Title: Sparrows
Author: Soledad
Disclaimer: The characters and settings belong to the wonderful Ellis Peters, whom I greatly admire. I only borrow them for a little while to play in her amazing world. No copyright infringement intended and no money made.
Timeframe: late November 1141, shortly before the events of "The Raven in the Foregate".
Summary: After more than a year of living on the road, Liliwin and Rannilt return to Shrewsbury. Alas, it is not the return they have hoped for.
Acknowledgement: My heartfelt go thanks to Ithilwen, who helped me with the medical parts of this chapter.
Chapter 02 – Fallen from God's Hand
Brother Cadfael emerged from Prime full of thirst for some good, honest work that would keep all his strength occupied and distract his worried mind from the concerns of the outside world. After breakfast in the refectory, he made his way across the great court with the slow, rolling gait of the seaman he once had been. As he rounded the thick, dark mass of the box hedge, he noted that it had grown straggly already – ripe for the final clipping before growth would cease in the cold of winter.
Cadfael walked through the flower gardens, beyond which his own herb garden lay, walled and silent, with the small, square beds drifting off to winter sleep, despite the uncustomary mildness of late autumn. A faint echo of the summer's spicy fragrances could still be perceived in this well-hidden little sanctuary, though, drifting out from the open door of the modest timber hut that served as his workshop, where bouquets of dried herbs swung from the eaves and beams within.
Cadfael looked around in his private little realm, considering what he should do first. Some of the mint was still left standing, waiting to be harvested, and the rest of thyme, too, lay flattened to the ground. But other than those, the herbal beds were all but empty.
There was much to do in the main gardens, though. The rough digging needed to be done before the frosts would come, and the fruit trees in the small orchard had to be pruned before Christmas. The two pease fields beyond the fish ponds, where they ran down the slope of the Meole Brook, had long since been harvested, and the roots ploughed back into the soil, but there was still a small mountain of ripened and tempered manure from the stable yards and the byres that needed to be spread on the main butts and the rose beds, the latter of which wore their usual, somewhat rugged autumn look.
The kitchen garden, too, had been cleared of its crops, and lay now weedy and trampled, waiting for the spade. Add the ploughing of the Gaye, which, fortunately, was Brother Bernard's daunting task, and even the casual observer would realize that there was work enough for a dozen people.
Cadfael looked forward to the tasks at hand with mild trepidation. While the novices and young brothers, the miraculously healed Brother Rhun before all, were supposed to help with the autumn labour, and did so with respectable eagerness, he had not been assigned a new apprentice yet. Not since Brother Oswin had left the abbey a couple of months ago, to take over the care for St. Giles. And while Oswin had been a mite ham-fisted when handling the delicate clay dishes and glass bottles of Cadfael's workshop, and had an unfortunate tendency to burn boiling tinctures beyond help, his considerable strength would be sorely missed in the gardens when it came to the rough work with the spade.
With a resigned sigh, Cadfael turned into his workshop to check on the single wine-jar that he had set boiling right after Lauds. He found it gently bubbling as it was supposed to do, and thus he turned to the batch of small white lozenges that were drying on a marble slab, to see if they were ready for the use yet – which they were not. It would take at least another hour or two for them to dry completely and thus could be put away.
Not finding any other excuse, he readied himself to begin digging up the kitchen garden, when someone haltingly knocked on the half-open door. Looking up, he spotted the locksmith's daft boy, Griffith… no, Griffin, standing in the doorframe and staring with round-eyed, open-mouthed awe at the array of bottles, jars and flagons on the shelves, the rustling bouquets of dried herbs overhead, the small brass scales and stone mortars on the working table, the little wooden bowls of medicinal roots waiting for use, and all the other mysterious tools and remedies only another herbalist could have recognized.
"What can I do for you, Griffin, my lad?" asked Cadfael kindly. For as much as worshippers from the town were welcome to the abbey church, he doubted that the boy would have come to dawn Mass, even if he hadn't been wearing his work garb.
His voice seemed to have startled the boy, as he began to stutter at once, as always when frightened or excited.
"B… brother, M… master B… boneth asks you t… to come t… to his shop, He said it's… it's very urgent."
