to be his burial.”
“I know it,” said Cadfael, and brooded. “As for this affair in the night, I’m torn two ways. I should think it possible it was all planned, to reinforce our cause with another miracle, but for two things. To me Prior Robert’s amazement and concern, however I look at them, seem to be true and not false. And Columbanus has shown these strange properties before, and the way they overtake him is violent and perilous, and it’s hard to believe he is feigning. A tumbler at a fair, making his living by playing the devil with his own body, could not outdo Columbanus when the fit comes on him. I am not able to judge. I think there are some who live on a knife-edge in the soul, and at times are driven to hurl themselves into the air, at the mercy of heaven or hell which way to fall.”
“All I know,” said Sioned, burning darkly red like a slow torch, “is that my father whom I loved is murdered, and I want justice on the murderer, and I do not want a blood price. There is no price I will accept for Rhisiart’s blood.”
“I know, I know!” said Cadfael. “I am as Welsh as you. But keep a door open to pity, as who knows when you or I may need it! And have you spoken with Engelard? And is all well with him?”
She quivered and flushed and softened beside him, like a frost-blighted flower miraculously revived by a southern wind. But she did not answer. There was no need.
“Ah, you’ll live!” said Brother Cadfael, satisfied. “As he’d want you to. Even if he did set his face against, like a proper Welsh lord. You’d have got your way in the end, you were right about that. And listen, I have thought of two things you should yet do. We must try whatever we can. Don’t go home now. Let Annest take you to Bened’s smithy to rest, and the both of you come to Mass. Who knows what we may learn once our half-fledged saint regains his senses? And then, also, when you bury your father, make certain Peredur comes with his father. He might try to avoid else, if he’s eluded you this far, but if you ask him, he cannot refuse. I am still in more minds than one, and none of them very clear, concerning Master Peredur.”
Chapter Eight
It was the little brazen bell ringing for Mass that penetrated Brother Columbanus’ enchanted sleep at last. It could not be said that it awoke him, rather it caused him to open his closed eyes, quiver through all his frozen members, flex his stiff arms, and press his re-quickened hands together over his breast. Otherwise his face did not change, nor did he seem to be aware of those who were gathered anxiously about the bed on which he lay. They might not have been there at all. All Brother Columbanus responded to was the bell, the first call to worship. He stirred and sat up. He rose from the bed, and stood firmly on his feet. He looked radiant, but still private and apart.
“He is preparing to take his usual place with us,” said the prior, moved and awed. “Let us go, and make no attempt yet to rouse him. When he has given thanks he’ll come back to us, and speak out what he has experienced.”
And he led the way to the church, and as he had supposed, Columbanus fell into his usual place as the youngest in the attendant brotherhood now that John was disgraced, and followed modestly, and modestly took part in the service, still like a man in a dream.
The church was full as it would hold, and there were more people clustered outside the doorway. The word had gone round already that something strange and wonderful had happened at Saint Winifred’s chapel, and revelations might very well follow at Mass.
Not until the end did any further change occur in the condition of Brother Columbanus. But when the prior, slowly and expectantly, as one turning a key and almost confident of entry, took the first step towards the doorway, suddenly Columbanus gave a great start, and uttered a soft cry, staring wonderingly about him at all these known faces. His own visage came to life, smiling. He put out a hand as if to arrest the prior’s departure, and said in a high voice: “Oh, Father, I have been so blessed, I have known such bliss! How did I come here, when I know I was elsewhere, and translated out of night’s darkness into so glorious a light? And surely this is again the world I left! A fair world enough, but I have been in a fairer, far beyond any deserts of mine. Oh, if I could but tell you!”
Every eye was upon him, and every ear stretched to catch his least word. Not a soul left the church, rather those without crowded in closer.
“Son,” said Prior Robert, with unwontedly respectful kindness, “you are here among your brothers, engaged in the worship of God, and there is nothing to fear and nothing to regret, for the visitation granted you was surely meant to inspire and arm you to go fearless through an imperfect world, in the hope of a perfect world hereafter. You were keeping night watch with Brother Cadfael at Saint Winifred’s chapel — do you remember that? In the night something befell you that drew your spirit for a time away from us, out of the body, but left that body unharmed and at rest like a child asleep. We brought you back here still absent from us in the spirit, but now you are here with us again, and all is well. You have been greatly privileged.”
“Oh, greatly, far more than you know,” sang Columbanus, glowing like a pale lantern. “I am the messenger of such goodness, I am the instrument of reconciliation and peace. Oh, Father…. Father Huw… brothers… let me speak out here before all, for what I am bidden to tell concerns all.”
Nothing, thought Cadfael, could have stopped him, so plainly did his heavenly embassage override any objection mere prior or priest might muster. And Robert was proving surprisingly compliant in accepting this transfer of authority. Either he already knew that the voice from heaven was about to say something entirely favourable to his plans and conducive to his glory, or else he was truly impressed, and inclining heart and ear to listen as devoutly as any man there present.
“Speak freely, brother,” he said, “let us share your joy.”
“Father, at the hour of midnight as I knelt before the altar I heard a sweet voice crying my name, and I arose and went forward to obey the call. What happened to my body then I do not know, you tell me it was lying as if asleep when you came. But it seemed to me that as I stepped towards the altar there was suddenly a soft, golden light all about it, and there rose up, floating in the midst of the light, a most beautiful virgin, who moved in a miraculous shower of white petals, and distilled most sweet odours from her robe and from her long hair. And this gracious being spoke to me, and told me that her name was Winifred, and that she was come to approve our enterprise, and also to forgive all those who out of mistaken loyalty and reverence had opposed it hitherto. And then, oh, marvellous goodness! — she laid her hand on Rhisiart’s breast, as his daughter has begged us to do in token of our mere personal forgiveness, but she in divine absolution, and with such perfection of grace, I cannot describe it.”
“Oh, son,” said Prior Robert in rapture, riding over the quivering murmurs that crossed the church like ripples on a pool, “you tell a greater wonder than we dared hope. Even the lost saved!”
“It is so! And, Father, there is more! When she laid her hand on him, she bade me speak out to all men in this place, both native and stranger, and make known her merciful will. And it is this ‘Where my bones shall be taken out of the earth,’ she said, ‘there will be an open grave provided. What I relinquish, I may bestow. In this grave,’ said Winifred, ‘let Rhisiart be buried, that his rest may be assured, and my power made manifest.’ “
