Ellis Peters - The Pilgrim of Hate

The Pilgrim of Hate

Ellis Peters

The Tenth Chronicle of Brother Cadfael

EBook Design Group [EDG] digital edition v1 HTML

v2 HTML January 10,2003

Copyright 1984 by Ellis Peters

First published in 1984 by Macmillan London Limited, GreatBritain

All rights reserved.

Contents

^

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

^

They were together in Brother Cadfaelshut in the herbarium, in the afternoon of the twenty-fifth day ofMay, and the talk was of high matters of state, of kings andempresses, and the unbalanced fortunes that plagued theirreconcilable contenders for thrones.

Well, the lady is not crowned yet! said HughBeringar, almost as firmly as if he saw a way of preventing it.

She is not even in London yet, agreed Cadfael,stirring carefully round the pot embedded in the coals of hisbrazier, to keep the brew from boiling up against the sides andburning. She cannot well be crowned until they let her in toWestminster. Which it seems, from all I gather, they are in nohurry to do.

Where the sun shines, said Hugh ruefully,there whoevers felt the cold will gather. My cause,old friend, is out of the sun. When Henry of Blois shifts, all menshift with him, like starvelings huddled in one bed. He heaves thecoverlet, and they go with him, clinging by the hems.

Not all, objected Cadfael, briefly smiling as hestirred. Not you. Do you think you are the onlyone?

God forbid! said Hugh, and suddenly laughed,shaking off his gloom. He came back from the open doorway, wherethe pure light spread a soft golden sheen over the bushes and bedsof the herb-garden and the moist noon air drew up a heady languorof spiced and drunken odours, and plumped his slender person downagain on the bench against the timber wall, spreading his bootedfeet on the earth floor. A small man in one sense only, and even sotrimly made. His modest stature and light weight had deceived manya man to his undoing. The sunshine from without, fretted by thebreeze that swayed the bushes, was reflected from one ofCadfaels great glass flagons to illuminate by flashingglimpses a lean, tanned face, clean shaven, with a quirky mouth,and agile black eyebrows that could twist upward sceptically intocropped black hair. A face at once eloquent and inscrutable.Brother Cadfael was one of the few who knew how to read it.Doubtful if even Hughs wife Aline understood him better.Cadfael was in his sixty-second year, and Hugh still a year or twoshort of thirty but, meeting thus in easy companionship inCadfaels workshop among the herbs, they felt themselvescontemporaries.

No, said Hugh, eyeing circumstances narrowly, andtaking some cautious comfort, not all. There are a few of usyet, and not so badly placed to hold on to what we have.Theres the queen in Kent with her army. Robert of Gloucesteris not going to turn his back to come hunting us here while shehangs on the southern fringes of London. And with the Welsh ofGwynedd keeping our backs against the earl of Chester, we can holdthis shire for King Stephen and wait out the time. Luck that turnedonce can turn again. And the empress is not queen of Englandyet.

But for all that, thought Cadfael, mutely stirring his brew forBrother Aylwins scouring calves, it began to look as thoughshe very soon would be. Three years of civil war between cousinsfighting for the sovereignty of England had done nothing toreconcile the factions, but much to sicken the general populacewith insecurity, rapine and killing. The craftsman in the town, thecottar in the village, the serf on the demesne, would be only tooglad of any monarch who could guarantee him a quiet and orderlycountry in which to carry on his modest business. But to a man likeHugh it was no such indifferent matter. He was King Stephensliege man, and now King Stephens sheriff of Shropshire,sworn to hold the shire for his cause. And his king was a prisonerin Bristol castle since the lost battle of Lincoln. A singleFebruary day of this year had seen a total reversal of the fortunesof the two claimants to the throne. The Empress Maud was up in theclouds, and Stephen, crowned and anointed though he might be, wasdown in the midden, close-bound and close-guarded, and his brotherHenry of Blois, bishop of Winchester and papal legate, far the mostinfluential of the magnates and hitherto his brotherssupporter, had found himself in a dilemma. He could either be ahero, and adhere loudly and firmly to his allegiance, thusincurring the formidable animosity of a lady who was in theascendant and could be dangerous, or trim his sails and accommodatehimself to the reverses of fortune by coming over to her side.Discreetly, of course, and with well-prepared arguments to renderhis about-face respectable. It was just possible, thought Cadfael,willing to do justice even to bishops, that Henry also had thecause of order and peace genuinely at heart, and was willing toback whichever contender could restore them.

What frets me, said Hugh restlessly, isthat I can get no reliable news. Rumours enough and more thanenough, every new one laying the last one dead, but nothing a mancan grasp and put his trust in. I shall be main glad when AbbotRadulfus comes home.

So will every brother in this house, agreedCadfael fervently. Barring Jerome, perhaps, hes inhigh feather when Prior Robert is left in charge, and a fine timehes had of it all these weeks since the abbot was summonedto Winchester. But Roberts rule is less favoured by the restof us, I can tell you.

How long is it hes been away now? ponderedHugh. Seven or eight weeks! The legates keeping hiscourt well stocked with mitres all this time. Maintaining his ownstate no doubt gives him some aid in confronting hers. Not a man tolet his dignity bow to princes, Henry, and he needs all the weighthe can get at his back.

Hes letting some of his cloth disperse now,however, said Cadfael. By that token, he may have gota kind of settlement. Or he may be deceived into thinking he has.Father Abbot sent word from Reading. In a week he should be here.Youll hardly find a better witness.

Bishop Henry had taken good care to keep the direction of eventsin his own hands. Calling all the prelates and mitred abbots toWinchester early in April, and firmly declaring the gathering alegatine council, no mere church assembly, had ensured hissupremacy at the subsequent discussions, giving him precedence overArchbishop Theobald of Canterbury, who in purely English churchmatters was his superior. Just as well, perhaps. Cadfael doubted ifTheobald had greatly minded being outflanked. In the circumstancesa quiet, timorous man might be only too glad to lurk peaceably inthe shadows, and let the legate bear the heat of the sun.

I know it. Once let me hear his account of whatsgone forward, down there in the south, and I can make my owndispositions. Were remote enough here, and the queen, Godkeep her, has gathered a very fair array, now she has the Flemingswho escaped from Lincoln to add to her force. Shell moveheaven and earth to get Stephen out of hold, by whatever means,fair or foul. She is, said Hugh with conviction, abetter soldier than her lord. Not a better fighter in thefieldGod knows youd need to search Europe through tofind such a one, I saw him at Lincolna marvel! But a bettergeneral, that she is. She holds to her purpose, where hetires and goes off after another quarry. They tell me, and Ibelieve it, shes drawing her cordon closer and closer toLondon, south of the river. The nearer her rival comes toWestminster, the tighter that noose will be drawn.