"Slow down, lad," said Cadfael soothingly, "and do tell me why I would be needed. I cannot come and go as I please. If I were to leave the abbey grounds, I would need Father Abbot's leave first. Now, tell me more about the matter, would you?"
His kind words calmed down the boy a great deal; perchance very few people were so patient with him. John Boneth certainly, of that Cadfael was sure, but not many others.
"R… rannilt has come back," explained Griffin, his speech patterns evening out considerably. "She and her husband. He's b… badly hurt, though… needs medicine… and she, she might give b… birth any day."
"Liliwin is back?" Cadfael asked in surprise.
He could still remember all too well how he had seen the wandering young juggler for the first time: a miserable fragment of a man, lying upon his face up the step of the parish altar, flattened beneath a surge of trampling, battering foes, soiled and crumpled and bloodied, and no bigger than a boy of fifteen summers. Gripping the fringes of the altar-cloth for dear life. And around him, jostling and hopping and clamouring, a drunken crowd of otherwise decent craftsmen, merchants and traders, howling for his blood for a crime he had not committed.
It had not been a scene anyone could easily forget. Cadfael, who had tended to the poor man's injuries afterwards, even less inclined to do so than others.
"What happened to the lad this time?" he asked regretfully, for he knew well enough the world outside the abbey walls and could guess, but he needed to know for certain.
The daft boy shrugged.
"Robbed and b… beaten, right b… before the t… town gate, they say," he answered. Then, with the unexpected wisdom of one whose mind only burdened itself with matters of true importance, he added. "The road is a d… dangerous p… place for the weak."
"Alas, that is very true," said Cadfael, and he began to collect the things he would need to treat the unfortunate minstrel again, assuming he could get leave from his abbot to do so. He stuffed into his scrip a flask of wine, a jar with the ointment of centaury and cleavers, a roll of clean linens, some spices to mull the wine with and so on.
"I shall go to Father Abbot now and ask him for permission to leave the abbey grounds," he then said to the boy. "You should run back to your master, my good lad, and see that I have clean water aplenty when I arrive, and a bowl in which to wash my rags while cleaning the wounds."
Griffin readily promised to do as he had been asked, and off he was, not exactly running, but still at a fairly good speed, thank to his long legs and purposeful strides. He was an important person now, entrusted with an important task – who could blame him for shamelessly enjoying it?
Abbot Radulfus was sitting in the parlour of his own lodging, taking care of some overdue correspondence with the help of Brother Vitalis, his most trusted chaplain and clerk, before Terce. His mind, however, was meandering off to different paths entirely. He was preoccupied with the concerns of the outside world for a change, and with the role the Church had played in the ongoing kin-strife between King Stephen and the Empress Maud. A bitter and bloody conflict that had been slowly shredding the country to pieces for four years already, with no indication for settling the matter peacefully, on either side.
Particularly the shifting loyalties of Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester had caused him much concern and headache in the recent year. The behaviour of the papal legate, who should have perserved the infallibility of both Pope and Church at all costs, could have reflected badly on the entire clergy. Unfortunately, Henry of Blois had turned out to be a most unsteady ally, to both the empress and his own brother, and the bishops and abbots of the legatine council had to assist to his contained coat-turning helplessly.
It had only been half a year ago that he had summoned them to Winchester, on the seventh of April, to justify his endorsement of the Empress Maud as a ruler. At that time, she had been ascendant and keeping Stephen in prison in Bristol – and Bishop de Blois understandably worried about his own safety and position.
Now however, that his royal brother was free again, and the city of London had practically cast the empress out, his reverence was preparing himself to swing back to Stephen – who would have no other choince than to take him back, even if with gritted teeth, as his position was too important for both parties to dismiss him entirely.
To justify this new turnaround, the papal legate had apparently found it necessary to call another legatine council, this time at Westminster, on the seventh of December. The official writ had just arrived a day ago, and Radulfus knew there was no way for him to avoid it, even though there were enough outstanding matters within the abbey that would require his attention.
