Free Holy Thief by Ellis Peters

carried from here to the high place
meant for Saint Winifred, was not that sweet lady, but this block, this
mockery. Father Prior, where is our saint? What has become of Saint Winifred?”
    Prior
Robert swept one commanding glance round him, at the derisory object uncovered
from its shroud, at the stricken brothers, and the boy bereaved and accusing,
burning white as a candleflame. Rhun went whole, beautiful and lissome by Saint
Winifred’s gift, he would have no rest nor allow any to his superiors, while
she was lost to him.
    “Leave
all here as it lies,” said Prior Robert with authority, “and depart, all of
you. No word be said, nothing done, until we have taken this cause to Father
Abbot, within whose writ it lies.”
     
    “There
is no possibility of mere error,” said Cadfael, in the abbot’s parlour, that
evening. “Brother Matthew is as certain as this lad Bénezet of what they
carried, or at least of the pattern of the brychan that was wound about it. And
Brother Rhun and Brother Urien are just as certain of what they took to wrap
and cover her. By all the signs, no one meddled with the wrappings. A new
burden was substituted for the first one on the altar, and borne away to safety
in good faith, no blame to those who aided.”
    “None,”
said Radulfus. “The young man offered in all kindness. His merit is assured.
But how did this come about? Who could wish it? Who perform, if he did wish it?
Brother Cadfael, consider! There was flood, there was watchfulness but hope
during the day, there was urgent need at night. Men prepare for a sudden and
strange threat, but while it holds off they do not believe in it. And when it
strikes, can everything be handled with calm and faith, as it should? In
darkness, in confusion, mere feeble men do foolish things. Is there not still
the possibility that this is all some error, even a stupid and malicious jest?”
    “Never
so stupid,” said Cadfael firmly, “as to dress up a stock of wood to match the
mass and weight of that reliquary. Here there was purpose. Purpose to humiliate
this house, yes, perhaps, though I fail to see why, or who should harbour so
vile a grudge. But purpose, surely.”
    They
were alone together, since Cadfael had returned to confirm Bénezet’s testimony
by the witness of Brother Matthew, who had carried the head end of the
reliquary up the stairs, and tangled his fingers in the unravelling flaxen
thread of the edging. Prior Robert had told his story with immense passion, and
left the load, Cadfael suspected with considerable thankfulness, in his
superior’s hands.
    “And
this log itself,” said Radulfus, focussing sharply on details, “was not from
the Longner load?”
    “Longner
sent a proportion of seasoned wood, but not oak. The rest was coppice-wood. No,
this has been cut a number of years. It is dried out so far that it could be
used to balance, roughly at least, the weight of the reliquary. It is no
mystery. In the southern end of the undercroft beneath the refectory, there is
a small pile of timber that was left after the last building on the barns. I
have looked,” said Cadfael. There is a place where such a log has been removed.
The surfaces show the vacancy.”
    “And
the removal is recent?” asked Radulfus alertly.
    “Father
Abbot, it is.”
    “So
this was deliberate,” Radulfus said slowly. “Planned and purposeful, as you
said. Hard to believe. And yet I cannot see how it can have come about by
chance, by whatever absurd combination of circumstances. You say that Urien and
Rhun prepared her before noon. Late in the evening what lay on her altar, ready
to be carried elsewhere, was this mere stock. During the time between, our
saint was removed, and the other substituted. For what end, with what mischief
in mind? Cadfael, consider! In these few days of flood scarcely anyone has gone
in and out of our enclave, certainly no one can have taken out so noticeable a