Sparrows
by 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.
Time-frame: Early June 1141, shortly before the events of The Rose Rent
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.
Chapter 10 Gregory's Testimony
Author's note: The various parts of this chapter take place in a time span of about two months, told in linear time. Oh, and I took a bit of creative freedom by using the Welsh blood price solution for manslaughter that happened in England.
Spring came late to the English countries in the year 1142 of Our Lord. After a relatively mild December in 1141, the sudden onset of cold lingered far into March and April of the new year, and had scarcely mellowed even at the beginning of May. As a rule, sowing and planting should have been started weeks previously, there was no point in planting seed that would either rot or freeze in soil too chilly to engender life.
Even the bees, led by some instinct unfathomable for mere men but surely gifted to them by the Creator, mindful of all His creatures, small and large, had not even begun to wake up yet. And those of them which had, depleted their stores and had to be fed, to Brother Bernard's concern and sorrow. 'Twas a lucky thing that the fruit-blossom had held back so far, too, or else the entire harvest could have fallen out, without the diligent work of the little winged helpers. Even so, it promised to be a thin crop that year.
The kin-strife between King Stephen and the Empress Maud had also come to a tentative halt, as if it had frozen cold with the rest of the world. Part of the reason surely must have been the fact that Stephen had fallen ill in the south and so badly that the rumour of his death had spread throughout England. And while that rumour had soon proven false, there could be no doubt that he was indeed bed-ridden due to a virulent fever, and the whole England was waiting with bated breath for news of his recovery or his demise. To the latter ones belonged, most certainly, his royal adversary, the Empress, who had cautiously moved her headquarters to Oxford, where she settled down to wait patiently for him to make truth of the rumour.
So far, Stephen had stubbornly declined to do her the favour. But those loyal to him either by choice or out of a healthy sense of self-preservation, had their eyes turned anxiously to the south, and in the Abbey of Shrewsbury, prayers were said and Masses sung for his recovery. Others, both former supporters of the Empress and people who had simply had enough of the kin-strife and wanted it to come to an end, one way or another, nurtured cautious hopes for a different outcome but knew better than voice their hopes in case the King would manage to recover, after all.
And recover he did, indeed, around the first days of June, just when the long sub-frost finally broke. And with his breaking into vigorous action, the kin-strife started anew, to the grief and sorrow of the long-suffering people of the country.
The breaking of the long winter also brought a break in the still-unsolved case of Liliwin's murder. Will Wharton, suspected murderer of John Weaver and one of Liliwin and Rannilt's attackers, had finally been caught near Buildwas, some ten miles south-east from Shrewsbury, in an abandoned cottage, half-starved and very nearly frozen to death. He was brought back to Shrewsbury and thrown into the castle dungeon, which was most likely a vast improvement to the places he'd been living since his flight. But no matter what Hugh and his sergeants tried, he remained stonily silent.
Not that there would have been any doubt concerning his culpability. Not only had been a cudgel found among his meagre belongings, with the blood of poor John Weaver still on it, but Rannilt, as the only surviving eyewitness of the original attack, clearly identified him as one of the attackers.
Mindful of his responsibility as Rannilt's protector, John Boneth escorted her to the castle personally, leaving his workshop to Griffin, despite his worries that the daft boy would be out of his depths without proper supervision.
The castle of Shrewsbury, although it housed a small garrison that should have, in theory, keep it for King Stephen a theory that, thankfully, had not been tested since the siege of 1138, when the King had taken it to begin with was a fairly peaceful place, now that the changing luck of warfare had washed the kin-strife safely to other parts of the country. Save from the casual traffic of the watch, no sign reminded of the civil war still going on elsewhere, and the townspeople were allowed to go in and out freely with their requests and complaints. Like his predecessor, Hugh Beringar was trusted to be fair in day to day matters; and, unlike Sir Gilbert, he was a man of easy-going manners and of a somewhat less heavy hand.
Rannilt followed her protector up the steep street to the High Cross, then down the gentler slop beyond the ramp leading up to the castle gateway and through it. In the great court, Jehan came to meet them, ushering them through to the inner wand and a chill, stony hall hung with smoky tapestries. They were asked to sit on a bench against the wall 'til the lord sheriff arrived and the prisoner would be bought up from his cell. They did as they had been asked; Rannilt, who had never been to the castle before, looking about her with anxious eyes.
