An Excellent Mystery

Chapter Seven

REGINALD CRUCE, WHETHER HE HAD, OR INDEED COULD WELL BE EXPECTED to have any deep affection for a half-sister so many years distant from him and so seldom seen, was not the man to be tolerant of any affront or injury towards any of his house. Whatever touched a Cruce reflected upon him, and roused his hackles like those of a pointing hound. He heard the story out in stoic silence but ever-growing resentment and rage, the more formidable for being under steely control.

“And all this is certain?” he said at length. “Yes, the woman would know her business, surely. The girl never came there. I was not in this matter at all, I was not here and did not witness either the going or the return, but now we will see! At least I know the names of those who rode with her, for my father spoke of the journey on his deathbed. He sent his closest, men he trusted-who would not, with his daughter? And he doted on her. Wait!”

He bellowed from the hall door for his steward, and in from the fading daylight, cooling now towards dusk, came a grey elder dried and tanned like old leather, but very agile and sinewy. He might have been older than the lord he had lost, and was in no awe of either father or son here, but plainly master of his own duties, and aware of his worth. He spoke as an equal, and easy in the relationship.

“Arnulf, you’ll remember,” said Reginald, waving him to a seat at the table with them, as free in acknowledgement of the association as his man, “when my sister went off to her convent, the lads my father sent off with her-the Saxon brothers, Wulfric and Renfred, and John Bonde, and the other, who was he? He went off with the draft, I know, soon after I came here…”

“Adam Heriet,” said the steward readily, and drew across the board the horn his lord filled for him. “Yes, what of them?”

“I want them, Arnulf, all of them-here.”

“Now, my lord?” If he was surprised, he took surprises in his stride.

“Now, or as soon as may be. But first, all these were of my father’s close household, you knew them better than ever I did. Would you count them trustworthy?”

“Out of question,” said the steward without hesitation, in a voice as dry and tough as his hide. “Bonde is a simpleton, or little better, but a hard worker and open as the day. The Saxon pair are clever and subtle, but clever enough to know when they have a good lord, and loyal enough to be grateful for him. Why?”

“And the other, Heriet? Him I hardly knew. That was when Earl Waleran demanded my service of men in arms, and I sent him whatever offered, and this Heriet put himself forward. They told me he was restless because my sister was gone from the manor. He was a favourite of hers, so I heard, and fretted for her.”

“That could be true,” said Arnulf the steward. “Certainly he was never the same after he came back from that journey. Such girl children can worm their way into a man and get at his heart. So she may have done with him. If you’ve known them from the cradle, they work deep into your marrow.”

Reginald nodded dourly. “Well, he went. Twenty men my overlord asked of me, and twenty men he got. It was about the time he had that contention of his against the bishops, and needed reinforcements. Well, wherever he may be now, Heriet is out of our reach. But the rest are all here?”

“The Saxon pair in the stable loft this minute. Bonde should be coming in about this time from the fields.”

“Bring them,” said Reginald. And to Nicholas he said, when the steward had drained his horn and departed down the stone stair into the court as nimbly and rapidly as a youth of twenty: “Wherever I look among these four, I can see no treachery. Why should they return, if they had somehow betrayed her? And why should they do so, any man of them? Arnulf says right, they knew they had the softest of beds here, my father was of the old, paternal, household kind, easier far than I, and I am not hated.” He was well aware, to judge by the sharp smile and curl of the lip, yellow-outlined in the low lamplight, of all the tensions that still bound and burned between Saxon and Norman, and was too intelligent to strain them too far. In the countryside memories were very long, and loyalties with them, hard to displace, slow to replace.

“Your steward is Saxon,” said Nicholas drily.

“So he is! And content! Or if not content,” said Reginald, at once dour and bright in the intimate light, “at least aware of worse, worse by far. I have benefited by my father’s example, I know when to bend. But where my sister is concerned, I tell you, I feel my spine stiffen.”

