Read Online The Raven in the Foregate by Ellis Peters - Free Book Online Page B

policy than from compulsion, “is Sanan Bernières. Her father held a manor in
the north-east of the shire, which was confiscated when he fought for his
overlord FitzAlan and the Empress at the siege here, and died for it. Her
mother married another vassal of FitzAlan, who had suffered his losses, too—the
faction holds together, though they’re all singing very small and lying very
low here now. Giffard spends his winters mainly in his house in Shrewsbury, and
since her mother died he brings his step-daughter to preside at his table-head.
That’s the lady you’ve seen pass by.”
    “And had better let pass by?” said Benet, ruefully
smiling in acknowledgement of a plain warning. “Not for me?” He burst into the
glowing grin to which Cadfael was becoming accustomed, and which sometimes gave
him such qualms on behalf of his protégé, who was far too rash in the
indulgence of his flashing moods. Benet laughed, and flung his arms about his
mentor in a bear’s hug. “What will you wager?”
    Cadfael freed an arm, without much ado, and held off
his boisterous aggressor by a fistful of his thick curls.
    “Where you’re concerned, you madcap, I would not risk
a hair that’s left me. But watch your gait, you move out of your part. There
are others here have keen eyes.”
    “I do know,” said Benet, brought up short and sharp,
his smile sobered into gravity. “I do take care.”
    How had they come by this secret and barely expressed
understanding? Cadfael wondered as he went to Vespers. A kind of tacit
agreement had been achieved, with never a word said of doubt, suspicion or
plain, reckless trust. But the changed relationship existed, and was a factor
to be reckoned with.
     
    Hugh was gone, riding south for Canterbury in
uncustomary state, well escorted and in his finery. He laughed at himself, but
would not abate one degree of the dignity that was his due. “If I come back
deposed,” he said, “at least I’ll make a grand departure, and if I come back
sheriff still, I’ll do honour to the office.”
    After his going Christmas seemed already on the
doorstep, and there were great preparations to be made for the long night vigil
and the proper celebration of the Nativity, and it was past Vespers on
Christmas Eve before Cadfael had time to make a brief visit to the town, to
spend at least an hour with Aline, and take a gift to his two-year-old godson,
a little wooden horse that Martin Bellecote the master-carpenter had made for
him, with gaily coloured harness and trappings fit for a knight, made out of
scraps of felt and cloth and leather by Cadfael himself.
    A soft, sleety rain had fallen earlier, but by that
hour in the evening it was growing very cold, and there was frost in the air.
The low, moist sky had cleared and grown infinitely tall, there were stars
snapping out in it almost audibly, tiny but brilliant. By the morning the roads
would be treacherous, and the frozen ruts a peril to wrenched ankles and unwary
steps. There were still people abroad in the Foregate, most of them hurrying
home by now, either to stoke up the fire and toast their feet, or to make ready
for the long night in church. And as Cadfael crossed the bridge towards the
town gate, the river in full, silent dark motion below, there was just enough
light left to put names to those he met, coming from their shopping laden and
in haste to get their purchases home. They exchanged greetings with him as they
passed, for he was well known by his shape and his rolling gait even in so dim
a light. The voices had the ring of frost about them, echoing like the chime of
glass.
    And here, striding across the bridge towards the
Foregate, just within the compass of the torches burning under the town gate,
came Ralph Giffard, on foot. Without the sidelong fall of the torchlight he
would not have been recognised, but thus illuminated he was unmistakable. And
where could Giffard be going at this time of the