Free The Raven in the Foregate by Ellis Peters Page B

they were, expanded to fill the vault. The stone above, warmed by the music,
reflected its arching radiance to the stone below.
    He could see Brother Cadfael in his stall, and moved a
little to have him more clearly in view. Perhaps he had chosen this spot purely
to have in his sights the person most near to him in this place, a man already
compromised, already tolerant, and all without any intent, on either part, to
invade another’s peace of mind. Only a little while, thought Benet, and you
shall be free of me. Will you regret it, now and then, if you never again hear
of me? And he wondered if he ought to say something clearly, something to be
remembered, while there was still time.
    A soft voice, just avoiding the sibilance of a
whisper, breathed in his ear: “He did not come?”
    Benet turned his head very slowly, entranced and
afraid, for surely it could not be the same voice, heard only once before, and
briefly, but still causing the strings of his being to vibrate. And she was
there, close at his right shoulder, the veritable the unforgettable she. A dim,
reflected light conjured her features out of the dark hood, broad brow,
wide-set eyes, deeply blue. “No,” she said. “He didn’t come!” And having
answered herself, she heaved a great sigh. “I never thought he would. Don’t
move-don’t look round at me.”
    He turned his face obediently towards the parish altar
again. The soft breath fanned his cheek as she leaned close. “You don’t know
who I am, but I know you.”
    “I do know you,” said Benet as softly. Nothing more,
and even that was uttered like a man in a dream.
    Silence for a moment; then she said: “Brother Cadfael
told you?”
    “I asked.
    Silence again, with some soft implication of a smile
in it, as though he had said something to please her, even distract her for a
moment from whatever purpose had brought her here to his side.
    “I know you, too. If Giffard is afraid, I am not. If
he won’t help you, I will. When can we two talk?”
    “Now!” he said, suddenly wide awake and grasping with
both hands at an opportunity for which he had never dared to hope. “After
Matins some people will be leaving, so may we. All the brothers will be here
until dawn. As good a time as any!”
    He felt her warm at his back, and knew when she shook
softly with silent, excited laughter. “Where?”
    “Brother Cadfael’s workshop.” It was the place he knew
best as a possible solitude, while its proprietor kept the Christmas vigil here
in the church. The brazier in the hut was turfed down to burn slowly through
the night, he could easily blow it into life again to keep her warm. Clearly he
could not take advantage of this delicate young being’s partisan loyalty so far
as to put her in peril, but at least this once he could speak with her alone,
feast his eyes on her grave, ardent face, share with her the confidences of
allies. Something to remember lifelong, if he never saw her again.
    “By the south door, through the cloisters,” he said.
“No one will be there to see us tonight.”
    The soft, warm breath in his ear said: “Need we wait?
I could slip into the porch now. Matins will be so long tonight. Will you
follow?”
    And she was away, not waiting for an answer, stealing
silently and reverently across the tiles of the nave, and taking station for a
few moments where she could be seen to be gazing devoutly in towards the high
altar, beyond the chanting in the choir, in case anyone should be taking note
of her movements. By that time he would have followed her wherever she chose to
lead him. It hurt even to wait patiently the many minutes she delayed, before
she chose her moment to withdraw into the darkness of the south porch. When he
followed her, by cautious stages, reaching the darkness of the closed doorway
with a great heaved breath of relief, he found her waiting with the heavy latch
in her hand, motionless against the door. There they