Free The Devils Novice by Ellis Peters Page B

yet seen him. Alone, unobserved and in the dark, at least he was freed from
the necessity of watching his every word and motion, and fending off all such
as came too near. When the door was suddenly unlocked, and someone came in with
a tiny lamp in hand, he certainly stiffened for a moment, and reared his head
from his folded arms to stare; and Cadfael took it as a compliment and an
encouragement that on recognising him the young man just as spontaneously
sighed, softened, and laid his cheek back on his forearms, though in such a way
that he could watch the newcomer. He was lying on his belly on the pallet,
shirtless, his habit stripped down to the waist to leave his weals open to the
air. He was defiantly calm, for his blood was still up. If he had confessed to all
that was charged against him, in perfect honesty, he had regretted nothing.
    “What
do they want of me now?” he demanded directly, but without noticeable
apprehension.
    “Nothing.
Lie still, and let me put this lamp somewhere steady. There, you hear? We’re locked
in together. I shall have to hammer at the door before you’ll be rid of me
again.” Cadfael set his light on the bracket below the cross, where it would
shine upon the bed. “I’ve brought what will help you to a night’s sleep, within
and without. If you choose to trust my medicines? There’s a draught can dull
your pain and put you to sleep, if you want it?”
    “I
don’t,” said Meriet flatly, and lay watchful with his chin on his folded arms.
His body was brown and lissome and sturdy, the bluish welts on his back were
not too gross a disfigurement. Some lay servant had held his hand; perhaps he
himself had no great love for Brother Jerome. “I want wakeful. This is quiet
here.”
    “Then
at least keep still and let me salve this copper hide of yours. I told you he
would have it!” Cadfael sat down on the edge of the narrow pallet, opened his
jar, and began to anoint the slender shoulders that rippled and twitched to his
touch. “Fool boy,” he said chidingly, “you could have spared yourself all.”
    “Oh,
that!” said Meriet indifferently, nevertheless passive under the soothing
fingers. “I’ve had worse,” he said, lax and easy on his spread arms. “My
father, if he was roused, could teach them something here.”
    “He
failed to teach you much sense, at any rate. Though I won’t say,” admitted
Cadfael generously, “that I haven’t sometimes wanted to strangle Brother Jerome
myself. But on the other hand, the man was only doing his duty, if in a
heavy-handed fashion. He is a confessor to the novices, of whom I hear—can I
believe it?—you are one. And if you do so aspire, you are held to be renouncing
all ado with women, my friend, and all concern with personal property. Do him
justice he had grounds for complaint of you.”
    “He
had no grounds for stealing from me,” flared Meriet hotly.
    “He
had a right to confiscate what is forbidden here.”
    “I
still call it stealing. And he had no right to destroy it before my eyes—nor to
speak as though women were unclean!”
    “Well,
if you’ve paid for your offences, so has he for his,” said Cadfael tolerantly.
“He has a sore throat will keep him quiet for a week yet, and for a man who
likes the sound of his own sermons that’s no mean revenge. But as for you, lad,
you’ve a long way to go before you’ll ever make a monk, and if you mean to go
through with it, you’d better spend your penance here doing some hard
thinking.”
    “Another
sermon?” said Meriet into his crossed arms, and for the first time there was
almost a smile in his voice, if a rueful one.
    “A
word to the wise.”
    That
caused him to check and hold his breath, lying utterly still for one moment,
before he turned his head to bring one glittering, anxious eye to bear on
Cadfael’s face. The dark-brown hair coiled and curled agreeably in the nape of
his summer-browned neck, and