knowing, said in
Welsh: “Well, well, brother, out so late? And keeping the law company! What
would the deputy sheriff of the shire want with Thomas of Bristol’s watchman at
this hour? Are they on the scent of all Gloucester’s familiars, after all? And
I claimed commerce was above the anarchy!” Narrowed eyes twinkled at Cadfael in
the light of the dispersed torches and the far-distant stars in a perfect
midsummer sky. Rhodri ap Huw was chuckling softly and fatly at his own teasing
wit and menacing sharpness of apprehension.
“You
keep a friendly eye out for your neighbours?” said Cadfael, innocently
approving. “I see you brought off all your own goods without scathe.”
“I
have a nose for trouble, and the good sense to step out of its way,” said
Rhodri ap Huw smugly. “What’s come to Thomas of Bristol? He was not so quick on
the scent, itseems. He could have loosed his mooring and poled
out into the river till the flurry was over, and been as safe as in the west
country.”
“Did
you see him struck down?” asked Cadfael deceitfully; but Rhodri was not to be
caught.
“I
saw him strike down the other young fool,” he said, and grinned. “Why, did he
come to grief after I left? And which of them is it you’re looking for, Thomas
or the lad?” And he stared with marked interest to see the sheriff’s men
probing at the backs of stalls, and under the trestles, and followed
inquisitively on their heels as they worked their way back along the highroad.
Evidently nothing of moment was to be allowed to happen at this fair without
Rhodri ap Huw being present at it, or very quickly and minutely informed of it.
And why not make use of, his perspicacity?
“Thomas’s
niece is in a taking because he has not come back to his barge. That might mean
anything or nothing, but now it’s gone on so long, his men are getting uneasy,
too. Did you see him leave his booth?”
“I
did. It might be as much as two hours ago. And his journeyman some little while
after him. A fair size of a man, to be lost between here and the river. And no
word of him anywhere since then?”
“Not
that we’ve found, or likely to find, without questioning every trader and every
idler in all this array. And the wiser half of them getting their sleep in
ready for the morning.”
They
had reached the Foregate and turned towards the town, and still Rhodri strode
companionably beside Cadfael, and had taken to peering into the dark spaces
between stalls just as the sheriff’s men were doing. Lights and braziers were
fewer here, and the stalls more modest, and the quiet of the night closed in
drowsily. On their left, under the abbey wall, a few compact but secure booths
were arrayed. The first of them, though completely closed in and barred for the
night, showed through a chink the light of a candle within. Rhodri dug a
weighty elbow into Cadfael’s ribs.
“Euan
of Shotwick! No one is ever going to get at him from the rear, he likes a
corner backed into two walls if he can get it. Travels alone with a pack-pony,
and wears a weapon, and can use it, too. A solitary soul because he trustsnobody. His own porter—luckily his wares weigh light for their
value—and his own watchman.”
Ivo
Corbière had loitered to go aside between the stalls, some of which in this
stretch were still unoccupied, waiting for the local traders who would come
with the dawn. The consequent darkness slowed their search, and the young man,
not at all averse to spending the night without sleep, and probably encouraged
by the memory of Emma’s bright eyes, was tireless and thorough. Even Cadfael
and Rhodri ap Huw were some yards ahead of him when they heard him cry after
them, high and urgently:
“Good
God, what’s here? Beringar, come back here!”
The
tone was enough to bring them running. Corbière had left the highway, probing
between stacked trestles and leaning canvas awnings into darkness, but when
Welsh: “Well, well, brother, out so late? And keeping the law company! What
would the deputy sheriff of the shire want with Thomas of Bristol’s watchman at
this hour? Are they on the scent of all Gloucester’s familiars, after all? And
I claimed commerce was above the anarchy!” Narrowed eyes twinkled at Cadfael in
the light of the dispersed torches and the far-distant stars in a perfect
midsummer sky. Rhodri ap Huw was chuckling softly and fatly at his own teasing
wit and menacing sharpness of apprehension.
“You
keep a friendly eye out for your neighbours?” said Cadfael, innocently
approving. “I see you brought off all your own goods without scathe.”
“I
have a nose for trouble, and the good sense to step out of its way,” said
Rhodri ap Huw smugly. “What’s come to Thomas of Bristol? He was not so quick on
the scent, itseems. He could have loosed his mooring and poled
out into the river till the flurry was over, and been as safe as in the west
country.”
“Did
you see him struck down?” asked Cadfael deceitfully; but Rhodri was not to be
caught.
“I
saw him strike down the other young fool,” he said, and grinned. “Why, did he
come to grief after I left? And which of them is it you’re looking for, Thomas
or the lad?” And he stared with marked interest to see the sheriff’s men
probing at the backs of stalls, and under the trestles, and followed
inquisitively on their heels as they worked their way back along the highroad.
Evidently nothing of moment was to be allowed to happen at this fair without
Rhodri ap Huw being present at it, or very quickly and minutely informed of it.
And why not make use of, his perspicacity?
“Thomas’s
niece is in a taking because he has not come back to his barge. That might mean
anything or nothing, but now it’s gone on so long, his men are getting uneasy,
too. Did you see him leave his booth?”
“I
did. It might be as much as two hours ago. And his journeyman some little while
after him. A fair size of a man, to be lost between here and the river. And no
word of him anywhere since then?”
“Not
that we’ve found, or likely to find, without questioning every trader and every
idler in all this array. And the wiser half of them getting their sleep in
ready for the morning.”
They
had reached the Foregate and turned towards the town, and still Rhodri strode
companionably beside Cadfael, and had taken to peering into the dark spaces
between stalls just as the sheriff’s men were doing. Lights and braziers were
fewer here, and the stalls more modest, and the quiet of the night closed in
drowsily. On their left, under the abbey wall, a few compact but secure booths
were arrayed. The first of them, though completely closed in and barred for the
night, showed through a chink the light of a candle within. Rhodri dug a
weighty elbow into Cadfael’s ribs.
“Euan
of Shotwick! No one is ever going to get at him from the rear, he likes a
corner backed into two walls if he can get it. Travels alone with a pack-pony,
and wears a weapon, and can use it, too. A solitary soul because he trustsnobody. His own porter—luckily his wares weigh light for their
value—and his own watchman.”
Ivo
Corbière had loitered to go aside between the stalls, some of which in this
stretch were still unoccupied, waiting for the local traders who would come
with the dawn. The consequent darkness slowed their search, and the young man,
not at all averse to spending the night without sleep, and probably encouraged
by the memory of Emma’s bright eyes, was tireless and thorough. Even Cadfael
and Rhodri ap Huw were some yards ahead of him when they heard him cry after
them, high and urgently:
“Good
God, what’s here? Beringar, come back here!”
The
tone was enough to bring them running. Corbière had left the highway, probing
between stacked trestles and leaning canvas awnings into darkness, but when
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