So did Nicholas, as stiff as if the marrow there had petrified into stone. And he viewed the three hinds, when they came marshalled sleepily up the steps into the hall, with the same blank, opaque eyes as did their master. Two long, fair fellows surely no more than thirty years old, with all the lean grace of their northern kin and eyes that caught the light in flashes of pale, blinding blue, and a softer, squat, round-faced man, perhaps a little older, bearded and brown.

It might be true enough, thought Nicholas, watching them, that they had no hate for their lord, but rather reckoned themselves lucky by comparison with many of their kind, now for the third generation subject to Norman masters. But for all that, they went in awe of Reginald, and any such summons as this, outside the common order of their labouring day, brought them to questioning alert and wary, their faces closed, like a lid shut down over a box of thoughts that might not all be acceptable to authority. But it was different when they understood the subject of their lord’s enquiry. The shut faces opened and eased. It was clear to Nicholas that none of these three felt he had any reason for uneasiness concerning that journey, rather they recalled it with pleasure, as well they might, the one carefree pilgrimage, the one holiday of their lives, when they rode instead of going afoot, and went well-provided and in the pride of arms.

Yes, of course they remembered it. No, they had had no trouble by the way. A lady accompanied by two good bowmen and two swordsmen had had nothing to fear. The taller of the Saxon pair, it seemed, used the new long-bow, drawn to the shoulder, while John Bonde carried the short Welsh bow, drawn to the breast, of less range and penetration than the long-bow, but wonderfully fast and agile in use at shorter range. The other brother was a swordsman, and so had the fourth member been, the missing Adam Heriet. A good enough company to travel briskly and safely, at whatever speed the lady could maintain without fatigue.

“Three days on the way, my lord,” said the Saxon bowman, spokesman for all three, and encouraged with vehement nods, “and then we came into Andover, and because it was already evening, we lay there overnight, meaning to finish the journey the next morning. Adam found a lodging for the lady with a merchant’s household there, and we lay in the stables. It was but three or four miles more to go, so they told us.”

“And my sister was then in health and spirits? Nothing had gone amiss?”

“No, my lord, we had a good journey. She was glad then to be so close to what she wished. She said so, and thanked us.”

“And in the morning? You brought her on those few miles?”

“Not we, my lord, for she chose to go the rest of the way with only Adam Heriet, and we were to wait in Andover for his return, and so we did as we were ordered. And when he came, then we set out for home.”

To this the other two nodded firm assent, satisfied that their errand had been completed in obedience to the lady’s wishes. So it was only one, only her servant and familiar, according to repute, who had gone the rest of the way with Juliana Cruce.

“You saw them ride for Wherwell?” demanded Reginald, frowning heavily at every complexity that arose to baulk him. “She went with him freely, content?”

“Yes, my lord, fresh and early in the morning they went. A fine morning, too. She said farewell to us, and we watched them out of sight.”

No need to doubt it. Only four miles from her goal, and yet she had never reached it. And only one man could know what had become of her in that short distance.

Reginald waved them away irritably. What more could they tell him? To the best of their knowledge she had gone where she had meant to go, and all was well with her. But as the three made for the hall door, glad to be off to their beds, Nicholas said suddenly: “Wait!” And to his host: Two more questions, if I may ask them?”

“Do so, freely.”

“Was it the lady herself who told you it was her wish to go on with only Heriet, and ordered you to remain in Andover and wait for him?”

“No,” said the spokesman, after a moment’s thought, “it was Adam told us.”

“And they set out in the early morning, you said. At what hour did Heriet return?”

“Not until twilight, sir. It was getting dark when he came. Because of that we stayed the night over, to make an early start for home next day.”

“There was another question I might have added,” said Nicholas, when he was alone with his host, and the hall door stood open on the deepening dusk and quiet of the yard, “but I doubt he would have seen to his own horse, and after a night’s rest there’d be no way of judging how far it had been ridden. But see how the time testifies-three or four miles to Wherwell, and he would have had no call to linger, once he had brought her there. Yet he was the whole day away, twelve hours or more. What was he about all that time? Yet he’s said to have been her devoted slave from infancy.”