"I loathe to leave right now, when Father Adam is ailing and might leave his flock unguided any day," he said to Brother Vitalis, "but like all matters of consideration, the selection of a possible successor, should Our Lord summon him home in the near future, must wait for my return. 'Tis the business of the Church to continue to strive – even to hope, if possible, despite everything that might be going on in the outside world."
Brother Vitalis saw no reason to answer, as his abbot was very right, of course. The affairs of the land seemed to have reverted to the same point where the civil war had begun, and there was a sound possibility that the whole unfortunate cycle would be reverted all over again, with luck shifting capriciously from King to Empress and back, neither of them strong enough to win, yet neither of them willing to admit defeat. And the common folk would continue to suffer.
Abbot Radulfus sighed, signed the document before him, sealed it and set it aside. He was reaching out for the next one, when there was a knock on the door, and at his call in came Brother Cadfael, with a full scrip already hung around his shoulder.
"Father Abbot," he said deferentially, a sentiment that came naturally when speaking to Radulfus, yet not when he had to face Prior Robert, unfortunately. "I must ask for your leave to go into the town again."
Radulfus gave him a piercing look. Unlike Prior Robert, who would not cease complaining about the allowances granted to Brother Cadfael, the abbot knew well enough what a gift for the house – and for him personally – the herb-master was. Knowing the outside world as well as the demands of cloistered life, Brother Cadfael had a unique view of things, and as a late-comer to the cloister, regarded all too human weakness with tolerant understanding. All this did not bode well with Prior Robert and his faithful, over-zealous shadow, Brother Jerome, of course, but Radulfus found those past experiences useful and was willing to look the other way from time to time, when Cadfael bent the Rule a little to get a good deed done.
Never for himself. But without hesitation, if there were innocents – or, indeed, repenting sinners – who needed his help.
"I assume you have a patient in town," said the abbot with a fleeting glance at Cadfael's full scrip. Cadfael nodded.
"Indeed, Father, I have. I believe you still remember Liliwin, the minstrel, who sought sanctuary in our church when a drunken crowd tried to kill him for nothing."
Radulfus nodded. He was a man who rarely forgot anything of importance. But even men with less acute memory would not forget the disruption of midnight service by such an unholy event as a man-hunt.
"He married the Aurifaber's little maidservant after proving his innocence, has he not?" he asked.
Cadfael nodded again. "That he did, Father. And now he seems to be back in town, beaten up badly again, and his wife with child that can be born any day… or so the locksmith's daft lad tells me."
Radulfus was not born in Shrewsbury, nor had he grown up there, but he had been abbot of St Peter and Paul long enough to know the respected craftsmen of the town. Or the less-respected ones, for that matter.
"So, young John Boneth had mercy with them and took them in," he said. "I'm not surprised; he's said to be a decent man. I wonder, though, why they would turn to him in the first place. In a wealthier household, they could have hoped for more, I deem."
"I believe the girl would try to find help from the Aurifabers first," replied Cadfael, coming very close to the truth, without knowing it. "But with Susanna gone, no-one else there would care whether she lived or died. And John Boneth just could not let them die on the roadside."
"A commendable deed," said the abbot. "The world needs more people like him; perhaps there would be less suffering and grief. Is it known what happened to those two?"
"Griffin says they were attacked by brigands," explained Cadfael. "Sadly, not a rare occurrence in these unruly days. Although what any brigands might have hoped to find by such poor wretches, I cannot say."
"Whatever it was, 'tis disheartening to know it happened so close to the town," said Radulfus. "Hugh Beringar should hear about this – assuming he's come back from Maesbury already."
"He has," replied Cadfael, "although he's left Aline and their son by his mother's family for a while yet."
"Then you should talk to him," advised the abbot. "You will have to walk by his house along the Doggepol on your way back as it is. He might want to look into the matter and deal with those brigands. He'd wish the roads in and out of the town to be safe."
"This," said Cadfael, "would have been the other thing I was about to ask permission for."
"I know," Radulfus smiled faintly. "Which is why I spared you the effort. Go with God, Brother Cadfael. And bring me some answers upon your return."
