Holy Thief by Ellis Peters Page A

to watch or listen what might come to
light, but went back practically to the bellows, and the ring of the smith’s
hammer resumed, and followed Cadfael across the yard to the wide-open door of
the carthouse.
    They
were both within, wheeling the light cart by its shafts back into a corner, the
warmth of the horse they had just unharnessed still hanging in the air about
them. Square-built, muscular men both, and weatherbeaten from outdoor living in
all seasons, with a good twenty years between them, so that they might have
been father and son. Most men of these local villages, tied to the soil by
villeinage but also by inclination, and likely to marry within a very few
miles’ radius, tended to have a close clan resemblance and a strong clan
loyalty. The Welsh strain kept them short, wiry and durable, and of independent
mind.
    They
greeted him civilly, without surprise; in the past year or two he had been an
occasional visitor, and grown into a welcome one. But when he had unfolded what
was required from them, they shook their heads doubtfully, and sat down without
haste on the shafts of the cart to consider.
    “We
brought the cart down before it darkened,” said the elder then, narrowing his
eyes to look back through the week of labour and leisure between, “but it was a
black bitch of a day even at noon. We’d started shifting the load over to the
abbey wagon, when the sub-prior comes out between the graves to the gate, and
says, lads, lend us a hand to put the valuables inside high and dry, for it’s
rising fast.”
    “Sub-Prior
Richard?” said Cadfael. “You’re sure it was he?”
    “Sure
as can be, him I do know, and it was not so dark then. Lambert here will tell
you the same. So in we went, and set to, bundling up the hangings and lifting
out the chests as he told us, and putting them where we were directed, up in
the loft over the barn there, and some over the porch in Cynric’s place. It was
dim inside there, and the brothers all darting about carrying coffers and
candlesticks and crosses, and half the lamps ran out of oil, or got blown out
with the doors open. As soon as the nave seemed to be clear we got out, and
went back to loading the wood.”
    “Aldhelm
went back in,” said the young man Lambert, who had done no more than nod his
head in endorsement until now.
    “Aldhelm?”
questioned Cadfael.
    “He
came down to help us out,” explained Gregory. “He has a half yardland by
Preston, and works with the sheep at the manor of Upton.”
    So
there was one more yet before the job could be considered finished. And not
today, thought Cadfael, calculating the hours left to him.
    “This
Aldhelm was in and out of the church like you? And went back in at the last
moment?”
    “One
of the brothers caught him by the sleeve and haled him back to help move some
last thing,” said Gregory indifferently. “We were off to the cart and shifting
logs by then, all I know is someone called him, and he turned back. It was not
much more than a moment or two. When we got the next load between us to the
abbey wagon and slung it aboard, he was there by the wheel to help us hoist it
in and settle it. And the monk was off to the church again. He called back
goodnight to us.”
    “But
he had come out to the road with your man?” persisted Cadfael.
    “We
were all breathing easier then, everything that mattered was high enough to lie
snug and dry till the river went down. A civil soul, he came out to say thanks
and leave us a blessing... why not?”
    Why
not, indeed, when honest men turned to for no reward besides? “You did not,”
asked Cadfael delicately, “see whether between them they brought out anything
to load into the wagon? Before he left you with his blessing?”
    They
looked at each other sombrely, and shook their heads. “We were shifting logs to
the back, to be easy to lift down. We heard them come. We had our arms full,
hefting wood. When we got