Part 12 (1/2)
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!