By the time Cadfael reached the Aurifaber burgage, John and Griffin had moved Liliwin into the long-since unused room of the late Baldwin Peche. They had even found some clean bedlinen in a chest to bed him, and an old byrchan to cover him with, making him as comfortable ad possible in his current state.
"Griffin and I must work hard for the rest of the day," John explained apologetically, "for we have lost much time already. Master Bellecote cannot finish his coffins without these hinges we are working on; and the provost needs his new set of keys before the next saint's memorial day stops all work again. But Rannilt sits with him and looks after him as well as she can."
"Son," replied Cadfael heartily, "you have already done more than what could be expected from a mere bystander. Return to your work in peace and leave your guest to me. As long as I have enough clean water to use, I shan't need aught else."
"I've placed two pails and a large bowl in the room, brother," said Griffin eagerly, speaking calmly and fluently now that he was back to the place where he felt safe and at home. "Just call me if you need more."
"That I shall certainly do," replied Cadfael placidly and went to see his patient.
The first fleeting glance at that shivering, meagre figure under the late Master Peche's worn byrchan revealed to him that Liliwin was in a much worse shape than he had been at their first meeting, a year and a half back. He'd been trampled and hacked again, and this time he might not have gotten away without broken bones, perhaps not even without broken ribs. If his painful winces at the slightest movement were any indication. Cadfael was especially worried by the way his breath was heaving and labouring and clapping in his ribs, toiling for dear life, threatening to break his flat chest apart. If he had bruised, or, God beware, punctured a lung, that could have fatal consequences.
Rannilt was sitting at his bedside, a fragile waif of a girl still, wrapped in her threadbare homespun; her hair had come apart and hung tangled over bony shoulders. She seemed even smaller and thinner than Cadfael had her in memory; as if the child she was carrying had more weight and substance than she would. But her hand did not tremble as she washed the bruised, bloodied cheeks of her husband, and the expression on her grubby little face was that of serene devotion. Whatever the cruel world might have done to them, these two clearly still loved each other very much.
Liliwin was either unconscious or asleep, 'twas hard to tell. But Rannilt had felt rather than heard Cadfael's approach, and as she looked up, she recognized him, and her dark eyes became bright with hope again.
"Brother, 'tis you!" she said quietly. "How good of you to have come to our aid again! You can heal him, can't you?"
"That I shan't be able to tell just yet," admitted Cadfael honestly, laying down his unguent-jar and his linens. "Not before I had examined him thoroughly. But do tell me, child, what evil did befall you on the road? Why would anyone wish to rob you, of all people? You could hardly have aught on you that would stir up the greed of even the most desperate of footpads."
"'Twas not greed," answered Rannilt, trembling with the very memory of it, "'twas pure malice. I have not told Master Boneth about it, for it would be no use. Our word would be against theirs, and no-one would believe us."
"Your word against whose?" Cadfael prompted.
Rannilt shrugged her thin shoulders. "I know not their names. I was rarely left out the Aurifaber house any further than to the abbey or the market, and that mostly in Mistress Susanna's company. But Liliwin recognized two of them. They were among those who've nearly beaten him to death the last time," her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't understand it. All knew that Liliwin was innocent in what they had accused him of."
But Cadfael understood it all too well. There had not been Daniel Aurifaber's wedding guests only in that crowd that had hunted Liliwin across town. There had also been the usual riff-raff, always ready for any brawl, most likely joining the man-hunt along the way. And while the decent traders and craftsmen had repented and done their best to ease their consciences by the way of small gifts, the riff-raff apparently had not taken the loss of their prey kindly, innocent or otherwise. They must have been waiting for the chance to get the hands on the minstrel ever since.
No footpads, then, but the very people of the town that had already wronged the young man once. Father Abbot had been right. Hugh Beringar needed to hear about this, now more than before. There was one thing he still did not understand, though.
"I wonder how they found you," he said. "They could not know in advance that you were coming, could they?"
"They may have," answered Rannilt thoughtfully. "We've been in the neighbourhood for weeks by now, travelling on foot from manor to manor around Shrewsbury, hoping to find a patron for the winter. But when they saw that I was with child and so close to giving birth, no-one wanted to take us in. So we decided to come back to the town, seeing if we'd have more luck here. We met many people in those weeks… and word travels around."
