The Devils Novice by Ellis Peters

the powers here of both church and state. He answered questions simply and
directly, without apparent hesitation.
    Yes,
he had been present when Master Clemence came to break his journey at Aspley.
No, he had not been expected, he came unheralded, but the house of his kinsmen
was open to him whenever he would. No, he had not been there more than once
before as a guest, some years ago, he was now a man of affairs, and kept about
his lord’s person. Yes, Meriet himself had stabled the guest’s horse, and
groomed, watered and fed him, while the women had made Master Clemence welcome
within. He was the son of a cousin of Meriet’s mother, who was some two years
dead now—the Norman side of the family. And his entertainment? The best they
could lay before him in food and drink, music after the supper, and one more
guest at the table, the daughter of the neighbouring manor who was affianced to
Meriet’s elder brother Nigel. Meriet spoke of the occasion with wide-open eyes
and clear, still countenance.
    “Did
Master Clemence say what his errand was?” asked Hugh suddenly. “Tell where he
was bound and for what purpose?”
    “He
said he was on the bishop of Winchester’s business. I don’t recall that he said
more than that while I was there. But there was music after I left the hall,
and they were still seated. I went to see that all was done properly in the
stable. He may have said more to my father.”
    “And
in the morning?” asked Canon Eluard.
    “We
had all things ready to serve him when he rose, for he said he must be in the
saddle early. My father and Fremund, our steward, with two grooms, rode with
him the first mile of his way, and I, and the servants, and Isouda …”
    “Isouda?”
said Hugh, pricking his ears at a new name. Meriet had passed by the mention of
his brother’s betrothed without naming her.
    “She
is not my sister, she is heiress to the manor of Foriet, that borders ours on
the southern side. My father is her guardian and manages her lands, and she
lives with us.” A younger sister of small account, his tone said, for once
quite unguarded. “She was with us to watch Master Clemence from our doors with
all honour, as is due.”
    “And
you saw no more of him?”
    “I
did not go with them. But my father rode a piece more than is needful, for
courtesy, and left him on a good track.”
    Hugh
had still one more question. “You tended his horse. What like was it?”
    “A
fine beast, not above three years old, and mettlesome.” Meriet’s voice kindled
into enthusiasm, “A tall dark bay, with white blaze on his face from forehead
to nose, and two white forefeet.”
    Noteworthy
enough, then, to be readily recognised when found, and moreover, to be a prize
for someone. “If somebody wanted the man out of this world, for whatever
reason,” said Hugh to Cadfael afterwards in the herb garden, “he would still
have a very good use for such a horse as that.
    And
somewhere between here and Whitchurch that beast must be, and where he is
there’ll be threads to take up and follow. If the worst comes to it, a dead man
can be hidden, but a live horse is going to come within some curious soul’s
sight, sooner or later, and sooner or later I shall get wind of it.”
    Cadfael
was hanging up under the eaves of his hut the rustling bunches of herbs newly
dried out at the end of the summer, but he was giving his full attention to
Hugh’s report at the same time. Meriet had been dismissed without, on the face
of it, adding anything to what Canon Eluard had already elicited from the rest
of the Aspley household. Peter Clemence had come and gone in good health,
well-mounted, and with the protection of the bishop of Winchester’s formidable
name about him. He had been escorted civilly a mile on his way. And vanished.
    “Give
me, if you can, the lad’s answers in his very words,” requested Cadfael. “Where
there’s nothing of interest to be found