Free Virgin in the Ice by Ellis Peters Page A

was silenced.
    The prior laid a hand gently on his shoulder and made to turn him back to the doorway. “Come, you and I will go together. Whatever is to be told, you shall hear later, but leave it now.”
    Yves stood his ground, and went on staring.
    “No,” said Cadfael unexpectedly, “let him come.” He came out from behind the trestle, and took a step or two towards the boy. “Yves, you are a sensible man, no need to pretend to you, after your travels, that violence and danger and cruelty do not exist, and men do not die. We have here a dead body, not known to us. I would have you look at it, if you will, and say if you know this face. You need not fear anything ill to see.”
    The boy drew near steadily and with set face, and eyed the shrouded form with nothing worse than awe. Doubtful if it had ever entered his head, thought Cadfael, that this might be his sister, or indeed a woman. He had seen the dilated eyes fix on the short, curling hair; it was a young man Yves expected. Nevertheless, Cadfael would have approached this somewhat differently if he had not been certain already, in his own mind, that this dead girl, whoever she might be, was not Ermina Hugonin. Beyond that he had only a pitiful suspicion. But Yves would know.
    He drew down the sheet from her face. The boy’s hands, clenched together before him, tightened abruptly. He drew in breath hard, but made no other sound for a long moment. He shook a little, but not much. The wide-eyed stare he raised to Cadfael’s questioning face was one of shocked bewilderment, almost of disbelief.
    “But how is this possible? I thought… I don’t understand! She…” He gave up, shaking his head violently, and hung over her again in fascinated pity and wonder. “I do know her, of course I do, but how can she be here, and dead? This is Sister Hilaria, who came with us from Worcester.”

 
     
    Chapter Five
     
    BETWEEN THEM THEY COAXED AND SHOOED HIM AWAY across the snowy court. Yves went still in his daze, frowning helplessly over this sudden and inexplicable reappearance in another place of someone he had left safe under a friendly roof some miles away. He was too shaken and puzzled at first to realize fully the meaning of what he had seen, but halfway to the guest-hall it hit him like a blow on the head. He balked, gulped breath in a great sob, and startled himself, if no one else, by bursting into tears. Prior Leonard would have clucked over him like a dismayed hen, but Cadfael clapped him briskly on the shoulder, and said practically:
    “Bear up, my heart, for we’re going to need you. We have a malefactor to trace now, and a wrong to avenge, and who but you can lead us straight to the place where you left her? Where else should we start?”
    The fit passed as abruptly as it had begun. Yves scrubbed at his smudged cheeks hastily with his sleeve, and looked round alertly enough to see what he could read in Hugh Beringar’s face. In Hugh the authority lay. The role of the cloistered was to shelter and counsel and offer prayers, but justice and law were the business of the sheriff. Yves was not a baron’s heir for nothing, he knew all about the hierarchies.
    “That’s true, I can take you straight from Foxwood to John Druel’s holding, it lies higher than Cleeton village.” He caught eagerly at Hugh’s sleeve, wise enough to ask nicely instead of demanding. “May I go with you and show the way?”
    “You may, if you’ll stay close and do all as you’re bidden.” Hugh was already committed, Cadfael had seen to that. But far better for the boy to be out in men’s company, and active, than to sit fretting here alone. “We’ll find you a pony your size. Run, then, get your cloak and come after us to the stables.”
    Yves ran, restored by the prospect of doing something to the purpose. Beringar looked after him thoughtfully. “Go with him, Father Prior, if you will, see that he has some food with him, for it may be a long day, and no matter how