"That is true," agreed Cadfael. "And so they'd waylaid you shortly before the town gate?"
Rannilt nodded. "They… they laughed at us… called us useless leeches who'd live off other people's pocket, without doing any honest work," she said with bitter amusement, for who'd have laboured longer and harder than she'd done all her life in the Aurifaber house? "They… they wanted to roughen me up… so that I'd lose the child… said that Shrewsbury had no need for more parasites like us…"
She was now trembling uncontrollably, so much so that Cadfael was afraid she'd go into belated shock from reliving those horrid moments. It took her a while before she'd be able to speak again.
"Liliwin told me to run into the trees framing the road, so that they'd lose track on me," she finally continued. "We've already lost one child, when I took a heavy fall last summer… Liliwin tried to hold them back, but there were four of them, all bigger and much stronger than him… I knew they'd kill him, but I had to save the child…"
"So you ran," Cadfael finished for her. She nodded.
"'Tis easy to hide among the bushes if you're small and thin and stay very, very quiet… and they were quite drunk," she replied. "After a while, they gave up and left Liliwin behind, thinking he was dead."
"And the two of you dared to enter the town after this?" Cadfael marvelled.
"We had no other choice," she answered simply. "We needed help; and this was the closest place where we could go. I hoped they would not dare to touch us again in the house of a respected burgher."
"But you had to learn that charity from the rich only goes so far," Cadfael finished. "They may hand you down worn clothes they no longer have use for themselves; they may even give you a frugal meal to ease their conscience. Yet when it would come to take in weary travellers, or even more so wounded ones, it often ceases on their doorstep."
Rannilt nodded and began to cry, as quietly as she did everything else. "I knew not what else we could do," she said between muffled sobs. "Had Master Boneth not opened his door for us…"
"John Boneth is a decent young man," agreed Cadfael. "Now, take a heart, child, and let me examine your husband thoroughly. I shall do all that is in my power to help him."
With Rannilt's help, he pulled off the threadbare shirt of the young man, revealing a spare, badly bruised torso. He laid his palm upon Liliwin's chest, mindful of ribs that might be broken, trying to find out the extent of the damage by touch. He did not like what he found.
"He has some badly broken ribs," he told Rannilt. "I was planning to take him to St. Giles, where he'd have been taken care of, but I do not dare to move him, after all. If he moves wrong, one of the broken ribs could stab his lung and puncture it, leading to his demise."
"What shall we do then?" asked Rannilt, terrified by that news.
"The best thing we can do is to leave him here and move him as little as we can," answered Cadfael. "His kidneys may have been bruised, too. Some of those kicks were clearly aimed with the very intention of damaging them. But unless he's bleeding in the inside, I still hope that he'll live."
"Tell me what to do!" begged Rannilt. "I shall treat him as best as I can… if Master Boneth allows us to stay here until Liliwin grows strong enough to be moved."
"He won't throw you out onto the road, of that I'm certain," said Cadfael soothingly. "I shall talk to him later. Now, let's see what I can do for Liliwin first."
He worked for the better part of an hour, treating the bruises of the young minstrel, dressing his wounds and wrapping his chest with the utmost care, so that he would not cause any further damage to the already broken ribs. Then he left some medical remedies and detailed instructions with Rannilt and off he was, promising to come back in the evening.
"I shall go to see Hugh Beringar over this," he told John Boneth, who interrupted his work for a moment to see him to the door. "If what Rannilt tells me is true, and I see no reason why she'd lie, those were no mere footpads, out for booty… such as could have been found by two penniless wanderers. They wanted to kill – or at least beat badly – these two, specifically."
"But what have they done to raise such anger and hatred against themselves?" wondered John.
"As far as I can say, nothing," replied Cadfael with a sigh. "It seems, though, that some people did not like the fact that Liliwin came away more or less unharmed last year, after Daniel Aurifaber's wedding, and tried to right that mistake. Rannilt says Liliwin has recognized some of them."
