Read Online A Rare Benedictine by Ellis Peters - Free Book Online Page A

fodder
and grain in the barns, Cadfael restored the silver to its original place. Let
the bait lie safe in the trap until the quarry came to claim it, as he surely
would, once relieved of the fear that the hunters might find it first.
    Cadfael
kept watch that night. He had no difficulty in absenting himself from the
dortoir, once everyone was in bed and asleep. His cell was by the night stairs,
and the prior slept at the far end of the long room, and slept deeply. And
bitter though the night air was, the sheltered hut was barely colder than his
cell, and he kept blankets there for swathing some of his jars and bottles
against frost. He took his little box with tinder and flint, and hid himself in
the corner behind the door. It might be a wasted vigil; the thief, having
survived one day, might think it politic to venture yet another before removing
his spoils.
    But
it was not wasted. He reckoned it might be as late as ten o’clock when he heard
a light hand at the door. Two hours before the bell would sound for Matins,
almost two hours since the household had retired. Even the guest-hall should be
silent and asleep by now; the hour was carefully chosen. Cadfael held his
breath, and waited. The door swung open, a shadow stole past him, light steps
felt their way unerringly to where the sack of lavender was propped against the
wall. Equally silently Cadfael swung the door to again, and set his back
against it. Only then did he strike a spark, and hold the blown flame to the
wick of his little lamp.
    She
did not start or cry out, or try to rush past him and escape into the night.
The attempt would not have succeeded, and she had had long practice in enduring
what could not be cured. She stood facing him as the small flame steadied and
burned taller, her face shadowed by the hood of her cloak, the candlesticks
clasped possessively to her breast.
    “Elfgiva!’
said Brother Cadfael gently. And then: “Are you here for yourself, or for your
mistress?” But he thought he knew the answer already. That frivolous young wife
would never really leave her rich husband and easy life, however tedious and
unpleasant Hamo’s attentions might be, to risk everything with her penniless
villein lover. She would only keep him to enjoy in secret whenever she felt it
safe. Even when the old man died she would submit to marriage at an overlord’s
will to another equally distasteful. She was not the stuff of which heroines
and adventurers are made. This was another kind of woman.
    Cadfael
went close, and lifted a hand gently to put back the hood from her head. She
was tall, a hand’s-breadth taller than he, and erect as one of the lilies she
clasped. The net that had covered her hair was drawn off with the hood, and a
great flood of silver-gold streamed about her in the dim light, framing the
pale face and startling blue eyes. Norse hair! The Danes had left their seed as
far south as Cheshire, and planted this tall flower among them. She was no
longer plain, tired and resigned. In this dim but loving light she shone in
austere beauty! Just so must Brother Jordan’s veiled eyes have seen her.
    “Now
I see!” said Cadfael. “You came into the Lady Chapel, and shone upon our
half-blind brother’s darkness as you shine here. You are the visitation that
brought him awe and bliss, and enjoined silence upon him for three days.”
    The
voice he had scarcely heard speak a word until then, a voice level, low and
beautiful, said: “I made no claim to be what I am not. It was he who mistook
me. I did not refuse the gift.”
    “I
understand. You had not thought to find anyone there, he took you by surprise
as you took him. He took you for Our Lady herself, disposing as she saw fit of
what had been given her. And you made him promise you three days’ grace.” The
lady had plunged her hands into the sack, yes, but Elfgiva had carried the
pillow, and a grain or two had filtered through the muslin to