“So good counsel prevailed,” he said, beaming. “A timely word of admonishment and warning has had this blessed effect. Truly a priest should never be silent when he hears doctrine misread. His words may turn a soul astray into the right path.”
His childlike gratification faded slowly into the heavy silence he had provoked. He looked about him without immediate understanding, and gradually perceived how most eyes avoided him, looking studiously far into distance or down into folded hands, while Abbot Radulfus viewed him steadily and hard but without expression, and Canon Gerbert turned on him a cold, transfixing glare. The beaming smile faded sickly from Serlo’s round and innocent face. “To pay good heed to stricture and obey instruction atones for all errors,” he ventured, trying to edge away whatever in his words had caused this consternation, and failing. His voice ebbed feebly into silence.
“What doctrine,” demanded Gerbert with black deliberation, “had this man misread? What occasion had his priest had to admonish him? Are you saying that he was ordered to go on pilgrimage, to purge some mortal error?”
“No, no, not ordered,” said Serlo faintly. “It was suggested to him that his soul would benefit by such a reparation.”
“Reparation for what gross offense?” pursued the canon relentlessly.
“Oh, none, none that did harm to any, no act of violence or dishonesty. It is long past,” said Serlo gallantly, digging in his heels with unaccustomed bravery to retrieve what he had launched. “It was nine years ago, when Archbishop William of Corbeil, of blessed memory, sent out a preaching mission to many of the towns in England. As papal legate he was concerned for the well-being of the Church, and thought fit to use preaching canons from his own house at Saint Osyth’s. I was sent to attend on the reverend Father who came into our diocese, and I was with him when he preached here at the High Cross. William of Lythwood entertained us to supper afterward, and there was much earnest talk. He was not contumacious, he did but enquire and question, and in all solemnity. A courteous, hospitable man. But even in thought?for want of proper instruction
“
“What you are saying,” pronounced Gerbert menacingly, “is that a man who was reproved for heretical views is now asking for burial within these walls.”
“Oh, I would not say heretical,” babbled Serlo in haste. “Misguided views, perhaps, but I would not say heretical. There was no complaint ever made of him to the bishop. And you have seen that he did as he was counseled, for two years later he set out on this pilgrimage.”
“Many men undertake pilgrimages for their own pleasure,” said Gerbert grimly, “rather than for the proper purpose. Some even for trade, like hucksters. The act is no absolution for error, it is the sincere intent that delivers.”
“We have no reason,” Abbot Radulfus pointed out drily, “to conclude that William’s intent was less than sincere. These are judgments which are out of our hands. We should have the humility to acknowledge as much.”
“Nevertheless, we have a duty under God, and cannot evade it. What proof have we that the man ever changed those suspect beliefs he held? We have not examined as to what they were, how grave, and whether they were ever repented and discarded. Because there is here in England a healthy and vigorous Church, we must not think that the peril of false belief belongs only to the past. Have you not heard that there are loose preachers abroad in France who draw the credulous after them, reviling their own priests as greedy and corrupt, and the rites of the Church as meaningless? In the south the abbot of Clairvaux is grown much concerned about such false prophets.”
“Though the abbot of Clairvaux has himself warned,” interjected Radulfus briskly, “that the failure of the priesthood to set an example of piety and simplicity helps to turn people to these dissenting sects. The Church has a duty also to purge its own shortcomings.”
Cadfael listened, as all the brothers were listening, with pricked ears and alert eyes, hoping that this sudden squall would slacken and blow over just as nimbly. Radulfus would not allow any prelate to usurp his authority in his own chapter house, but not even he could forbid an envoy of the archbishop to assert his rights of speech and judgment in a matter of doctrine. The very mention of Bernard of Clairvaux, the apostle of austerity, was a reminder of the rising influence of the Cistercians, to which order Archbishop Theobald was sympathetically inclined. And though Bernard might put in a word for popular criticism of the worldliness of many high churchmen, and yearn for a return to the poverty and simplicity of the Apostles, by all accounts he would have small mercy on anyone who diverged from the strictly orthodox where dogma was concerned. Radulfus might sidestep one citation of Bernard by countering with another, but he was quick to change the subject before he risked losing the exchange.
“Here is Serlo,” he said simply, “who remembers whatever contention the archbishop’s missioner had with William. He may also recall whatever points of belief had arisen between them.”
Serlo, by the dubious look on his face, hardly knew whether to be glad of such an opportunity or sorry. He opened his mouth hesitantly, but Radulfus stopped him with a raised hand.
“Wait! It is also only fair that the one man who can truly testify to his master’s mind and observance before death should be present to hear what is said of him, and answer it on his behalf. We have no right to exclude a man from the favor he has asked without a just hearing. Denis, will you go and ask the young man Elave to come back into council?”
“Very gladly,” said Brother Denis, and went out with such indignant alacrity that it was not difficult to read his mind.
Elave came back into chapter in all innocence, expecting his formal answer and in no doubt what it would be. His alert step and confident face spoke for him. He had no warning of what was to come, even when the abbot spoke up, choosing his words with careful moderation.
“Young sir, there is here some debate concerning your master’s request. It has been said that before he departed on his pilgrimage he had been in some dispute with a priest sent by the archbishop to preach here in Shrewsbury, and had been reproved for certain beliefs he held, which were not altogether in accord with Church doctrine. It is even suggested that his pilgrimage was enjoined upon him almost as penance. Do you know anything of this? It may well be that it never came to your ears at all.”
Elave’s level brows, thick and russet, darker than his hair, drew together in doubt and bewilderment, but not yet disquiet.
“I knew he had given much thought to some articles of faith, but no more than that. He wanted his pilgrimage. He was growing old but still hearty, there were others and younger could manage here in his stead. He asked me if I would go with him, and I went. There was never any dispute between him and Father Elias that I know of. Father
