The squire had drawn close to hear what had befallen his mount. Indignantly he said: "Conradin would never endure that."

"They were well ahead, we could only judge by the sounds. But I think he reared, and swept the fellow off against a low branch, for he was lying half-stunned under a tree when we picked him up. He goes lame on one leg, but it's not broken. He was dazed, he gave us no trouble."

"He may yet," said Hugh warningly.

"Will's no prentice, he'll keep safe hold of him. But the horse," said Alan, somewhat apologetic on this point, "we haven't caught. He'd bolted before we ever reached the place, and for all the searching we dared do with the man to guard, we couldn't find him close, nor even hear anything ahead of us. Riderless, he'll be well away before he'll get over his fright and come to a stay."

"And my gear gone with him," said the unlucky owner with a grimace, but laughed the next moment. "My lord, you'll owe me new clothes if he's gone beyond recall."

"We'll make a proper search tomorrow," promised Alan. "We'll find him for you. But first I'll go and see this murderer safely jailed."

He made his reverence to the abbot and the earl, and remounted at the gate, and was gone. They were left looking at one another like people at the hour of awaking, uncertain for a moment whether what they contemplate is reality or dream.

"It is well finished," said Robert Bossu. "If this is the end!" And he turned upon the abbot his grave, considerate glance. "It seems we have lived this farewell twice, Father, but this time it is truth, we must go. I trust we may meet at some happier occasion, but now you will be glad to have us out of your sight and out of your thoughts, with all the troubles we have brought you between us. Your household will be more peaceful without us." And to Cadfael he said, turning to take his horse's bridle: "Will you ask the lady if she feels able to join us? It's high time we took the road."

He was gone only a few moments, and he emerged through the south door and the cloister alone.

"She is gone," said Brother Cadfael, his tone temperate and his face expressionless. "There is no one in the church but Cynric, Father Boniface's verger, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the candles on the parish altar, and he has seen no one come or go within the past halfhour."

Afterwards he sometimes wondered whether Robert Bossu had been expecting it. He was a man of very dangerous subtlety, and could appreciate subtlety in others, and see further into a man at short acquaintance than most people. Nor was he at all averse to loosing cats among pigeons. But no, probably not. He had not known her long enough for that. If she had ever reached his Leicester household, and been in his sight a few weeks, he would have known her very well, and been well able to a.s.sess her potentialities in other pursuits besides music. But at the least, this was no great surprise to him. It was not he, but Remy of Pertuis, who raised the grieving outcry: "No! She cannot be gone. Where could she go? She is mine! You are sure? No, she must be there, you have not had time to look for her..."

"I left her there more than an hour ago," said Cadfael simply, "by Saint Winifred's altar. She is not there now. Look for yourself. Cynric found the church empty when he came to dress the altar."

"She has fled me!" mourned Remy, whitefaced and stricken, not simply protesting at the loss of his most valuable property, and certainly not lamenting a creature greatly loved. She was a voice to him, but he was true Provencal and true musician, and a voice was the purest of gold to him, a treasure above rubies. To own her was to own that instrument, the one thing in her he regarded. There was nothing false in his grief and dismay. "She cannot go. I must seek her. She is mine, I bought her. My lord, only delay until I can find her. She cannot be far. Two days longer... one day..."

"Another search? Another frustration?" said the earl and shook his head decisively. "Oh, no! I have had dreams like this, they never lead to any ending, only barrier after barrier, baulk after baulk. She was indeed, she is, a very precious a.s.set, Remy, a lovely peal in her throat, and a light, true hand on organetto or strings. But I have been truant all too long, and if you want my alliance you had best ride with me now, and forget you paid money for what is beyond price. It never profits. There are others as gifted, you shall have the means to find them and I'll guarantee to keep them content."

What he said he meant, and Remy knew it. It took him a great struggle to choose between his singer and his future security, but the end was never in doubt. Cadfael saw him swallow hard and half-choke upon the effort, and almost felt sorry for him at that moment. But with a patron as powerful, as cultivated and as durable as Robert Beaumont, Remy of Pertuis could hardly be an object for sympathy very long.

He did look round sharply for a reliable agent here, before he gave in. "My lord abbot, or you, my lord sheriff, I would not like her to be solitary and in want, ever. If she should reappear, if you hear of her, I beg you, let me have word, and I will send for her. She has always a welcome with me."

True enough, and not all because she was valuable to him for her voice. Probably he had never realized until now that she was more than a possession, that she was a human creature in her own right, and might go hungry, even starve, fall victim to villains on the road, come by harm a thousand different ways. It was like the flight of a nun from childhood, suddenly venturing a terrible world that gave no quarter. So, at least, he might think of her, thus seeing her whole in the instant when she vanished from his sight. How little he knew her!

