Read Online Brother Cadfael 05: Leper of Saint Giles by Ellis Peters - Free Book Online
Authors: Ellis Peters
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intended for my bride," said the baron, "a collar of gold and pearls. It could lie in the palm of a man's hand, once out of its case. I meant to bring it to the girl today, after Mass, but when I went to take it, and looked within the case, I found it empty. Nigh on an hour ago, I suppose, for we wasted time hunting for it, though the leaving of the empty case should have told us it was not lost, but stolen. And but for this turbulent boy, who was turned off for good reason and took it very defiantly, no one else has left my household. I charge him with the theft, and I will have the remedy of law, to the last particle."
"But did this young man know of this collar, and where to lay hand on it?" demanded the abbot.
"I did, Father," Joscelin acknowledged readily. "So did all three of us who served him as squires."
Still more horsemen had appeared in the gateway, several of Domville's outridden retinue, and among them Simon and Guy, by the look of their faces by no means eager to be noticed or take any part in this encounter. They looked on from the background, uncertain and unhappy, as well they might.
"But I have not touched it," Joscelin went on firmly. "And here am I, just as I left the house, take me away and strip me if you will, you'll find never a thread that is not mine. And there is my horse and my saddle-bags, turn out whatever you find, and let the lord abbot be witness. But no," he added vehemently, seeing Domville himself make a move toward the grey horse, "not you, my lord! I will not have my accuser's hands pawing my belongings. Let an impartial judge do the searching. Father Abbot, I appeal to your justice!"
"That is but fair," said the abbot. "Robert, will you do what is needful?"
Prior Robert received the request with a dignified inclination of the head, and made a solemn procession of his advance upon the duty allotted him. Two of Prestcote's men-at-arms unbuckled the saddle-bags from their place, and when the horse, nervous at the press of people, sidled unhappily, Simon impulsively slipped down from his mount and ran to take the bridle and soothe the fidgety grey. The saddle-bags lay open on the cobbles of the court. Prior Robert plunged his hands into the first, and began to hand out the simple items of clothing and accoutrement their raging owner had stuffed unceremoniously within, barely an hour previously. The sergeant received them solemnly, Prestcote standing close by. Linen shirts, crumpled in a furious fist, chausses, tunics, shoes, a few items of spare harness, gloves ...
Prior Robert ran his long hand about the interior to show that it was empty. He leaned to the second. Joscelin stood braced on long, shapely legs, barely attentive, his bold brown face arrogantly smiling. Though his mother, Cadfael thought, watching, would have something pithy to say about the way he handled the shirts she made for him, when he got home. If he got home ...
And how if he did? What followed then for the girl who had been hustled away and shut up somewhere with the elderly maidservant for gaoler? In all this she was the absent witness. No one asked her what she knew or what she thought. She was not a person, merely a piece of valuable merchandise.
The second bag yielded a handsome gown for best wear, villainously crumpled, sundry belts and baldrics, a blue capuchon, more shirts, a pair of soft shoes, a best pair of chausses, also blue. The mother who had made all these had had an eye fondly to her offspring's fair colouring and blue eyes. And marvel, there was a bound book in thin, carved wooden covers, the young man's prayer book. He had said that he was lettered.
Lastly, Prior Robert plucked out a small roll of fine linen, and began to unwrap it on his palm. He raised a wondering and approving face.
"It is a silver scallop-shell medal. Whoever owned it made the pilgrimage to Compostella, to the shrine of Saint James."
"It is my father's," said Joscelin.
"And that is all. This bag is also
"But did this young man know of this collar, and where to lay hand on it?" demanded the abbot.
"I did, Father," Joscelin acknowledged readily. "So did all three of us who served him as squires."
Still more horsemen had appeared in the gateway, several of Domville's outridden retinue, and among them Simon and Guy, by the look of their faces by no means eager to be noticed or take any part in this encounter. They looked on from the background, uncertain and unhappy, as well they might.
"But I have not touched it," Joscelin went on firmly. "And here am I, just as I left the house, take me away and strip me if you will, you'll find never a thread that is not mine. And there is my horse and my saddle-bags, turn out whatever you find, and let the lord abbot be witness. But no," he added vehemently, seeing Domville himself make a move toward the grey horse, "not you, my lord! I will not have my accuser's hands pawing my belongings. Let an impartial judge do the searching. Father Abbot, I appeal to your justice!"
"That is but fair," said the abbot. "Robert, will you do what is needful?"
Prior Robert received the request with a dignified inclination of the head, and made a solemn procession of his advance upon the duty allotted him. Two of Prestcote's men-at-arms unbuckled the saddle-bags from their place, and when the horse, nervous at the press of people, sidled unhappily, Simon impulsively slipped down from his mount and ran to take the bridle and soothe the fidgety grey. The saddle-bags lay open on the cobbles of the court. Prior Robert plunged his hands into the first, and began to hand out the simple items of clothing and accoutrement their raging owner had stuffed unceremoniously within, barely an hour previously. The sergeant received them solemnly, Prestcote standing close by. Linen shirts, crumpled in a furious fist, chausses, tunics, shoes, a few items of spare harness, gloves ...
Prior Robert ran his long hand about the interior to show that it was empty. He leaned to the second. Joscelin stood braced on long, shapely legs, barely attentive, his bold brown face arrogantly smiling. Though his mother, Cadfael thought, watching, would have something pithy to say about the way he handled the shirts she made for him, when he got home. If he got home ...
And how if he did? What followed then for the girl who had been hustled away and shut up somewhere with the elderly maidservant for gaoler? In all this she was the absent witness. No one asked her what she knew or what she thought. She was not a person, merely a piece of valuable merchandise.
The second bag yielded a handsome gown for best wear, villainously crumpled, sundry belts and baldrics, a blue capuchon, more shirts, a pair of soft shoes, a best pair of chausses, also blue. The mother who had made all these had had an eye fondly to her offspring's fair colouring and blue eyes. And marvel, there was a bound book in thin, carved wooden covers, the young man's prayer book. He had said that he was lettered.
Lastly, Prior Robert plucked out a small roll of fine linen, and began to unwrap it on his palm. He raised a wondering and approving face.
"It is a silver scallop-shell medal. Whoever owned it made the pilgrimage to Compostella, to the shrine of Saint James."
"It is my father's," said Joscelin.
"And that is all. This bag is also
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