‘No, Father, I am not yet sure. And I would not offer myself afresh until I am sure.’
‘So you want to breathe the air at Longner before you stake your life, and allow household and kin and kind to speak to you, as our life here has spoken. I would not have it otherwise,’ said the abbot. ‘Certainly you may visit. Go freely. Better, sleep again at Longner, think well upon all you stand to gain there, and all you stand to lose. You may need even more time. When you are ready, when you are certain, then come and tell me which way you have chosen.’
‘I will, Father,’ said Sulien. The tone was the one he had learned to take for granted in the year and more of his novitiate in Ramsey, submissive, dutiful and reverent, but the disconcerting eyes were fixed on some distant aim visible only to himself, or so it seemed to the abbot, who was as well versed in reading the monastic face as Sulien was in withdrawing behind it.
‘Go then, at once if you wish.’ He considered how long a journey afoot this young man had recently had to make, and added a concession. ‘Take a mule from the stable, if you intend to leave now. The daylight will see you there if you ride. And tell Brother Cadfael you have leave to stay until tomorrow.’
‘I will, Father!’ Sulien made his reverence and departed with a purposeful alacrity which Radulfus observed with some amusement and some regret. The boy would have been well worth keeping, if that had truly been his bent, but Radulfus was beginning to judge that he had already lost him. He had been home once before, since electing for the cloister, to bring home his father’s body for burial after the rout of Wilton, had stayed several days on that occasion, and still chosen to return to his vocation. He had had seven months since then to reconsider, and this sudden urge now to visit Longner, with no unavoidable filial duty this time to reinforce it, seemed to the abbot significant evidence of a decision as good as made.
Cadfael was crossing the court to enter the church for Vespers when Sulien accosted him with the news.
‘Very natural,’ said Cadfael heartily,’that you should want to see your mother and your brother, too. Go with all our goodwill and, whatever you decide, God bless the choice.’
His expectation, however, as he watched the boy ride out at the gatehouse, was the same that Radulfus had in mind. Sulien Blount was not, on the face of it, cut out for the monastic life, however hard he had tried to believe in his misguided choice. A night at home now, in his own bed and with his kin around him, would settle the matter.
Which conclusion left a very pertinent question twitching all through Vespers in Cadfael’s mind. What could possibly have driven the boy to make for the cloister in the first place?
Sulien came back next day in time for Mass, very solemn of countenance and resolute of bearing, for some reason looking years nearer to a man’s full maturity than when he had arrived from horrors and hardships, endured with all a man’s force and determination. A youth, resilient but vulnerable, had spent two days in Cadfael’s company; a man, serious and purposeful, returned from Longner to approach him after Mass. He was still wearing the habit, but his absurd tonsure, the crest of dark gold curls within the overgrown ring of darker brown hair, created an incongruous appearance of mockery, just when his face was at its gravest. High time, thought Cadfael, observing him with the beginning of affection, for this one to go back where he belongs.
‘I am going to see Father Abbot,’ said Sulien directly.
‘So I supposed,’ agreed Cadfael.
‘Will you come with me?’
‘Is that needful? What I feel sure you have to say is between you and your superior, but I do not think,’ Cadfael allowed,’that he will be surprised.’
“There is something more I have to tell him,’ said Sulien, unsmiling. ‘You were there when first I came, and you were the messenger he sent to repeat all the news I brought to the lord sheriff. I know from my brother that you have always access to Hugh Beringar’s ear, and I know now what earlier I did not know. I know what happened when the ploughing began, I know what was found in the Potter’s Field. I know what everyone is thinking and saying, but I know it cannot be true. Come with me to Abbot Radulfus. I would like you to be by as a witness still. And I think he may need a messenger, as he did before.’
His manner was so urgent and his demand so incisive that Cadfael shrugged off immediate enquiry. ‘As you and he wish, then. Come!’
They were admitted to the abbot’s parlour without question. No doubt Radulfus had been expecting Sulien to seek an audience as soon as Mass was over. If it surprised him to find the boy bringing a sponsor with him, whether as advocate to defend his decision, or in mere meticulous duty as the mentor to whom he had been assigned in his probation, he did not allow it to show in face or voice.
‘Well, my son? I hope you found all well at Longner? Has it helped you to find your way?’
‘Yes, Father.’ Sulien stood before him a little stiffly, his direct stare very bright and solemn in a pale face. ‘I come to ask your permission to leave the Order and go back to the world.’
‘That is your considered choice?’ said the abbot in the same mild voice. ‘This time you are in no doubt?’
‘No doubt, Father. I was at fault when I asked admission. I know that now. I left duties behind, to go in search of my own peace. You said, Father, that this must be my own decision.’
‘I say it still,’ said the abbot. ‘You will hear no reproach from me. You are still young, but a good year older than when you sought refuge within the cloister, and I think wiser. It is far better to do whole-hearted service in another field than remain half-hearted and doubting within the Order. I see you did not yet put off the habit,’ he said, and smiled.
‘No, Father!’ Sulien’s stiff young dignity was a little affronted at the suggestion. ‘How could I, until I have your leave? Until you release me I am not free.’
‘I do release you. I would have been glad of you, if you had chosen to stay, but I believe that for you it is better as it is, and the world may yet be glad of you. Go, with my leave and blessing, and serve where your heart is.’
He had turned a little towards his desk, where more mundane matters waited for his attention, conceiving that the audience was over, though without any sign of haste or dismissal: but Sulien held his ground, and the intensity of his gaze checked the abbot’s movement, and made him look again, and more sharply, at the son he had just set free.
‘There is something more you have to ask of us? Our prayers you shall certainly have.’
‘Father,’ said Sulien, the old address coming naturally to his lips, ‘now that my own trouble is over, I find I have