Soon thereafter, Hugh Beringar walked in briskly, with Will Warden at his elbow and followed by two of his officers who led in the prisoner. The hands of the convict were bound before him with rope, although that hardly seemed necessary, continuing the pitiful shape he was in. He was so haggard that it seemed what little flesh was left on his bones would melt and drop off them any moment, and his extreme pallor would have better matched a dead body than the face of any living man.
"Mistress Rannilt," said Hugh gently, surprising his own men even, by giving the honorary title to the widow of a wandering juggler. "Do you recognise this man? Was he among those who attacked you and your husband?"
Rannilt looked at the prisoner with cold, detached pity. The miserable wretch battered by the circumstances of his flight, seemed to have nigh to nothing to do with the brawny, well-fed young fellow who had felled Liliwin with his mere fist and kicked him in the ribs repeatedly, after Liliwin had already fallen. That wasted face, with the hollow cheeks and with the madness glittering in those sunken eyes, had very little similarity with the round, ruddy, leery visage of their biggest, strongest attacker.
Rannilt recognised him nonetheless.
"Yes, he was one of them," she said simply. "He was the one who sent Liliwin to the ground with a single blow, while the younger one, the one with the leather jerkin, grabbed me by my hair and held me down, for the others, so that they could kick the babe out of me."
John Boneth felt a sudden, violent urge to get sick, and Hugh Beringar also looked a little green in the face, being a father himself. Even Will Warden, hardened by his field of work, blanched for a moment by the thought of such vicious acts against a pregnant woman and one who had never harmed any-one.
"How did you break free?" asked Hugh.
"Liliwin managed to kick this one in the groin," answered Rannilt in the same calm, even voice. "He tore the young one away from me, sweeping his legs from under him, and told me the run. So I ran and hid under the bushes. This one and the man who's dead now, the one who smelled of sour wine, continued beating up Liliwin; the young one and their fourth fellow tried to find me, but I was very quiet and lay very still, so they couldn't. Thus they returned to their friends and kept beating and kicking Liliwin, as long as he was moving. When they thought him dead, they left him behind and went back to the town."
The three men, who heard the detailed tale of the original attack for the first time as Rannilt had only told it to Cadfael, were shaken by the description; and by the manner she had delivered it, calm, collected, unwavering. She was beyond grieving by now; now she was focused on bringing the murderers of her husband to fall.
"Was he also among those who ambushed you and Benet – I mean Ninian – on the day before Nativity?" asked Hugh after a while.
Rannilt thought about that for a moment; then she shrugged.
"I cannot say," she confessed. "I recognized the young one and the one who was drunk, but I didn't see the third one, not truly. By his size, he could have been it or not. I do not wish to accuse a possibly innocent man falsely. I simply do not know."
"It matters not," commented Will Warden. "He'll be hanged for the two murders anyway, won't he?" he looked at the sheriff askance.
Hugh nodded. "He most certainly will; as soon as we've caught the fourth man in their party to make them both a proper trial. 'Til then he'll be kept in the castle dungeon under constant watch."
"But how long do you intend to keep him, my lord sheriff?" asked Will Warden. "We cannot watch and feed him year upon year."
"There will be no need for that," said Hugh. "Saint Peter's fair is coming up next month, and with it the river barge of Mistress Emma Corviser. Her man can give testimony which of the suspects sent him to Longner with a rebec to sell. After that, the case will hopefully be solved."
It seemed the weather had wanted to make up to the people of Shrewsbury for the unusually long and cold winter, for when summer finally came, it came with a vengeance. The harvest might prove leaner than in the years before, but the crop was promising, and there was hope that there would have no shortage of the autumn fruits, either, with the days having so much sunny hours and with just a right amount of rain to keep the soil fertile.
And so when the thirtieth day of July, the eve of Saint Peter ad Vincula, finally arrived, the last day before the annual fair, there were booths already going up in the great, green triangle of the horse-fair, and all along the Foregate from the bridge to the corner of the fairground where the road went towards the king's highway to London. By river, road, afoot through the forests and over the border from Wales, traders of all kind began to make their way to Shrewsbury. The Abbey stewards were standing by to guide pedlars and merchants and collect the tolls due on the amount of wares they had brought.
In the afternoon, word came to the castle that the ship of the late Master Thomas of Bristol, now belonging to Mistress Emma Corviser, had been spotted upon the river and was now approaching the long wooden jetty downstream from the bridge, where the rich lowland known as the Gaye began. Energized by the news, Will Warden took Jehan with him and went down to the river in his own respectable person, to take their possible eye witness into protective custody, before the fourth murderer they were sill looking for could have silenced him.