“It got him credit with my father, who also doted,” said Reginald sourly. “I knew little of him. But there he is at the heart of this, and who else is there? He alone rode with her that last day. And came back here with his fellows, letting it be seen all had gone well, and the matter was finished. But between Andover and Wherwell my sister vanishes. And a month or so later, when our overlord, Earl Waleran, from whom we hold three manors, sends asking for men, who should be first to offer himself but this same man? Why so ready to seize on a way of leaving here? For fear questions should yet be asked, some day? Something untoward come to light, and start the hunt?”

“Would he have come back at all,” wondered Nicholas, “if he had done her harm or any way betrayed her?”

“If he had wit enough, yes, and wit enough he surely had, for see how he has succeeded! If he had failed to return with the others, there would have been a hue and cry at once. They would have started it before ever they left Andover. As it is, three years are gone without a word or a shadow of doubt, and where is Heriet now?”

He had fastened on the notion now, tearing it with his teeth, savouring the inner rage he felt at any such thing being dared against his house. It was for that he would want revenge, if ever it came to the proof, not for Juliana’s own injuries. And yet Nicholas could not but tread the same way with him. Who else was there, to have wiped out the very image and memory of that girl committed to his care? Two had ridden from Andover, one had returned. The other was gone from the face of the earth, vanished into air. It was hard to go on believing that she would ever be seen again.

A servant brought in a lamp, and refilled the pitcher of ale on the table. The lady kept her chamber with her children, and left the men to confer without interruption. The night came down almost suddenly, in the brief customary breeze that came with this hour.

“She is dead!” said Reginald abruptly, and spread a large hand flat on the table.

“No, that’s not certain. And why should he do such a thing? He lost his security here, for he dared not stay, once the chance of leaving offered. What was there to gain that would outweigh that? Is a man-at-arms in Waleran of Meulan’s service better off than your trusted people here? I think not!”

“Service for half a year? If he stayed longer it was from choice, half a year was all that was demanded. And as for what he had to gain-and by God, he was the only one of the four who could have known the worth of it-my sister had three hundred silver marks in her saddlebags, besides a list of valuables meant for her convent. I cannot recite you the whole tally off hand, but they’re listed somewhere in the manor books, the clerk can lay hands on the record. I know there was a pair of silver candle-holders. And such jewels as she had from her mother she also took in gift, having no further use for them herself in this world. Enough to tempt a man-even if he had to buy in a confederate to put a better face on the deed.”

And it could be so! A woman carrying her dowry with her, with a father and household satisfied of her well-being at home, and no one to wonder at her silence… But no, that could not be right, Nicholas caught himself up hopefully, not if she had already sent word of her coming ahead to Wherwell. Surely a girl intending to take the veil must advance her plea and be sure of acceptance before venturing on the journey south. But if she had done so, then there would have been wonder at her failure to arrive, and rapid enquiry, and the prioress, had there ever been letters or a courier from Juliana Cruce, would have known and remembered the name. No, she could not have bargained beforehand. She had taken her dowry and simply gone to knock on the door and ask admittance. He had not the experience in such matters to know if that was very unusual, nor the cynicism to reflect that it would hardly be refused if the portion brought was large enough.

“This man Heriet will have to be found,” said Nicholas, making up his mind. “If he’s still serving with Waleran of Meulan, then I may be able to find him. Waleran is the king’s man. If not, he’ll be far to seek, but what other choice have we? He’s native in this shire, is he? If he has kin, they’ll be here?”

“He’s second son to a free tenant at Harpecote. Why, what are you thinking?”

“That you’d best have your clerk make two copies of the list of what your sister took with her when she left. The money can’t be traced and known, but it may be the valuables can. Have him describe them fully if he can. Plate meant for church use may turn up on sale or be noted somewhere, so may gems. I’ll have the list circulated round Winchester-if the bishop’s well rid of his empress he may know now where his interest lies!-and try to find Adam Heriet among Meulan’s companies, or get word when and how he left them. You do as much here, where if he has kin he may some day visit. Can you think of anything better? Or anything more we can undertake?”

