The Pilgrim of Hate by Ellis Peters

Author:Ellis Peters
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective - General, Detective, Detective and mystery stories, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, Fiction - Mystery, Monks, Cadfael, Shrewsbury (England), Great Britain, Suspense, Brother (Fictitious character), Historical, Herbalists, Mystery & Detective - Series, Traditional British, General, Mystery and detective stories, Mystery & Detective - Traditional British, Mystery & Detective - Historical
ISBN: 9780449212233
Publisher: Fawcett Crest
Published: 1987-01-15T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

ABBOT RADULFUS WAS UP LONG BEFORE PRIME on the festal morning, and so were his obedientiaries, all of whom had their important tasks in preparation for the procession. When Hugh’s messenger presented himself at the abbot’s lodging the dawn was still fresh, dewy and cool, the light lying brightly across the roofs while the great court lay in lilac-tinted shadow. In the gardens every tree and bush cast a long band of shade, striping the flower beds like giant brush-strokes in some gilded illumination.

The abbot received the ring with astonished pleasure, relieved of one flaw that might have marred the splendour of the day. “And you say these malefactors were guests in our halls, all four? We are well rid of them, but if they are armed, as you say, and have taken to the woods close by, we shall need to warn our travellers, when they leave us.”

“My lord Beringar has a company out beating the edges of the forest for them this moment,” said the messenger. “There was nothing to gain by following them in the dark, once they were in cover. But by daylight we’ll hope to trace them. One we have safe in hold, he may tell us more about them, where they’re from, and what they have to answer for elsewhere. But at least now they can’t hinder your festivities.”

“And for that I’m devoutly thankful. As this man Ciaran will certainly be for the recovery of his ring.” He added, with a glance aside at the breviary that lay on his desk, and a small frown for the load of ceremonial that lay before him for the next few hours: “Shall we not see the lord sheriff here for Mass this morning?”

“Yes, Father, he does intend it, and he brings a guest also. He had first to set this hunt in motion, but before Mass they will be here.”

“He has a guest?”

“An envoy from the empress’s court came last night, Father. A man of Laurence d’Angers’ household, Olivier de Bretagne.”

The name that had meant nothing to Hugh meant as little to Radulfus, though he nodded recollection and understanding at mention of the young man’s overlord. “Then will you say to Hugh Beringar that I beg he and his guest will remain after Mass, and dine with me here. I should be glad to make the acquaintance of Messire de Bretagne, and hear his news.”

“I will so tell him, Father,” said the messenger, and forthwith took his leave.

Left alone in his parlour, Abbot Radulfus stood for a moment looking down thoughtfully at the ring in his palm. The sheltering hand of the bishop-legate would certainly be a powerful protection to any traveller so signally favoured, wherever there existed any order or respect for law, whether in England or Wales. Only those already outside the pale of law, with lives or liberty already forfeit if taken, would defy so strong a sanction. After this crowning day many of the guests here would be leaving again for home.

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