As always, the annual return of the best, most imposing merchant ship that had visited Shrewsbury in the recent years, caused great excitement among the urchins of the Foregate, who had gathered at the riverside to admire her smooth sidling along the grassy shore. She was a Bristol-built vessel, reportedly for a thousand marks, so cunningly as to draw hardly more water than boats half her capacity yet steer well and ride steadily.
An impressively opulent and graceful ship, with a single mast and a neat, closed cabin aft, she loomed large above the smaller boats and yet a small crew of three could pole her inshore, with easy, light touches, waiting to moor her alongside as soon as there was room. One of the Abbey stewards was already waiting to levy the toll for the wares stored on her which, in Will Warden's expert estimate, would be twenty pence at the very least, for she was laden heavily.
The Sergeant also recognised the Abbey clerk waiting at the jetty: it was no lesser personage than Master William Rede himself, Brother Matthew's chief steward and the father of their main suspect. Will Warden could not help but pity the good, honest (albeit not always easily endured) man who would most likely be shaken to the bone, should the suspicion against his only son be affirmed. For no matter how much Master William had always complained about Eddi, there could be no doubt that he loved his wayward offspring with all his heart.
Mistress Emma, too, had come down to the jetty to oversee the mooring of her boat and accept the account her men would render to her. As it was proper to her position as the wealthy wife of a respected craftsman and the daughter-in-law of the provost himself, she had not come alone but accompanied by Warin, her clerk, who was safely beyond the age that his presence would send people's tongues wiggle.
The one obviously in charge of the boat would have been a different matter. A burly, well-set-up young man he was, in his early thirties, with a lean, tanned face, brown of hair and eye, clad in good, solid homespun still cut in the same fashion as he had worn in his years as a journeyman, but obviously recently made and fitted for him rather than inherited from a previous owner. He clearly still did not think himself too fine for helping the two boatmen serving under his hand to hoist casks of wine on to the jetty, while a fourth man, by his clothing and appearance their clerk, stood on the board still, ticking off items that had already been removed off a long list.
Spotting Emma Corviser on the shore, though, he put down his burden and came to greet her with a respectful bow and a few carefully chosen words. Once the late Master Thomas' journeyman, Roger Dodd was now an accepted member of the Guild Merchant in Bristol, recorded as the junior partner of his former master's heiress. He had accepted the position as it secured him a safer, better-established living than trying to start an independent business of his own from scratch and, if his hungry eyes hovering upon his mistress were any indication, also to remain close to Emma, with whom he still seemed to be as deeply and hopelessly in love as he had been three years previously.
He was followed ashore by the clerk of the Bristol business; a sure, square-set young fellow in his mid-twenties, with a round, smiling face and large, candid eyes, a pen stuck behind his ear. Will Warden recognised the clerk at once, of course: Jacob of Bouldon, who had entered the Abbey service in early 1140, only to rob and nearly kill Master Rede while collecting the Abbey rents with him. The same Master Rede who was now standing at the head of the jetty, waiting for the toll to be paid.
"That ought to be an interesting reunion," commented Jehan. "How did that fellow escaped from being hanged or at least having his hands hacked off anyway?"
"You don't remember?" asked the Sergeant with a frown; then he counted in his head and realised why. "Right, you were off to the wedding of your sister at that time. In any case, Mistress Emma has struck a bargain with the sheriff, buying the young man free from the gallows and sending him to Bristol, where he and that foreman of hers, Roger Dodd, can keep a mutual eye on each other. 'Tis said to have improved the business enormously, as Jacob appears to live in deadly fear of Master Dodd."
"I remember this Roger Dodd from the time when Master Thomas was murdered," said Jehan, who had served in the castle garrison since 1138, thoughtfully. "A very personable young fellow he is; if only he weren't so curt and withdrawn in manner. And jealously devoted to his mistress, too."
"That part doesn't seem to have changed," replied Will Warden drily. "Well, now that they've moored, we ought to go and pick our man out of the crowd."
'And perchance, try keeping Master Rede and his would-be murderer from each other's throats," added Jehan with a mirthless grin.
"That, too," agreed Will Warden sourly, already on his way down to the jetty.