Reginald heaved himself up from the table, making the flame of the lamp gutter. A big, black-avised, affronted man, with a face grimly set. “That’s well reasoned, and we’ll do it. Tomorrow I’ll have him copy the items-he’s a finicky little fellow who has everything at his finger-ends-and I’ll ride with you to Shrewsbury and see Hugh Beringar, and have this matter in train before the day’s out. If this or any villain has done murder and robbery against my house, I want justice and I want restitution.”

Nicholas rose with his host, and went to the bed prepared for him so weary that he could not fail to sleep. So did he want justice. But what was justice in this matter? He planned and thought as one following a trail, he must pursue it with all his powers, having nothing else left to attempt, but he could not and would not believe in it. What he wanted above everything else in the world was a breath of some fresh breeze, blowing from another quarter, suggesting that she was not dead, that all this coil of suspicion and cupidity and treachery was false, a mere appearance, to be blown away when the morning came. But the morning came, and nothing was new, and nothing changed.

Thus two who had only one quest in common, and nothing besides to make them allies, rode together back into Shrewsbury, armed with two well-scripted copies of the valuables and money Juliana Cruce had carried with her as her dowry on entering the cloister.

Hugh had come down from the town to dine with Abbot Radulfus, and acquaint him with the latest developments in the political tangle that was England. The flight of the empress back into her western stronghold, the scattering of a great part of her forces, and the capture of Earl Robert of Gloucester, without whom she was impotent, must transform the whole pattern of events, though its first effect was to freeze them from any action at all. The abbot might not have any interest in factional strife, but he was entitled to the mitre and a place in the great council of the country, and the welfare of people and church was very much his business. They had conferred a long time over the abbot’s well-furnished table, and it was mid-afternoon when Hugh came looking for Cadfael in the herb-garden.

“You’ll have heard? The word that Nicholas Harnage brought me yesterday? He said he had come here first, to his lord. Robert of Gloucester is penned up in Rochester a prisoner, and everything has halted while both sides think on what comes next-we, how best to make use of him, they, how to survive without him.” Hugh sat down on the stone bench in the shade, and spread his booted feet comfortably. “Now comes the argument. And she had better order the king loosed from his chains, or Robert may find himself tethered, too.”

“I doubt if she’ll see it so,” said Cadfael, pausing to lean on his hoe and pluck out a wisp of weed from between his neat, aromatic beds. “More than ever, Stephen is her only weapon now. She’ll try to exact the highest possible price for him, her brother will scarcely be enough to satisfy her.”

Hugh laughed. “Robert himself takes the same line, by young Hamage’s account. He refuses to consider an exchange for the king, says he’s no fair match for a monarch, and to balance it fitly we must turn loose all the rearguard that were taken with him, to make up Stephen’s weight in the scale. But wait a while! If the empress argues in the same way now, within a month wiser men will have shown her she can do nothing, nothing at all, without Robert. London will never let her enter again, much less get within reach of the crown, and for all she has Stephen in a dungeon, he is still king.”

“It’s Robert they’ll have trouble persuading,” Cadfael reasoned.

“Even he will have to see the truth in the end. If she is to continue her fight, it can only be with Robert beside her. They’ll convince him. Reluctant as they all may be to loose their hold on him, we shall have Stephen back before the year’s end.”

They were still there together in the garden when Nicholas and Reginald Cruce, having enquired in vain for Hugh at the castle, as they entered the town, and again at Hugh’s house by Saint Mary’s church, as they passed through, followed the directions given by his porter, and came purposefully hunting for him at the abbey. At the sound of their boots on the gravel, and the sight of them rounding the box hedge, Hugh rose alertly to meet them.