"It was quite the rowdy crowd," John agreed. "I only saw them from afar, but…" he shrugged. "Nonetheless, I would never have trusted them to go after the poor wretch in cold blood."
"Well, I must go," said Cadfael. "I only wanted to warn you; if they are out for blood, they may not make halt before your door."
"Worry not, Brother," answered John, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I shall keep your little sparrows safe. No-one comes through this door, unless Griffin or I say so."
"I shall ask Hugh to send one of his men over, just to be sure no-one gets any foolish ideas," promised Cadfael. "You may be able to keep them safe till nightfall, but there is no need to take unnecessary risks."
John nodded in agreement and returned to his work. Cadfael left the Aurifaber property and hesitated for a moment how to continue. It all depended on where Hugh might be at the moment: in the Castle or in his own town house. The two places lay in opposite directions from the Aurifaber burgage, and Cadfael didn't want to lose valuable time, considering how much work was still waiting for him back in the abbey gardens.
He was just about to look for someone who would run an errand for him when he spotted a big, burly, bearded man of middle age walking down from the Castle: Will Warden, Hugh's sergeant. The grizzled, weather-beaten man was the oldest, most experienced and longest-serving of the sheriff's officers – whoever the sheriff might be. He'd already served under Gilbert Prestcote, an adjusted to Hugh Beringar's different kind of leadership well enough, after the first weeks of wary observation. He had a solid conceit of himself that sometimes tended to undervalue others, but he'd also come to respect Cadfael's opinions during the recent years, due to all the murder cases they had both worked on with Hugh.
Therefore he greeted Cadfael heartily enough and explained him that Hugh had returned to his townhouse to collect some documents for a message he wanted to send to the king. They spoke with each other for a short time, Cadfael carefully asking about the people who'd taken part in the manhunt a year earlier. Will Warden counted a few names on his fingers but couldn't remember them all.
"There is a reason you're asking all these questions, Brother, isn't there?" he asked shrewdly. Cadfael shrugged.
"For now, 'tis but a suspicion, Sergeant. When it becomes more, I'm certain that Hugh will tell you everything you need to know."
That placated the sergeant for the time being, and he went on on his errand. Cadfael walked back the way he had come: down the High Street to St. Mary's Church, 'til the low gate through which one passed at the lover end of the Doggepol. There he rounded the corner and came to Hugh Beringar's house that stood off St. Mary's Street, near the timber-framed building of the Drapers' Guild.
The stone house had an arched gateway, with torches fastened to the wall on both sides (even though they were not burning at the moment), and with a closed, wooden balcony above the heavy oak gate. On the right side, there was a low stone column, with an iron ring driven into its side, to which unexpected visitors could bind their horses while going after their business with the master of the house.
Cadfael went to the gate briskly and rang the bell. It took but moments 'til one of the heavy wings swung open and revealed the smiling face of Jehan, Hugh's manservant.
"Brother Cadfael!" the young man greeted him, clearly pleased. "'Tis good to see you again! You're lucky, though; Lord Beringar has just come home a short time ago."
"I know," Cadfael replied placidly. "I spoke to Will Warden. Now would it be possible for me to see your master at once? I'm on serious business here, and fear it cannot wait."
"Oh, I'm fairly certain that Lord Beringar will have time for you, Brother," Jehan opened the gate wider to let him into the cobbled courtyard. "If you'll wait in the parlour while I fetch him…"
Cadfael found the thought of resting his aging bones for a moment a pleasant one. While he was quite robust for his age, strangely enough it was the unusually mild weather like they were having it now that sometimes made his joints rebel. Not very often yet, but often enough to remind him that he wasn't a youth of twenty summers anymore.
Thus he gladly made himself comfortable in the familiar parlour, and was contemplating the fact how much darker it seemed without Aline's bright presence, when the door opened again and in strode the master of the house, with light, almost bouncing steps as always. A young man, who could have been Cadfael's son age-wise, but who'd become a close and dear friend instead, despite the differences of age and experience lying between them.
A lightweight man he was, the deputy sheriff of Shropshire, of middle height and slender build, dark of hair and eye, with thin, alert features and a sardonic smile that revealed nothing, unless he wanted so. Right now, his saturnine face was alight with pleasure upon seeing his old friend.
