The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [102]
But it was more than that: her whole physical presence, her life, the way she thought; now that he had entered this new world, he wanted to know it all. Dear heaven, he thought, I had known God’s universe, yet missed His whole creation. Nor did he really feel guilty: that was the strangest thing. He was far too honest a man to deceive himself about it. He was proud of himself. Even the danger of the business only added to his pride and excitement. God knows, he considered, I have never done anything dangerous before.
And the threat to his immortal soul? Sometimes, when he was within her, in the full power of his passion, it seemed to him as though he had entered another landscape, as simple, as full of God’s echoing presence as the ancient desert was, before these ideas of celibacy were born. And at such times, whatever vows he had taken, it felt to Brother Adam as if his innermost soul had not been lost but found.
How long could it go on? He did not know. Furzey had made only brief visits to his home. He didn’t seem to want to spend time there, so it was easy enough to ensure he was kept busy at the granges. Adam had already thought of tasks to keep the peasant busy until late September. As for his own absences, they were easy to explain. Many nights he was at the abbey; but if he muttered one evening that he was leaving one grange to visit another, no one even thought twice about it. As for the prior, he was only too glad to think of Adam being forced to spend a night out. So all this could last into the autumn. After that he did not know.
He and Mary were lying together drowsily, late in the night, when he told her about the prior’s plan to put a price on the head of her brother. As he had imagined it possible that she might know Luke’s whereabouts, in common kindness, he had thought of warning her. But even so, he had not quite expected the reaction he got when he gave her the news.
She sat bolt upright in the straw. ‘Oh, God. Two pounds?’ She seemed to be staring straight ahead. ‘Puckle won’t give him away. Not even for that.’ She paused, then turned towards him. ‘So.’ She sighed. ‘Now you know.’
‘He’s with Puckle, the charcoal burner?’
‘Yes. Over Burley way.’
‘Well, I’m not going to tell anyone.’
‘You’d better not.’
‘Actually.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘That’s rather funny.’
‘Why?’
‘I think I must have seen him.’
‘Oh.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘There’s something else you may as well know. He came here the other morning. Early.’
‘And?’
‘He knows about us. He saw you.’
‘Oh.’ This opened up new vistas for the monk. The runaway lay brother had information on him now – a new kind of danger. ‘What did he say about it?’
‘Nothing much.’
‘I should think’, Adam reflected, ‘he’s as safe with Puckle as anywhere. But if I hear anything I’ll tell you.’
They passed another three hours together and the first light of dawn was already spreading when Adam slipped out, after agreeing to return in two nights’ time. As usual, he made his way cautiously out to the trees and then rode quietly through the woods towards the ford.
This time, however, his departure from the barn had been seen by a watchful pair of eyes. And they did not belong to Luke.
The news of John of Grockleton’s two pound reward was known the next day. By evening it had reached Burley. Puckle himself was at home that evening, having left Luke out watching a new charcoal fire in the woods. His extended family was gathered round in front of the cottage.
‘It’s two pounds,’ said his son.
‘Two pounds of nothing,’ said Puckle.
‘Still, two pounds …’ echoed one of his nephews.
Puckle looked round them all. He looked also at his wife, who wisely kept silent.
He was roasting a hare on a spit over a small fire he had built outside. Its skin lay on the ground by his feet. He did not speak for a little while,