“You’re back in good time. What news?” And to the second man he said, eyeing him with interest: “I have not enjoyed your acquaintance until now, sir, but you are surely the lord of Lai. Nicholas here has told me how things stood at Wherwell. You’re welcome to whatever service I can offer. And what now?”

“My lord sheriff,” said Cruce loudly and firmly, as one accustomed to setting the pace for others to follow, “in the matter of my sister there’s ground for suspicion of robbery and murder, and I want justice.”

“So do all decent men, and so do I. Sit down here, and let me hear what grounds you have for such suspicions, and where the finger points. I grant you the matter looks ugly enough. Let me know what you’ve found at home to add to it.”

It was over-hot in the afternoon sun, and even in shirtsleeves Cruce was sweating freely. They moved back into the shade, and there sat down together, and Cadfael, hospitable in his own domain, and by no means inclined to be ousted from it in the middle of his work, went instead to bring a pitcher of wine from his workshop, and beakers for their use. He served them and went aside, but not so far that he did not hear what passed. All that had gone before he already knew, and on certain points his curiosity was already pricked into wakefulness, and foresaw circumstances in which he might yet be needed. His patient fretted over the girl, and could not afford further fraying away of what little flesh he had. Cadfael clove to his fellow-crusader in a solidarity of shared experience and mutual respect. One of those few, like Guimar de Massard, who came clean and chivalrous out of a very deformed and marred holy war. And however gradually, dying of it. Whatever concerned his welfare, body or soul, Cadfael wanted to know.

“My lord,” said Nicholas earnestly, “you’ll remember all I told you of the men of my lord Cruce’s household who escorted his sister to Wherwell. Three of the four we have questioned at Lai, and I am sure they have told us truth. But the fourth… and he the only one who accompanied her on the last day of her journey, the last few miles-he is no longer there, and him we must find.”

They told the whole story between them, at times in chorus, very vehemently.

“He left with her from Andover early in the morning, and the other three, who had orders to remain there, watched them away.”

“And he did not return until late evening, too late to set out for home that night. Yet Wherwell is but three or four miles from Andover.”

“And he alone of those four” said Cruce fiercely, “was so deep in her confidence from old familiarity that he may well have known, must have known, the dowry she carried with her.”

“And that was?” demanded Hugh sharply. His memory was excellent. There was nothing he needed to be told twice.

“Three hundred marks in coin, and certain valuables for church use. My lord, we have had my clerk, who keeps good accounts, write a list of what she took, and here we have two copies. The one we hold you should circulate in these parts, where the man is native, and so was my sister, and the other Hamage here will carry to make known round Winchester, Wherwell and Andover, where she vanished.”

“Good!” said Hugh heartily. “The coins can never be certainly traced, but the pieces of church ornaments may.” He took the scroll Nicholas held out to him, and read with lowered and frowning brows: “Item, a pair of candlesticks of silver, made in the form of tall sconces entwined with the vine, with snuffers attached by silver chains, also ornamented with grape leaves. Item, a standing cross a man’s hand-length in height, on a silver pedestal of three steps, and studded with semi-precious stones of yellow pebble, amethyst and agate, together with a similar cross of the same metal and stones, a little finger’s length, on a thin silver neck-chain for a priest’s wear. Item, a silver pyx, small, engraved with ferns. Also certain pieces of jewellery to her belonging, as, a necklet of polished stones from the hills above Pontesbury, a bracelet of silver engraved with tendrils of vetch, and a curious ring of silver set with enamels all round, in the form of yellow and blue flowers.” He looked up. “Surely identifiable if they can be found, almost any of these. Your clerk did well. Yes, I’ll have this made known to all officers and tenants of mine here in the shire, but it seems to me that in the south they’re more likely to be traced. As for the man, if he’s native here he has kin, and may well keep in touch with them. You say he went to do fighting service?”

“Only a matter of weeks after he returned to my father’s household, yes. My father was newly dead, and the Earl of Worcester, my overlord, demanded a draft of men, and this Adam Heriet offered himself.”

