searching every corner
for the candlesticks he had forborne from taking part, but now they were
elsewhere he might find something of interest there. He would not be looking
for anything so obvious as two large silver candlesticks. He made obeisance at
the altar, and mounted the step to look closely at the burning candles. No one
had paid any attention to the modest containers that had been substituted for
Hamo’s gift, and just as well, in the circumstances, that Cadfael’s workshop
was very little visited, or these little clay pots might have been recognised
as coming from there. He moulded and baked them himself as he wanted them. He
had no intention of condoning theft, but neither did he relish the idea of any
creature, however sinful, falling into Hamo FitzHamon’s mercies.
Something
long and fine, a thread of silver-gold, was caught and coiled in the wax at the
base of one candle. Carefully he detached candle from holder, and unlaced from
it a long, pale hair; to make sure of retaining it, he broke off the
imprisoning disc of wax with it, and then hoisted and turned the candle to see
if anything else was to be found under it. One tiny oval dot showed; with a
fingernail he extracted a single seed of lavender. Left in the dish from
beforetime? He thought not. The stacked pots were all empty. No, this had been
brought here in the fold of a sleeve, most probably, and shaken out while the
candle was being transferred.
The
lady had plunged both hands with pleasure into the sack of lavender, and moved
freely about his workshop investigating everything. It would have been easy to
take two of these dishes unseen, and wrap them in a fold of her cloak. Even
more plausible, she might have delegated the task to young Madoc, when they
crept away from their assignation. Supposing, say, they had reached the
desperate point of planning flight together, and needed funds to set them on
their way to some safe refuge... yes, there were possibilities. In the
meantime, the grain of lavender had given Cadfael another idea. And there was,
of course, that long, fine hair, pale as flax, but brighter. The boy was fair.
But so fair?
He
went out through the frozen garden to his herbarium, shut himself securely into
his workshop, and opened the sack of lavender, plunging both arms to the elbow
and groping through the chill, smooth sweetness that parted and slid like
grain. They were there, well down, his fingers traced the shape first of one,
then a second. He sat down to consider what must be done.
Finding
the lost valuables did not identify the thief. He could produce and restore
them at once, but FitzHamon would certainly pursue the hunt vindictively until
he found the culprit; and Cadfael had seen enough of him to know that it might
cost life and all before this complainant was satisfied. He needed to know more
before he would hand over any man to be done to death. Better not leave the things
here, however. He doubted if they would ransack his hut, but they might. He
rolled the candlesticks in a piece of sacking, and thrust them into the centre
of the pleached hedge where it was thickest. The meagre, frozen snow had
dropped with the brief sun. His arm went in to the shoulder, and when he
withdrew it, the twigs sprang back and covered all, holding the package
securely. Whoever had first hidden it would surely come by night to reclaim it,
and show a human face at last.
It
was well that he had moved it, for the searchers, driven by an increasingly
angry Hamo, reached his hut before Vespers, examined everything within it,
while he stood by to prevent actual damage to his medicines, and went away
satisfied that what they were seeking was not there. They had not, in fact,
been very thorough about the sack of lavender, the candlesticks might well have
escaped notice even if he had left them there. It did not occur to anyone to
tear the hedges apart, luckily. When they were gone, to probe all the
for the candlesticks he had forborne from taking part, but now they were
elsewhere he might find something of interest there. He would not be looking
for anything so obvious as two large silver candlesticks. He made obeisance at
the altar, and mounted the step to look closely at the burning candles. No one
had paid any attention to the modest containers that had been substituted for
Hamo’s gift, and just as well, in the circumstances, that Cadfael’s workshop
was very little visited, or these little clay pots might have been recognised
as coming from there. He moulded and baked them himself as he wanted them. He
had no intention of condoning theft, but neither did he relish the idea of any
creature, however sinful, falling into Hamo FitzHamon’s mercies.
Something
long and fine, a thread of silver-gold, was caught and coiled in the wax at the
base of one candle. Carefully he detached candle from holder, and unlaced from
it a long, pale hair; to make sure of retaining it, he broke off the
imprisoning disc of wax with it, and then hoisted and turned the candle to see
if anything else was to be found under it. One tiny oval dot showed; with a
fingernail he extracted a single seed of lavender. Left in the dish from
beforetime? He thought not. The stacked pots were all empty. No, this had been
brought here in the fold of a sleeve, most probably, and shaken out while the
candle was being transferred.
The
lady had plunged both hands with pleasure into the sack of lavender, and moved
freely about his workshop investigating everything. It would have been easy to
take two of these dishes unseen, and wrap them in a fold of her cloak. Even
more plausible, she might have delegated the task to young Madoc, when they
crept away from their assignation. Supposing, say, they had reached the
desperate point of planning flight together, and needed funds to set them on
their way to some safe refuge... yes, there were possibilities. In the
meantime, the grain of lavender had given Cadfael another idea. And there was,
of course, that long, fine hair, pale as flax, but brighter. The boy was fair.
But so fair?
He
went out through the frozen garden to his herbarium, shut himself securely into
his workshop, and opened the sack of lavender, plunging both arms to the elbow
and groping through the chill, smooth sweetness that parted and slid like
grain. They were there, well down, his fingers traced the shape first of one,
then a second. He sat down to consider what must be done.
Finding
the lost valuables did not identify the thief. He could produce and restore
them at once, but FitzHamon would certainly pursue the hunt vindictively until
he found the culprit; and Cadfael had seen enough of him to know that it might
cost life and all before this complainant was satisfied. He needed to know more
before he would hand over any man to be done to death. Better not leave the things
here, however. He doubted if they would ransack his hut, but they might. He
rolled the candlesticks in a piece of sacking, and thrust them into the centre
of the pleached hedge where it was thickest. The meagre, frozen snow had
dropped with the brief sun. His arm went in to the shoulder, and when he
withdrew it, the twigs sprang back and covered all, holding the package
securely. Whoever had first hidden it would surely come by night to reclaim it,
and show a human face at last.
It
was well that he had moved it, for the searchers, driven by an increasingly
angry Hamo, reached his hut before Vespers, examined everything within it,
while he stood by to prevent actual damage to his medicines, and went away
satisfied that what they were seeking was not there. They had not, in fact,
been very thorough about the sack of lavender, the candlesticks might well have
escaped notice even if he had left them there. It did not occur to anyone to
tear the hedges apart, luckily. When they were gone, to probe all the
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