'Twas indeed a most remarkable scene when Master Rede and Jacob of Bouldon came face to face. The younger man became deadly pale upon seeing his almost-victim so unexpectedly, while Master Rede's visage reminded of a thundercloud; a particularly dark one. To his credit, however, the chief steward of the Abbey did not say a thing to the man who had nearly murdered him two years previously. He took the toll, stone-faced and grim, and if he levied it a little higher than he should have, who would blame him for such minor vengeance? It was not as if he would put as much as a half-penny of it into his own pocket, and Roger Dodd would cut the difference from Jacob's payment, so that his adored mistress would not come short, of that Will Warden was fairly sure.
Only when he went on his way to the next boat could Master Rede be heard to make bitter complaints under his breath. But those complaints about such times in which would-be murderers could buy themselves free for the right amount of money were voiced carefully low, as speaking thus against the sheriff's authority could have had serious consequences.
Fortunately for Master Rede, Will Warden chose to pretend that he had not heard anything. 'Twas understandable that the man would be bitter, seeing that his almost-murderer had got away nearly unscathed.
Jacob of Bouldon visibly deflated with relief when Master Rede was gone, it could not be easy for him, either, to face the man he had nearly murdered out of greed, and eagerly presented the list of the wares brought to be sold on the fair to Mistress Emma. She read it carefully; then she gave it to her household clerk for safekeeping.
"Master Roger must have a copy of this, Warin," she said, with just a hint of warning in her voice; then she turned her attention to one of the boatmen uploading the barge. "Gregory, when you're done here, you'll go with these officers to the castle. The lord sheriff will have some questions to you."
The young man thus addressed, a gawky, lean but powerful fellow barely beyond twenty, gave said officers an anxious look.
"I've done nothing wrong, Mistress," he protested fretfully.
"No-one accuses you of any wrongdoing, lad," said Will Warden in a placating tone, remembering that Gregory was a dimwit and thus easily frightened, despite his strength. "We need your testimony in a small matter that happened when you were last in town, that's all. Jehan here will wait 'til you've finished with work and escort you to the castle."
"Is that truly needful?" asked Emma, troubled by that thought. "He's obedient; he'll go when summoned."
"We don't doubt that," said the sergeant grimly. "We just don't want anything to happen to him before he's reached the castle."
Emma blanched; she clearly had not thought of that, as an important witness, Gregory could be in danger. "They'd go after him, too?"
Will Warden shrugged. "They've already slain two men; one of them their own fellow-in-crime. They won't stop now; the last one still running free will do anything to remain unrevealed, I deem. We better not take any risks."
That, as Emma reluctantly admitted, was very true, and thus they agreed that Gregory would go to the castle with Jehan as soon as the wares were secured in the booth.
Gregory arrived at the castle a good hour later, clearly frightened and a little resentful, as dealing with authorities on his own always filled him with unease, but safe and hale in the protective company of Jehan. He was promptly taken to Hugh Beringar's office the same chilly stone hall with the smoky tapestries Rannilt and John Boneth had visited nearly two months earlier, and Hugh Beringar questioned him about his last stay in Shrewsbury thoroughly yet in a friendly enough manner. The lord sheriff's friendliness lessened Gregory's anxiety a great deal, and willingly enough did he tell Hugh everything he could remember. Which was not much but enough to start them on a new trail.
Yes, he had met Arald and Will Wharton and that poor John Weaver in the Three-Tree-Shut tavern a couple of times. It had been the weaver who had taken him there, him being the only one Gregory had previously known, from Mistress Emma's new business. Yes, there were others, too: Bertred, the Vestiers' foreman; that fellow who served the old wool merchant, by the name of Gunnar or something like that; the stone-mason's journeymen, whose names Gregory did not know; and young Master Rede, who had always been very generous with poor John. Always buying him a drink or two.
If he had been given anything to sell for them? Why, yes, young Master Rede had asked him to take an instrument – a rebec he called it – to Longner, hoping that the worthies there would show interest in buying it. No, they had not bought it, in the end. What he had done with the rebec? Why he had given it back to Master Rede, of course. It had been his, after all; a gift from his mother, he had said, but he had not wanted to keep it, as he did not have any particular talent for music and needed the money he could have gotten for it.
Hugh Beringar asked a few more questions, mostly to clarify some minor details; then he released Gregory, who seemed mightily relieved.
"Well, it makes things abundantly clear," he said to Will Warden glumly. "I pity the Abbey steward; it will be a harsh blow to him. Complain as he might about that rogue son of his all the time, he loves the lad very much in his own manner."
