“I was nearly nineteen,” said Elave, smiling. “Nineteen and hardy enough, strong as a horse I was. I’m twenty-six now, I can make my own way.” He was studying Cadfael as intently as he was being studied. “I remember you, Brother. You were the one who soldiered in the east once, years ago.”
“So I did,” acknowledged Cadfael, almost fondly. Confronted with this young traveler from places once well known, and sharp with memories for him, he felt the old longings quickening again within him, and the old ghosts stirring. “When you have time, you and I could have things to talk about. But not now! If you’re not worn out with journeying, you should be, and there’ll be a moment or two to spare tomorrow. Better go and get your sleep now. I’m bound for Compline.”
“It’s true,” owned Elave, heaving a long, fulfilled sigh at having reached the end of his charge. “I’m main glad to be here, and have done with what I promised him. I’ll bid you good night, then, Brother, and thanks.”
Cadfael watched him cross the width of the court to the steps of the guest hall, a tough, durable young man who had packed into seven years more journeying than most men saw in a lifetime. No one else within these walls could follow in spirit where he had been, no one but Cadfael. The old appetite stirred ravenously, after contented years of stability and peace.
“Would you have known him again?” asked Edmund, emerging at Cadfael’s shoulder. “He came once or twice on his master’s errands, I remember, but between eighteen or so and his middle twenties a man can change past recognition, especially a man who’s made his way to the ends of the earth and back. I wonder sometimes, Cadfael, I even glimpse sometimes, what I may have missed.”
“And do you thank your father for giving you to God.” wondered Cadfael, “or wish he’d left you your chances among men?” They had been friends long enough and closely enough to permit such a question.
Brother Edmund smiled his quiet, composed smile. “You at least can question no one’s act but your own. I am of a past order, Cadfael, there’ll be no more of me, not under Radulfus, at any rate. Come to Compline, and pray for the constancy we promised.”
The young man Elave was admitted to chapter next morning, as soon as the immediate household affairs had been dealt with.
The numbers at chapter were swelled that day by the visiting clerics. Canon Gerbert, his mission necessarily delayed for a while, could not but turn his frustrated energies to meddling in whatever came to hand, and sat enthroned beside Abbot Radulfus throughout the session, and the bishop’s deacon, committed to faithful attendance on this formidable prelate, hovered anxiously at his elbow. This Serlo was, as Hugh had said, a meek little fellow with a soft, round, ingenuous face, much in awe of Gerbert. He might have been in his forties, smooth- cheeked and pink and wholesome, with a thin, greying ring of fair hair, erased here and there by incipient baldness. No doubt he had suffered from his overpowering companion along the road, and was intent simply on completing his errand as soon and as peaceably as possible. It might seem a very long way to Chester, if he was instructed to go so far.
Into this augmented and august assembly Elave came when he was bidden, refreshed and bright with the relief of reaching his goal and shedding his burden of responsibility. His face was open and confident, even joyful. He had no reason to expect anything but acceptance.
“My lord,” said Elave, “I have brought back from the Holy Land the body of my master, William of Lythwood, who was well known in this town, and has been in his time a benefactor to the abbey and the church. Sir, you will not have known him, for he left on his pilgrimage seven years ago, but there are brothers here who will remember his gifts and charities, and bear witness for him. It was his wish to be buried in the cemetery here at the abbey, and I ask for him, with all respect, his funeral and grave within these walls.”
Probably he had rehearsed that speech many times, Cadfael thought, and shaped and reshaped it doubtfully, for he did not seem like a man of many or ready words, unless, perhaps, he was roused in defense of something he valued. However that might be, he delivered it from the heart. He had a pleasant voice, pitched agreeably low, and travel had taught him how to bear himself among men of all kinds and all fortunes.
Radulfus nodded acknowledgment, and turned to Prior Robert. “You were here, Robert, seven years ago and more, as I was not. Tell me of this man as you remember him. He was a merchant of Shrewsbury?”
“A much respected merchant,” said the prior readily. “He kept a flock folded and grazed on the Welsh side of the town, and acted as agent for a number of other sheep farmers of the middle kind, to sell their clips together to the best advantage. He also had a workshop preparing vellum from the skins. Of good repute, very fine white vellum. We have bought from him in the past. So do other monastic houses. His nephews have the business now. Their family house is near Saint Alkmund’s church in the town.”
“And he has been a patron of our house?”
Brother Benedict the sacristan detailed the many gifts William had made over the years, both to the choir and to the parish of Holy Cross. “He was a close friend of Abbot Heribert’s, who died here among us three years ago.” Heribert, too gentle and mild for the taste of Bishop Henry of Winchester, then papal legate, had been demoted to give place to Radulfus, and had ended his days quite happily as a simple choir-monk, without regrets.
“William also gave freely in winter for the poor,” added Brother Oswald the almoner.
“It seems that William has well deserved to have what he asks,” said the abbot, and looked up encouragingly at his petitioner. “I understand you went with him on pilgrimage. You have done well by your master, I commend your loyalty, and I trust the journey has done great good to you, living, as to your master, who died still a pilgrim. There could be no more blessed death. Leave us now. I will speak with you again very soon.”
Elave made him a deep reverence, and went out from the chapter house with a buoyant step, like a man going to a festival.
Canon Gerbert had refrained from comment while the petitioner was present, but he cleared his throat vociferously as soon as Elave had vanished, and said with weighty gravity: “My lord abbot, it is a great privilege to be buried within the walls. It must not be granted lightly. Is it certain that this is a fit case for such an honor? There must be many men, above the rank of merchant, who would wish to achieve such a resting place. It behooves your house to consider very gravely before admitting anyone, however charitable, who may fall short of worthiness.”
“I have never held,” said Radulfus, unperturbed, “that rank or trade is valued before God. We have heard an impressive list of this man’s gifts to our church, let alone those to his fellowmen. And bear in mind that he undertook, and accomplished, the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, an act of devotion that testifies to his quality and courage.”
It was characteristic of Serlo, that harmless and guileless soul?so Cadfael thought long afterward, when the dust had settled?to speak up with the best of intentions at the wrong moment, and in disastrously wrong words.
