An Excellent Mystery by Ellis Peters Page A

naked forearms were brown as from a
hotter sun even than here, where the summer did but paint a further copper
shade on a hide already gilded. A neatly-made young man, on a good horse, with
an easy seat in the saddle and a light hand on the rein, and a bush of wiry
dark hair above a bold, blunt-featured face.
    Brother
Oswin directed him, and with pricking curiosity watched him ride on, wondering
for whom he would enquire there. Evidently a fighting man, but from which army,
and from whose household troops, to be heading for Shrewsbury abbey so
particularly? He had not asked for town or sheriff. His business was not
concerned with the warfare in the south. Oswin went back to his work with mild
regret at knowing no more, but dutifully.
    The
rider, assured that he was near his goal, eased to a walk along the Foregate,
looking with interest at all he saw, the blanched grass of the horse-fair
ground, still thirsty for rain, the leisurely traffic of porter and cart and
pony in the street, the gossiping neighbours out at their gates in the sun, the
high, long wall of the abbey enclave on his left hand, and the lofty roof and
tower of the church looming over it. Now he knew that he was arriving. He
rounded the west end of the church, with its great door ajar outside the
enclosure for parish use, and turned in under the arch of the gatehouse.
    The
porter came amiably to greet him and ask his business. Brother Cadfael and Hugh
Beringar, still at their leisurely leave-taking close by, turned to examine the
newcomer, noted his business-like and well-used harness and leathern coat slung
behind, and the sword he wore, and had him accurately docketed in a moment.
Hugh stiffened, attentive, for a man in soldier’s gear heading in from the
south might well have news. Moreover, one who came alone and at ease here
through these shires loyal to King Stephen was likely to be of the same
complexion. Hugh went forward to join the colloquy, eyeing the horseman up and
down with restrained approval of his appearance.
    “You’re
not, by chance, seeking me, friend? Hugh Beringar, at your service.”
    “This
is the lord sheriff,” said Brother Porter by way of introduction; and to Hugh:
“The traveller is asking for Brother Humilis — though by his former name.”
    “I
was some years in the service of Godfrid Marescot,” said the horseman, and slid
his reins loose and lighted down to stand beside them. He was taller than Hugh
by half a head, and strongly made, and his brown countenance was open and
cheerful, lit by strikingly blue eyes. “I’ve been hunting for him among the
brothers dispersed in Winchester after Hyde burned to the ground. They told me
he’d chosen to come here. I have some business in the north of the shire, and
need his approval for what I intend. To tell the truth,” he said with a wry
smile, “I had clean forgotten the name he took when he entered Hyde. To me he’s
still my lord Godfrid.”
    “So
he must be to many,” said Hugh, “who knew him aforetime. Yes, he’s here. Are
you from Winchester now?”
    “From
Andover. Where we’ve burned the town,” said the young man bluntly, and studied
Hugh as attentively as he himself was being studied. It was plain they were of
the same party.
    “You’re
with the queen’s army?”
    “I
am. Under FitzRobert.”
    “Then
you’ll have cut the roads to the north. I hold this shire for King Stephen, as
you must know. I would not keep you from your lord, but will you ride with me
into Shrewsbury and sup at my house before you move on? I’ll wait your
convenience. You can give me what I’m hungry for, news of what goes forward
there in the south. May I know your name? I’ve given you mine.”
    “My
name is Nicholas Harnage. And very heartily I’ll tell you all I know, my lord,
when I’ve done my errand here. How is it with Godfrid?” he asked earnestly, and
looked from Hugh to Cadfael, who stood by watching,