The Leper of Saint Giles by Ellis Peters Page B

Joscelin, rising cautiously erect in his covert, soiled and draggled, his fair hair plastered to his head still, but drying in wilful drifts of yellow at his temples. “You’re a good fellow, Simon, but I advise you take no foolish risks for me.”
    “What do you want me to do?” Simon sounded exasperated. “Stand back and let you be taken? See here, the safest place for you now, the one place they’ll never think to look, is inside the bishop’s grounds. Oh, not in house or stables or court, naturally. But that’s the one household and garden this hunt is going to pass by. Everyone else’s barns and byres will be ransacked. There’s a hut in the corner of the grounds, by the door I came out at, where they store the hay from the back field. You could lie dry enough there, and I could bring you food—and the wicket in the wall we can bar inside, no one can come through from without. Then, if I can get Briar out to you somehow… What do you say?”
    It was good sense enough, and Joscelin said yes to it with fervor and gratitude. What he did not say was that the want of a horse was nothing to him as yet, for he had no intention of going anywhere until either he had found some way of rescuing Iveta, or lost hope and heart and probably life in the attempt.
    “You’re a good friend, and I won’t forget it. But take care for yourself, one of us in this coil is enough. Listen!” He caught Simon by the wrist, and shook him earnestly. “If things fall out badly, and I’m ferreted out and taken, you knew nothing of it, I made my own way. Deny me, with all my goodwill. If there’s meat or other matter to account for, I’ll say I stole, and you’ll let it rest at that. Promise! I should be ashamed if I brought you into question.”
    “You’ll not be taken,” said Simon firmly.
    “No, but promise!”
    “Oh, very well, since you’re so set, I’ll let you stew—or at least go roundabout to hook you out of it. I like my skin whole, like most men, I’ll take good care of it, one way or another. Come on, then! While things are quiet and I’m not missed.”
    The way back was shorter, since they could make directly for the rear wall of the bishop’s garden, and there was cover all the way. Once or twice Simon, going before, set up a soft whistling, and Joscelin dropped into the bushes, but each alarm passed in a moment, the small sounds that had set it off traced to birds taking flight, or wild things creeping among the dry brush. The wicket in the wall stood ajar as Simon had left it. He went first to open it cautiously and look round within, and then beckoned, and Joscelin dived through it thankfully, and heard it closed and barred behind him. And there was the low wooden fodder-store close against the wall. Within, it smelled of dry grass, and the fine dust stirred by their feet tickled the nose, and stung.
    “No one will come here,” said Simon, low-voiced. “The stables in the yard are well stocked. And it’s snug enough lying. Keep close and quiet. I go with my uncle to sup with the abbot tonight, but I’ll bring you meat and drink before then. You’ll dry off nicely here in the hay.”
    “It’s a palace,” said Joscelin heartily, and squeezed his friend’s arm with grateful warmth. “I’ll not forget this to you. Whatever happens now, praise God, I shall know there’s one person who refuses to believe me a thief, and one friend I can rely on. But bear in mind, if it comes to it, I’d rather sink alone than drag you down into the muck with me.”
    “Leave Simon’s well-being,” said that young man with a confident grin, “to one who loves him well. You take care of your own skin, I’ll vouch for mine. And now I’m gone! He’ll be yelling for me to help him dress for Vespers. That’s the price he pays for supping with the abbot!”
    Brother Cadfael marked their presence at Vespers, Huon de Domville somberly splendid for the abbot’s table, in rich crimson and black, Canon Eudo