Brother Cadfael 02: One Corpse Too Many by Ellis Peters

in a few days. 'No. We don't grow it here. But I might know it if I saw it growing fresh.'
    'It's goose-grass - cleavers it's also called. A queer, creeping thing that grows little hooks to hold fast, even on these tiny seeds you see here. And you see it's broken in the middle of this straight stem?'
    She saw, and was curiously subdued. There was something here beyond her vision; the thing was a wisp of brown, bleached and dry, but indeed folded sharply in the midst by a thin fracture. 'What is it? Where did you find it?'
    'Caught into the furrow in this poor lad's throat,' he said, so gently that she could take it in without shock, 'broken here by the ligament that strangled him. And it's last year's crop, not new. The stuff is growing richly at this season, seeding wild everywhere, this was in fodder, or litter, grass cut last autumn and dried out. Never turn against the herb, it's sovereign for healing green wounds that are stubborn to knit. All the things of the wild have their proper uses, only misuse makes them evil.' He put the small slip of dryness away carefully in his bosom, and laid an arm about her shoulders. 'Come, then, let's go and look at this youngster, you and I together.'
    It was mid-afternoon, the time of work for the brothers, play for the boys and the novices, once their limited tasks were done. They came down to the church without meeting any but a few half-grown boys at play, and entered the cool dimness within.
    The mysterious young man from the castle ditch lay austerely shrouded on his bier in the choir end of the nave, his head and face uncovered. Dim but pure light fell upon him; it needed only a few minutes to get accustomed to the soft interior glow in this summer afternoon, and he shone clear to view. Godith stood beside him and gazed in silence. They were alone there, but for him, and they could speak, in low voices. But when Cadfael asked softly: 'Do you know him?' he was already sure of the answer.
    A fine thread of a whisper beside him said: 'Yes.'
    'Come!' He led her out as softly as they had come. In the sunlight he heard her draw breath very deep and long. She made no other comment until they were secure together in the herbarium, in the drowning summer sweetness, sitting in the shade of the hut.
    'Well, who is he, this young fellow who troubles both you and me?'
    'His name,' she said, very low and wonderingly, 'is Nicholas Faintree. I've known him, by fits and starts, since I was twelve years old. He is a squire of FitzAlan's, from one of his northern manors, he's ridden courier for his lord several times in the last few years. He would not be much known in Shrewsbury, no. If he was waylaid and murdered here, he must have been on his lord's business. But FitzAlan's business was almost finished in these parts.' She hugged her head between her hands, and thought passionately. 'There are some in Shrewsbury could have named him for you, you know, if they had reason to come looking for men of their own. I know of some who may be able to tell you what he was doing here that day and that night. If you can be sure no ill will come to them?'
    'Never by me,' said Cadfael, 'that I promise.'
    'There's my nurse, the one who brought me here and called me her nephew. Petronilla served my family all her grown life, until she married late, too late for children of her own, and she married a good friend to FitzAlan's house and ours, Edric Flesher, the chief of the butchers' guild in town. The two of them were close in all the plans when FitzAlan declared for the empress Maud. If you go to them from me,' she said confidently, 'they'll tell you anything they know. You'll know the shop, it has the sign of the boar's head, in the butchers' row.'
    Cadfael scrubbed thoughtfully at his nose. 'If I borrow the abbot's mule, I can make better speed, and spare my legs, too. There'll be no keeping the king waiting, but on the way back I can halt at the shop. Give me some token, to show you trust me, and they can do