“Brother,” he said abruptly, “I wondered, now and then?about the monkish life. Some men have taken to it, have they not, because what they most wanted was forever impossible?forbidden them! Is that true? Can it provide a life, if
if the life a man wants is out of reach?”
“Yes,” said Brother Haluin’s voice, gently and quietly out of a waking dream now very close to sleep. “Yes, it can!”
“I would not recommend entering it as a second-best,” said Cadfael stoutly. Yet that was what Haluin had done, long ago, and he spoke now as one recording a revelation, the opening of his inward eyes just as they were heavy and closing with sleep.
“The time might be long, and the cost high,” said Haluin with gentle certainty, “but in the end it would not be second-best.”
He drew in a long breath, and spent it in a great healing sigh, turning his head away from them on the pillow. They were both so intent on him, doubting and wondering, that neither of them had noted the approach of brisk footsteps without, and they started round in surprise as the door was thrown wide open to admit Lothair, carrying a basket of food and a pitcher of small ale for the guests. At sight of Roscelin seated familiarly upon Cadfael’s pallet, and apparently on good terms with the brothers, the groom’s weathered face tightened perceptibly, almost ominously, and for an instant a deeper spark flashed and vanished again in his pale eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded with the bluntness of an equal, and the uncompromising authority of an elder. “Master Roger’s looking for you, and my lord wants you in attendance as soon as he’s broken his fast. You’d best be off, and sharp about it, too.”
It could not be said that Roscelin showed any alarm at this intelligence, or resentment at the manner in which it was delivered; rather the man’s assurance seemed to afford him a little tolerant amusement. But he rose at once, and with a nod and a word by way of farewell went off obediently but without haste to his duty. Lothair stood narrow-eyed in the doorway to watch him go, and did not come fully into the room with his burdens until the boy had reached the steps to the hall door.
Our guard dog, thought Cadfael, has his orders to ward off any others who come too close, but he had not reckoned with having to do as much for young Roscelin. Now, could there, I wonder, be some reason why that contact in particular should cause him consternation? For that’s the first spark I’ve seen struck from his steel!
Chapter Six
Adelais herself paid a gracious visit to her monastic guests after Mass, with solicitous inquiries after their health and well-being. It was possible, Cadfael reflected, that Lothair had reported back to her the inconvenient and undesirable incursion of the young man Roscelin into a preserve she clearly wished to keep private. She appeared in the doorway of their small chamber, prayer book in hand, alone, having sent her maid on ahead to her dower house. Haluin was awake, and made to rise from his pallet in respectful acknowledgment of her coming, reaching in haste for his crutches, but she motioned him back with a wave of her hand.
“No, be still! No ceremony is needed between us. How do you find yourself now?now that your vow is accomplished? I hope you have experienced grace, and can return to your cloister in peace. I wish you that mercy. An easy journey and a safe arrival!”
And above all, thought Cadfael, an early departure. And small blame to her. It’s what I want, too, and so must Haluin. To have this matter finished, neatly and cleanly, with no more harm to any creature, with mutual forgiveness, once spoken, and thereafter silence.
“You have had little rest,” she said, “and have a long journey back to Shrewsbury. My kitchen shall supply you with food for the first stages of the way. But I think you should also accept horses. I have said so to Brother Cadfael already. The stables here can spare you mounts, and I will send for them to Hales when I return there. You should not attempt to go back all that way on foot.”
“For the offer, and for all your kindness, we are grateful,” said Haluin in instant and hasty protest. “But this I cannot accept. I undertook both to go and to return on foot, and I must make good what I vowed. It is a pledge of faith that I am not so crippled as to be utterly useless and unprofitable hereafter, to God and man. You would not wish me to go home shamed and forsworn.”
She shook her head over his obstinacy with apparent resignation. “So your fellow here warned me you would argue, when I spoke of it to him, but I hoped you would see better reason. Surely you are also pledged to return to your duty at the abbey as soon as may be. Has that no force? If you insist on going afoot you cannot set out at least until tomorrow, after so hard a night on the stones.”
To Haluin, no doubt, that sounded like true solicitude, and an invitation to delay until he was fully rested. To Cadfael it had the sound of a subtle dismissal.
“I never thought that it would be easy,” said Haluin, “to perform what I swore. Nor should it be. The whole virtue, if there is any virtue in it at all, is to endure the hardship and complete the penance. And so I can and shall. You are right, I owe it to my abbot and my brothers to get back to my duty as soon as I may. We must set out today. There are still hours of daylight left, we must not waste them.”
To do her justice, she did seem to be taken aback at such ready compliance with what she wished, even if she had not expressed the wish. She urged, though without warmth, the necessity of rest, but gave way pliantly before Haluin’s stubborn insistence. Things had gone as she wished, and at the last moment she could afford one brief convulsion of pity and regret.
“It must be as you wish,” she said. “Very well, Luc shall bring you food and drink before you go, and fill your scrip for you. As for me, I part from you in goodwill; Now and hereafter, I wish you well.”
When she was gone, Haluin sat silent for a while, shivering a little in the recoil from the finality of this ending. It was as he had hoped, and yet it left him shaken.
“I have made things needlessly hard for you,” he said ruefully. “You must be weary as I am, and I have committed you to leaving thus, without sleep. She wanted us gone, and for my part I heartily wish to be gone. The sooner severed, the better for us all.”
“You did right,” said Cadfael. “Once out of here we need not go far. You are in no case to attempt it today. But to be out of here is all we need.
They left Audemar de Clary’s manor gates in midafternoon, under a sky heavy with grey cloud, and turned westward along the track through Elford village, with a chill, insidious wind in their faces. It was over. From this point on, with every step taken they were returning to normality and safety, to the monastic hours and the blessed