"It can not be helped, though," said the sergeant. "Due to Gregory's testimony, we must search the house of the Redes. And if we find that rebec there, or indeed anything that might have belonged to the minstrel, young Master Rede shan't escape the gallows, I fear. A shame, though. Most of the town's hopeful youths start off on the wild side yet settle down respectably enough in good time. I wonder what have thrown him so off-kilter that he ended up a murderer."
"We still don't know how much guilt he's taken upon himself," said Hugh. "Liliwin's death might or might not be intended. We must learn whether he had any part in the second attack against Rannilt, though or in the murder of John Weaver."
'Tis still enough to search his father's house, though," said the sergeant.
Hugh nodded. "Yes, it is; and I'm not looking forward to do it."
"You don't have to be part of it, my lord," Will Warden offered. "We can do this on our own well enough."
Hugh shook his head. "No, Sergeant. I'm responsible for the things that happen within my writ; besides, it will be courtesy towards the Abbey if I look into the matter personally. I shall be there."
Thus Hugh Beringar was indeed in the company of Will Warden and Jehan in the next morning when they went to search the house of Master William Rede. He had asked Abbot Radulfus permission to take Brother Cadfael with them, in case either the steward or his wife would suffer a seizure of some sort from the excitement. Besides, the house was Abbey property, rented to the head clerk as a lifelong lodging, so it was only proper that someone from the Abbey would be present, too.
The house, a fairly small one, stood in a narrow passage near Saint Mary's Water-Lane, above the water-gate not a hundred paces from where Master Rede had been attacked and robbed two years earlier. In this early hour, both the squarely-built, balding steward and his brisk, bird-like little wife were still at home, with Master Rede not having left for the Abbey just yet, for his duties there would not begin before the None bell. Both husband and wife were clearly surprised by the unexpected visit from the sheriff himself.
"My Lord Beringar, 'tis a rare honour for our humble home," said Master Rede, eyeing the sergeant and his man-at-arms with wary curiosity. "And Brother Cadfael, too how can I be of service?"
"I fear I'm the bearer of black news, Master William," answered Hugh grimly. "We have some business with your son. Where is he?"
"He went to the butts with those useless friends of his again," scowled the steward. "'Tis nothing but vexation with him; he won't learn how to do any honest work. There's nought but shooting and drinking and gambling for him. What has he done this time?"
Hugh shot a warning look at Will Warden who had already dispatched Jehan to send a few men to the butts and take Eddi Rede under arrest. The sergeant understood the wordless warning and shut his mouth.
"We've got reason to assume that your son is harbouring stolen goods, Master William," said Hugh, not quite ready to confront the worried father with the full measure of his son's supposed crimes. Not before he had any evidence, at least. "I regret we shall have to search the house. Brother Cadfael has come to witness for the Abbey."
"My son a thief! I shall never believe that!" protested Master Rede. "He does have his faults, more than enough, in truth, but stealing? No; that he'd never do!"
"I did not say he'd been the one who stole," corrected Hugh. "I only spoke about harbouring stolen goods. Now, Master William, let us do our duties here. I promise, we'll be quick and won't cause any damage to your household goods."
The Abbey steward, what other choice would he have, reluctantly gave his consent. Then he and his wife huddled together and watched the lord sheriff and his sergeant go through the house. Hugh and Will Warden were very thorough, thus the search took fairly long. More so as, according to Hugh's promise, they took care not to damage anything. But they did turn over every item in the house, looked into every oh-so-hidden corner and, after an hour or so, the sergeant finally found what they were looking for.
"My lord," he said flatly, "I think we have our evidence now."
And with that, he pulled out a small, well-made and well-tended-to rebec from under the bench of a little-used storeroom, together with the bow, with which it was played on.
"Can we confirm that this is the same instrument that was taken from the minstrel?" asked Hugh.
"We can," replied Cadfael heavily. "Can you see the small, finely decorated A etched here, right under the neck? This is the mark of Brother Anselm's handiwork. He was the one who rebuilt Liliwin's rebec, and I saw him set this mark with my own eyes."
"Liliwin?" replied Master Rede in shock. "The wandering minstrel who was beaten to death shortly before the town? Are you saying, Brother, that my son was part of such villainy?"