"Cadfael!" he said, patting the bald patch in the middle of the monk's grizzled tonsure affectionately. "What brings you to me in this ungodly hour? Is it about the man and his little wife who've been attacked by footpads last night?"
Cadfael didn't ask how Hugh could already have learned about it. The young man had an amazing network of gossip traders in the town and was usually the first to learn about anything that happened within the walls – or outside of them, for that matter.
"It is," he replied, "But those were no footpads, I fear."
The smile vanished from Hugh's face as if wiped away with a wet cloth.
"I suggest you tell me everything you know," he said, sitting down and focusing his attention on the visitor.
And Cadfael did exactly that. Starting with recalling the events of Daniel Aurifaber's wedding and the consequences of them, some of which Hugh had experienced first-hand, up to the current day and to the disturbing things he had learned from Rannilt.
As Hugh listened to him, those sharp, dark eyes of his became even darker with anger and sorrow.
"You are right," he said. "We must look into this matter without delay – ere something worse happens. I must say, though, that I'd prefer to deal with brigands."
"So would I," admitted Cadfael, "'Tis saddening to know that people of our own town would do such a hideous thing… and get away with it unpunished. I'm all for showing mercy towards a repentant sinner, but these people… they're worse than wolves."
"Saddening, yet understandable," said Hugh grimly. For is it not the same that they see all over the country? Are not even the nobles, indeed, the princes of the Church, shifting loyalties, forfeiting their oaths and betraying those they've sworn fealty but a short time ago? Aren't always the weak who must pay dearly for the fancies of the strong?"
"This still doesn't make what those people did right," replied Cadfael, uncompromisingly. Hugh nodded.
"Of course not. And I shall look into the matter, I promise. We need evidence, though; the juggler's testimony alone won't be enough. He's not from here; his attackers apparently are. Whom, do you think, people will believe? Someone they've known since birth or a vagabond who's already caused trouble in town? Few will remember that he was innocent in that trouble, after all."
"You will remember," Cadfael countered, "and that is what counts. Unless the king chooses to replace you, which I fervently hope he won't do, your word is the law in Shrewsbury."
"Then bring me hard evidence!" said Hugh. "Will Warden'll do his best to investigate the case, but he does not have your keen eye for detail… or your vexed interest in the well-being of the victims. And I cannot investigate myself, if I wish to appear a neutral party in this, or else people won't trust my judgement."
"I shall do what's in my power," promised Cadfael. "For the beginning, I can give you this: Liliwin's wooden rings and the painted balls he does his tricks with are gone, taken by the attackers. So is his rebec, the one Brother Anselm has repaired for him. Look out for these items; they might lead us to the culprits."
"That's a step in the right direction," Hugh agreed. "I shall ask Will Warden to keep his eyes open. Is there aught else you'd like to point out to me?"
"One more thing," said Cadfael. "For now, the two are safe under John Boneth's protection. But when John returns to his mother's house for the night, there will be only the daft boy between them and anyone who'd want to finish what they've begun."
"You think they'll try it again?" asked Hugh doubtfully. "In the middle of the town itself?"
"As I said: they're like wolves," answered Cadfael grimly. "Twice has their prey already slipped through their claws, albeit not unharmed. They won't let him escape a third time. Think about it: they tried to beat an unborn child out of its mother's body… do you truly believe they'd allow John Boneth's generosity to stop them?"
"No, I fear they would not," Hugh shook his head in dismay. "I shall send two soldiers to watch the house tonight. As for tomorrow and the days after… we will see. Much depends on what you and Will may find out. I count on you in particular – people would tell you things they'd never tell my sergeant."
"Very good," said Cadfael. "Well, I must go. I've been away from my work long enough, and Father Abbot would wish to learn all about that which happened."
"Go," Hugh agreed, „but tell me at once, should you learn anything that may be useful to bring light into our case. I shall do the same."
"You will find me in John Boneth's shop between Vespers and Compline, assuming Father Abbot gives me leave to check on my patient," said Cadfael. "Hopefully, we'll know more by then."
~TBC~