"Well, my lord, I have done what I can. I am ready."

They were gone, all of them, streaming out along the Foregate towards Saint Giles, Robert Beaumont, earl of Leicester, riding knee to knee with Sub-Prior Herluin of Ramsey, restored to good humour by the recovery of the fruits of his labours in Shrewsbury, and gratified to be travelling in company with a n.o.bleman of such standing; Robert's two squires riding behind, the younger a little disgruntled at having to make do with an unfamiliar mount, but glad to be going home; Herluin's middle-aged layman driving the baggage cart, and Nicol bringing up the rear, well content to be riding instead of walking. Within the church their hoofbeats were still audible until they reached the corner of the enclave, and turned along the Horse Fair. Then there was a grateful silence, time to breathe and reflect. Abbot Radulfus and Prior Robert were gone about their lawful business, and the brothers had dispersed to theirs. It was over.

"Well," said Cadfael thankfully, bending his head familiarly to Saint Winifred, "an engaging rogue, and harmless, but not for the cloister, any more than she was for servility, so why repine? Ramsey will do very well without him, and Partholan's queen is a slave no longer. True, she's lost her baggage, but that she would probably have rejected in any case. She told me, Hugh, she owned nothing, not even the clothes she wore. Now it will please her that she has stolen only the few things on her back."

"And the boy," said Hugh, "has stolen only a girl." And he added, glancing aside at Cadfael's contented face: "Did you know he was there, when you followed her in?"

"I swear to you, Hugh, I saw nothing, I heard nothing. There was nothing whatever even to make me think of him. But yes, I knew he was there. And so did she from the instant she came in. It was rather as though it was spoken clearly into my ear: Go softly. Say nothing. All things shall be well. She was not asking so very much, after all. A little while alone. And the parish door is always open."

"Do you suppose," asked Hugh, as they turned towards the south door and the cloister together,"that Aldhelm could have revealed anything against Benezet?"

"Who knows? The possibility was enough."

They came out into the full light of early afternoon, but after the turmoil and pa.s.sion this quietness and calm left behind spoke rather of evening and the lovely la.s.situde of rest after labour and stillness after storm. "It was easy to get fond of the boy," said Cadfael, "but dangerous, with such a flibbertigibbet. As well to be rid of him now rather than later. He was certainly a thief, though not for his own gain, and as certainly a liar when he felt it necessary. But he was truly kind to Donata. What he did for her was done with no thought of reward, and from an unspoiled heart."

There was no one left in the great court as they turned towards the gatehouse. A s.p.a.ce lately throbbing with anger and agitation rested unpeopled, as if a lesser creator had despaired of the world he had made, and erased it to clear the ground for a second attempt.

"And have you thought," asked Hugh, "that those two will certainly be heading southwest by the same road Benezet took? South to the place where it crosses the old Roman track, and then due west, straight as a lance, into Wales. With the luck of the saints, or the devil himself, they may happen on that lost horse, there in the forest, and leave nothing for Alan to find tomorrow."

"And that unlucky lad's saddlebags still there with the harness," Cadfael realized, and brightened at the thought. "He could do with some rather more secular garments than the habit and the cowl, and from what I recall they should be much the same size."

"Draw me in no deeper," said Hugh hastily.

"Finding is not thieving." And as they halted at the gate, where Hugh's horse was tethered, Cadfael said seriously: "Donata understood him better than any of us. She told him his fortune, lightly it may be, but wisely. A troubadour, she said, needs three things, and three things only, an instrument, a horse, and a ladylove. The first she gave him, an earnest for the rest. Now, perhaps, he has found all three."

About the Author.

ELLIS PETERS is the nom-de-crime nom-de-crime of English novelist Edith Pargeter, author of scores of books under her own name. She is the recipient of the Silver Dagger Award, conferred by the Crime Writers a.s.sociation in Britain, as well as the coveted Edgar, awarded by the Mystery Writers of America. Miss Pargeter is also well known as a translator of poetry and prose from the Czech and has been awarded the Gold Medal and Ribbon of the Czechoslovak Society for Foreign Relations for her services to Czech literature. She pa.s.sed away in 1995, at the age of 82, at home in her beloved Shropshire. of English novelist Edith Pargeter, author of scores of books under her own name. She is the recipient of the Silver Dagger Award, conferred by the Crime Writers a.s.sociation in Britain, as well as the coveted Edgar, awarded by the Mystery Writers of America. Miss Pargeter is also well known as a translator of poetry and prose from the Czech and has been awarded the Gold Medal and Ribbon of the Czechoslovak Society for Foreign Relations for her services to Czech literature. She pa.s.sed away in 1995, at the age of 82, at home in her beloved Shropshire.