Cadfael looked at him in compassion. "I'm truly sorry, William, but it looks like that, yes. Four they were who committed the foul deed; two are dead already, the third one is sitting in the castle dungeon. It looks like Eddi was the fourth man in their league. We cannot say for certain, not 'til he has faced Rannilt, but there's little doubt that he was part of it. At least we know he was the one who tried to have this rebec sold. The lad he sent with it to Longner gave testimony; and as he's God's simpleton, with a wit too dull for lies, I fear there is solid proof against your son."
Mistress Rede began to cry, quietly like a little bird, while Master William's face became alarmingly red at once; it was feared he might suffer a seizure of the heart. Cadfael hurriedly fished a small vial out of his scrip and forced the cordial that was in it down the man's throat, so that his upset heart might calm down somewhat. After a short while the unnatural redness in Master William's face lessened indeed, giving room to shocked pallor, and he was breaking more evenly.
"What will become of my son now?" he asked in resignation. "You'll hang him, won't you, my lord?"
"I might have to," admitted Hugh honestly. "Much depends on Rannilt and her testimony. Also, as the wronged party, she has the right to demand his life or any other means of reparation."
"That I've come to see this!" complained the steward. "The life of my only son, depending on the goodwill of a wandering conjurer's wife!"
"His widow, Master William," corrected Hugh a little sharply. "A life is a life; and taken unjustly, the law knows no difference. Those four did kill Rannilt's husband; and very nearly her and her unborn child, too. As much as I regret your loss, Master William, she does have the right to demand the deaths of the murderers, he looked at Will Warden. We're done here, Sergeant. Let's go and question our prisoners. Cadfael, are you coming with us?"
The monk shook his head. "You go and do what you have to do, Hugh. I'll stay hear to heal what still can be healed."
And so it came that the None bell found Rannilt on her way to the castle again, escorted by the daft boy Griffin this time, as John Boneth could not leave his workshop but neither would he let her go alone. Griffin, who had never been to the castle before, looked around him with awe and perhaps just a little fear. Rannilt, on the other hand, strode forward determinedly; glad that all would be over, soon.
The chilly stone hall with the blackened tapestries was almost familiar to her by now, and so were the lord sheriff and his bearded sergeant. The only new sight was the young man under guard: tall, shock-headed, dark-eyed, in good, solid homespun, his hands bound before him with rope. He stared back at her sullenly and a little aggressively.
"Do you recognize him, Mistress?" asked Hugh.
Rannilt nodded. "I do, my lord. He was one of the four men who attacked us on the road."
"But he was not part of the second attack against you, was he?" asked Hugh.
"No, my lord. There were only three of them at that time; the two who're dead now, and the one your men caught in the Long Forest I think," she added consciously. "He at least has the right shape; this young one does not."
Indeed, Eddi Rede could not have compared himself with Will Wharton in his prime. Hugh accepted the answer.
"What do you say, Master Eddi?" he then asked. "Do you deny that you had part in killing Liliwin, Mistress Rannilt's husband?"
"We didn't intend to kill him," answered the young man sullenly. "We just... John and Arald were so angry with Mistress Emma, who'd turned them out of their livelihood and she refused me, choosing that boy Philip Corviser over me! We were angry and drunk, my lord, and wanted to beat up someone, anyone! And then Arald said that the minstrel and his wife would be coming back to Shrewsbury, and Will said it wasn't right that he'd bred to set more leeches into this world, and and we decided to give them a lesson."
"What possible grievances would Will Wharton have against Liliwin?" asked Hugh with a frown. It did not make sense.
"Not against the minstrel; against his own master," said Eddi. "Will has been in love with Heather Farrier for years, but she wouldn't have him. And now her father has giving her to this Harald, this runaway villein! Will couldn't bear it!"
"And so he chose to beat a man completely innocent in his misfortune to death, just because that man, while penniless and half-starved, was happily married," said Hugh slowly. "And the rest of you, drunken fools as you were, went with him willingly and to what end? Arald and John Weaver are dead, Will is going to hang for murdering John, and you – what will become of you, Master Eddi?"
"You'll hang me, too, I suppose," Eddy shrugged. "I wasn't any better than the other three, after all." But he was deathly pale and sweating, despite his brave words.
"That's not strictly true," said Hugh. You're guilty of manslaughter, true, as you did have your part in Liliwin's death. But not in the second attack or in the murdering of John Weaver, it seems to me. 'Tis up to Mistress Rannilt now, I suppose," he looked at her. "What's your pledge, Mistress?"
