly and witty, not like a clerk at all. Too courtly for
Nigel’s liking! You’ve seen Roswitha, and what she is like. This young man was
just as certain all women must be drawn to him. They were two who matched like
hand and glove, and Nigel was not best pleased. But he held his tongue and
minded his manners, at least while I was there. Meriet did not like their
by-play, either, he took himself off early to the stable, he liked the horse
better than the man.”

“Did
Roswitha bide overnight, too?”

“Oh,
no, Nigel walked home with her when it was growing dark. I saw them go.”

“Then
her brother was not with her that night?”

“Janyn?
No, Janyn has no interest in the company of lovers. He laughs at them. No, he
stayed at home.”

“And
the next day… Nigel did not ride with the guest departing? Nor Meriet? What
were they about that morning?”

She
frowned over that, thinking back. “I think Nigel must have gone quite early
back to the Lindes. He is jealous of her, though he sees no wrong in
her.
I believe he was away most of the day, I don’t think he even came home to
supper. And Meriet—I know he was with us when Master Clemence left, but after
that I didn’t see him until late in the afternoon. Uncle Leoric had been out
with hounds after dinner, with Fremund and the chaplain and his kennelman. I
remember Meriet came back with them, though he didn’t ride out with them. He
had his bow—he often went off solitary, especially when he was out of sorts
with all of us. They went in, all. I don’t know why, it was a very quiet
evening, I supposed because the guest was gone, and there was no call for
ceremony. I don’t believe Meriet came to supper in hall that day. I didn’t see
him again all the evening.”

“And
after? When was it that you first heard of his wish to enter with us at
Shrewsbury?”

“It
was Fremund who told me, the night following. I hadn’t seen Meriet all that day
to speak for himself. But I did the next day. He was about the manor as usual
then, he did not look different, not in any particular. He came and helped me
with the geese in the back field,” said Isouda, hugging her knees, “and I told
him what I had heard, and that I thought he was out of his wits, and asked him
why he should covet such a fruitless life…” She reached a hand to touch
Cadfael’s arm, and a smile to assure herself of his understanding, quite
unperturbed. “You are different, you’ve had one life already, a new one halfway
is a fresh blessing for you, but what has he had? But he stared me in the eye,
straight as a lance, and said he knew what he was doing, and it was what he
wanted to do. And lately he had outgrown me and gone away from me, and there
was no possible reason he should pretend with me, or scruple to tell me what I
asked. And I have none to doubt what he did tell me. He wanted this. He wants
it still. But why? That he never told me.”

“That,”
said Brother Cadfael ruefully, “he has not told anyone, nor will not if he can
evade it. What is to be done, lady, with this young man who wills to destroy
himself, shut like a wild bird in a cage?”

“Well,
he’s not lost yet,” said Isouda resolutely. “And I shall see him again when we
come for Nigel’s marriage in December, and after that Roswitha will be out of
his reach utterly, for Nigel is taking her north to the manor near Newark,
which Uncle Leoric is giving to them to manage. Nigel was up there in
midsummer, viewing his lordship and making ready, Janyn kept him company on the
visit. Every mile of distance will help. I shall look for you, Brother Cadfael,
when we come. I’m not afraid, now I’ve talked to you. Meriet is mine, and in
the end I shall have him. It may not be me he dreams of now, but his dreams now
are devilish, I would not be in those. I want him well awake. If you love him,
you keep him from the tonsure, and I will do the rest!”

If
I love him—and if I love you, faun, thought Cadfael, riding very thoughtfully
homeward after leaving her. For you may very well be the woman for him. And
what you have told me I must sort over with care, for Meriet’s sake, and for
yours.

He
took a little bread and cheese on his return, and a measure of beer, having
forsworn a midday meal with a household where he felt no kinship; and that
done, he sought audience with Abbot Radulfus in the busy quiet of the
afternoon, when the great court was empty, and most of the household occupied
in cloister or gardens or fields.

The
abbot had expected him, and listened with acute attention to everything he had
to recount.

“So
we are committed to caring for this young man, who may be misguided in his
choice, but still persists in it. There is no course open to us but to keep
him, and give him every chance to win his way in among us. But we have also his
fellows to care for, and they are in real fear of him, and of the disorders of
his sleep. We have yet the nine remaining days of his imprisonment, which he
seems to welcome. But after that, how can we best dispose of him, to allow him
access to grace, and relieve the dortoir of its trouble?”

“I
have been thinking of that same question,” said Cadfael. “His removal from the
dortoir may be as great a benefit to him as to those remaining, for he is a
solitary soul, and if ever he takes the way of withdrawal wholly I think he
will be hermit rather than monk. It would not surprise me to find that he has
gained by being shut in a penal cell, having that small space and great silence
to himself, and able to fill it with his own meditations and prayers, as he
could not do in a greater place shared by many others. We have not all the same
image of brotherhood.”

“True!
But we are a house of brothers sharing in common, and not so many desert
fathers scattered in isolation,” said the abbot drily. “Nor can the young man
be left for ever in a punishment cell, unless he plans to attempt the
strangling of my confessors and obedientiaries one by one to ensure it. What
have you to suggest?”

“Send
him to serve under Brother Mark at Saint Giles,” said Cadfael. “He’ll be no
more private there, but he will be in the company and the service of creatures
manifestly far less happy than himself, lepers and beggars, the sick and
maimed. It may be salutary. In them he can forget his own troubles. There are
advantages beyond that. Such a period of absence will hold back his
instruction, and his advance towards taking vows, but that can only be good,
since clearly he is in no fit mind to take them yet. Also, though Brother Mark
is the humblest and simplest of us all, he has the gift of many such innocent
saints, of making his way into the heart. In time Brother Meriet may open to
him, and be helped from his trouble. At least it would give us all a
breathing-space.”

Keep
him from the tonsure, said Isouda’s voice in his mind, and I will do the rest.

“So
it would,” agreed Radulfus reflectively. “The boys will have time to forget
their alarms, and as you say, ministering to men worse blessed than himself may
be the best medicine for him. I will speak with Brother Paul, and when Brother
Meriet has served out his penance he shall be sent there.”

And
if some among us take it that banishment to work in the lazar-house is a
further penance, thought Cadfael, going away reasonably content, let them take
satisfaction from it. For Brother Jerome was not the man to forget an injury,
and any sop to his revenge might lessen his animosity towards the offender. A
term of service in the hospice at the far edge of the town might also serve
more turns than Meriet’s, for Brother Mark, who tended the sick there, had been
Cadfael’s most valued assistant until a year or so ago, and he had recently
suffered the loss of his favourite and much-indulged waif, the little boy Bran,
taken into the household of Joscelin and Iveta Lucy on their marriage, and
would be somewhat lost without a lame duck to cosset and care for. It wanted
only a word in Mark’s ear concerning the tormented record of the devil’s novice,
and his ready sympathy would be enlisted on Meriet’s behalf. If Mark could not
reach him, no one could; but at the same time he might also do much for Mark.
Yet another advantage was that Brother Cadfael, as supplier of the many
medicines, lotions and ointments that were in demand among the sick, visited
Saint Giles every third week, and sometimes oftener, to replenish the medicine
cupboard, and could keep an eye on Meriet’s progress there.