“How old?” asked Hugh.

“A year or so past fifty. A strong man with sword or bow. He had been forester and huntsman to my father, Waleran would think himself lucky to get him. The rest were younger, but raw.”

“And where did this Heriet hail from? Your father’s man must belong to one of your own manors.”

“Born at Harpecote, a younger son of a free man who farmed a yardland there. His elder brother farmed it after him. A nephew has it now. They were not on good terms, or so my father said. But for all that there may be some trace of him to be picked up there.”

“Had they any other kin? And the fellow never took a wife?”

“No, he never did. I know of no others of his family, but there well may be some around Harpecote.”

“Let them be,” said Hugh decidedly. “It had best be left to me to probe there. Though I doubt if a man with no ties here will have come back to the shire, once having taken to the fighting life. More likely to be found where you’re bound for, Nicholas. Do your best!”

“I mean to,” said Nicholas grimly, and rose to be off about the work without delay. The scroll of Juliana’s possessions he rolled and thrust into the breast of his coat. “I must say a word first to my lord Godfrid, and let him know I’ll not abandon this hunt while there’s a grain of hope left. Then I’m on the road!” And he was away at a fast stride that became a light, long-paced run before he was out of sight. Cruce rose in his turn, eyeing Hugh somewhat grudgingly, as if he doubted to find in him a sufficient force of vengeful fury for the undertaking.

“Then I may leave this with you, my lord? And you will pursue it vigorously?”

“I will,” said Hugh drily. “And you will be at Lai? That I may know where to find you, at need?”

Cruce went away silenced, for the time being, but none too content, and looked back from the turn of the hedge dubiously, as if he felt that the lord sheriff should already have been on horseback, or at least shaping for it, in the cause of Cruce vengeance. Hugh stared him out coolly, and watched him round the thick screen of box and disappear.

“Though I had best move speedily,” he said then, wryly smiling, “for if that one found the fellow first I would not give much for his chances of escaping a few broken bones, if not a stretched neck. And even if it may come to that in the end, it shall not be at Reginald Cruce’s hands, nor without a fair trial.” He clapped Cadfael heartily on the back, and turned to go. “Well, if it’s close season for kings and empresses, at least it gives us time to hunt the smaller creatures.”

Cadfael went to Vespers with an unquiet mind, troubled by imaginings of a girl on horseback, with silver and rough gems and coin in her saddlebags, parting from her last known companions only a few miles from her goal, and then vanishing like morning mist in the summer sun, as if she had never been. A wisp of vapour over the meadow, and then gone. If those who agonised after her, the old and the young, had known her dead and with God, they, too, could have been at peace. Now there was no peace for any man drawn into this elaborate web of uncertainty.

Among the novices and schoolboys and the child oblates, last of their kind, for Abbot Radulfus would accept no more infants into a cloistered life decreed for them by others, Rhun stood rapt and radiant, smiling as he sang. A virgin by nature and aptitude, as well as by years, untroubled by the bodily agonies that tore most men, but miraculously aware of them and tender towards them, as few are to pains that leave their own flesh unwrung.

Vespers at this time of year shone with filtered summer light, that showed Rhun’s flaxen beauty in crystalline pallor, and flashed across into the ranks of the brothers to burn in the sullen, smouldering darkness of Brother Urien, and the dilated brilliance of his black eyes, and cool into discreet shade where Brother Fidelis stood withdrawn into the shadows of the wall, alert at his lord’s elbow, with no eyes and no thought for what went on around him, as he had no voice to join in the chant. His shadowed eyes looked nowhere but at Humilis, his slight body stood braced to receive and support at any moment the even frailer form that stood lance-straight beside him.

Well, worship has its own priorities, and a duty once assumed is a duty to the end. God and Saint Benedict would understand and respect that.

Cadfael, whose mind should also have been on higher things, found himself thinking: he dwindles before our eyes. It will be even sooner than I had thought. There is nothing that can prevent, or even greatly delay it now.