"I don't want him dead," said Rannilt quietly. "What for? There have been too many deaths already; and robbing his parents from their only son wouldn't bring my Liliwin back. But I want reparation, whatever the law would find justifiable, to secure the future of my child."
"It would certainly serve everyone better than simply having the lad hanged," admitted Hugh To Abbot Radulfus when he was visiting the Abbey right after Vespers. "But I cannot see how it could be done. For murder, even if it wasn't pre-meditated, the law knows only one punishment: the gallows. I feel for Master William and his wife, yet my hands are bound in this matter."
The abbot raised an inquisitive black eyebrow. "You did allow Mistress Emma to buy that wayward clerk of ours, Jacob of Bouldon, free, though," he pointed out.
Hugh shook his head. "That was different. Under such circumstances since the victim hadn't died transportation could be allowed; and Bristol is far enough."
"What about drafting young Master Rede into service?" asked the abbot. "They say he's a fairly good shot; and under the heavy hand of Sergeant Warden, he won't have any time left for more foul deeds."
Hugh shook his head again. "Sending him off to get killed won't help either Rannilt or his parents."
The abbot looked at Brother Cadfael who had been suspiciously silent during the entire discussion. "You have nothing to say, Brother?"
Cadfael stirred ever so slightly. "Perhaps," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "we ought to give the Welsh law a try."
Two sets of inquisitive dark eyes turned to him askance. Not even Hugh, despite his long dealings with their Welsh neighbours, could fathom his meaning. But again, Welsh law was a thing unto itself.
"Among the Welsh, 'tis not seen needful to hang a man for slaying another one by accident or as the result of a brawl," he explained patiently. "Usually, a blood-price is paid, to compensate the victim's family for the loss of the one who's fed them. Not a lifelong solution, for certain, but with the guilty man hanged, the family wouldn't even have that much; and it would rob the slayer's family of its supporter, too. What would Rannilt have from the death of Eddi Rede? If he were to pay her a blood-price, though, she could use the coin for the good of her child."
"What you say does have its merit," said Hugh thoughtfully. "But we're not in Wales here, and I don't know if we should create such precedent, lest every man who slays another one would think they could buy themselves free."
"There's always that," admitted Cadfael with a sigh. "Still, I find that it would be better for all parties involved if you could find a way to spare Eddi. As Rannilt said herself: there have been enough deaths already; and Will Wharton won't be able to escape the gallows, with two deaths on his conscience."
Hugh remained silent for quite a while. "I'll have to consult the lawmen about this," he finally said. "Also about the possible means and measure of the reparation."
"You do that," replied Cadfael. "I'm sure they'll find the right answer for you, assuming you press them hard enough."
"Mistress Rannilt," began Hugh Beringar on the next day, having asked both Rannilt and the Redes to come to the castle to settle things between them. "How much would your husband be paid for one evening in a patron's house, for playing music to the guests and doing all his tricks?"
"Between three or four pennies, depending on the generosity of our patron," answered Rannilt quietly, "as well as supper with the servants."
"And how often did he get such an offer, say, in a week?" continued Hugh. Rannilt shrugged tiredly.
"Once a week; perhaps twice, if we were very fortunate. Aside from the fairs, that is. The fairs were always better but they're far too rare."
"A meagre living still," said Hugh, "but 'tis the best we can do," he looked at the bitterly resigned Abbey steward. "Here is my judgement, Master William. I shall release your son into your custody. He'll not be allowed to leave town, though, unless with my written permission. And he'll pay Mistress Rannilt here four pennies a week, 'til her son reaches the age of fourteen; as well as the apprentice fee, should the boy choose to learn a craft and be accepted by one of our craftsmen. After that, his life debt will be considered paid and he'll be relieved from any further obligations."
"That's an awfully long sentence, my lord," protested the steward, "and plenty of coin to play throughout those years."
He might have complained some more, but perhaps for the first time in their marriage his wife silenced him.
"Oh, hush, William," she scolded, as she would scold their son. "You should be grateful that the lord sheriff found a way to spare our son's life! Who knows, perhaps this will teach him to settle down and do some honest work, for a change," she turned to Rannilt, tears of relief flowing down her round, lined little face freely. "Mistress Rannilt, I'm truly sorry for your loss. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart that you agreed to this solution."
Rannilt gave her a small, tremulous smile. "What good would his death do me? And I'd hate to rob a mother her only son. I know it would destroy me."
Hugh looked at Eddi Rede sternly. "Have you understood your sentence, young man? You shan't be a free man, not truly; not until Rannilt's son has grown enough to provide her with the necessities for life on his own."
'Tis still better than the gallows," muttered the young man sullenly.
"Truer words have never been said," agreed Hugh. "Now, I also want you to understand that you've been given this grace under the conditions named before. Should you fail to fulfil those, you'll be summarily hanged. And Master William," he added, giving the Abbey steward a warning glance, "you'll not pay the weekly reparation for your son. 'Tis his penance, not yours."
"But how is he to earn all that money?" protested Master Rede. "He never learned a craft to feed himself alone, less so others!"
"Then I'd suggest that he does so, in haste," answered Hugh drily. "I hear that Mistress Emma Corviser is short a weaver, and Rychart Nyall, the carter, has been looking for an apprentice for years desperately enough to accept one even without a fee by now. Arald was fool enough to refuse the generous offer of becoming his own man in a mere four years and for free! and taking over the carter business in due time, as Master Nyall has no children of his own. Are you wiser than your friend, Eddi? Or do you wish to end the way he ended: hunted across the country and slain on the roadside?"
"I shan't beg Emma for work," muttered Eddi darkly. "Not after she turned down my suit and married that Philip Corviser instead. A child!"
"A good, deft workman who never lay on his father's purse," countered Cadfael, who, once again, acted as the Abbey's witness. "Value your good fortune, lad, instead of belittling others through slander. You've seen where your idle life has led you 'tis high time for you to grow up and provide for yourself."
"This judgement has been documented," added Hugh. "A copy of the document will be sent to Brother Vitalis, Father Abbot's secretary, as the Abbey still accepts some responsibility for Rannilt's child. See that you fulfil your conditions, Eddi. 'Tis all our hope that you'll find your way, given enough time."
"Do you think we've done the right thing, Cadfael?" asked Hugh, after the Redes had left after profound thanks from the parents (with plenty of tears from the relieved mother's side) and still with a great deal of resentment from Eddi himself. "Or have we created another hearth of simmering hatred that will come to a violent outburst one day?"
Cadfael thoughtfully shook his grizzled head. "No, I do not think so. Once he's found some good, honest work, Eddi will learn to value what he has, just as the other wild lads of the town have."
"Unless his resentment grows strong enough to drive him to other foul deeds," said Hugh grimly.
Cadfael nodded. "There's always the possibility that a man would choose the wrong way, yes. But I still believe that Eddi hasn't lost all that was good in him, not entirely. I still believe that he can be redeemed yet."
"I hope you'll prove right," said Hugh, still a little doubtful. "Fourteen years are a long time; unless Rannilt releases him from his obligations sooner."
"Why would she do something like that?" asked Cadfael with almost convincing innocence. "'Twas her main goal to secure the future of her child, now that there's no father to take care of that."
Hugh's agile eyebrow almost got tangled in his back forelock.
"Perhaps because she'll have other means to provide for herself and for her child," he replied, with barely a hint of a question in his voice. Cadfael suppressed a smile. He should have known that Hugh would notice the signs.
"She might, and soon enough, if Mistress Boneth's plans come to fruition," he said placidly.
Hugh grinned from ear to ear. "Does John Boneth know of his luck yet?"
"I don't believe so," replied Cadfael. "Neither does Rannilt, I suppose. But Mistress Boneth is a resolute woman, with a clear idea about what her son's future ought to look like, and with enough strength and shrewdness to make it happen. And why shouldn't she? It would be a good match."
"You approve, then?" asked Hugh, smiling. Cadfael nodded.
"Indeed, I do approve, heartily. 'Tis a rare thing that a sudden, great passion leads to such a happy marriage as yours. We all saw in Susanna Aurifaber's case where such all-consuming passion can lead. Yet I do believe with all my heart that these two would be good for each other; that they can have a long and content life together."
"I hear you say content, not happy," said Hugh shrewdly.
"Oh, they'll be happy enough, I suppose," answered Cadfael with a shrug, "once they realise how good they are for each other. And I believe Mistress Boneth can well make them understand that, in good time."
"Your word in God's ear," Hugh yawned and stretched his booted feet away from his chair. "Well, since this is settled, with God's grace, I should go home. Would you come with me and share a cup of wine with us?"
Cadfael shook his head. "No, Hugh, I cannot. You've got your duties and I've got mine; and I've tested Father Abbot's patience long enough already. 'Tis time for me to return to the flock."
~TBC~