“I will be obedient to you in all things. But I have one prayer before I go.” He turned slowly and faced Sioned. She was standing quite still where the awful dread had fallen upon her, her hands clutched to her cheeks, her eyes fixed in fascination and pain upon the boy who had grown up as her playfellow. But the rigidity had ebbed out of her, for though he called himself a monster, he was not, after all, the monster she had briefly thought him. “May I now do what you asked of me? I am not afraid now. He was a fair man always. He won’t accuse me of more than my due.”
He was both asking her pardon and saying his farewell to any hope he had still cherished of winning her, for now that was irrevocably over. And the strange thing was that now he could approach her, even after so great an offence, without constraint, almost without jealousy. Nor did her face express any great heat or bitterness against him. It was thoughtful and intent.
“Yes,” she said, “I still wish it.” If he had spoken the whole truth, and she was persuaded that he had, it was well that he should take his appeal to Rhisiart, in a form every man there would acknowledge. In otherworldly justice the body would clear him of the evil he had not committed, now that confession was made of what he had.
Peredur went forward steadily enough now, sank to his knees beside Rhisiart’s body, and laid first his hand, and then Sioned’s cross, upon the heart he had pierced, and no gush of blood sprang at his touch. And if there was one thing certain, it was that here was a man who did believe. He hesitated a moment, still kneeling, and then, feeling a need rather to give thanks for this acceptance than to make any late and unfitting display of affection, stooped and kissed the right hand that lay quiet over the left on Rhisiart’s breast, their clasped shape showing through the close shroud. That done, he rose and went firmly away by the downhill path towards his father’s house. The people parted to let him through in a great silence, and Cadwallon, starting out of a trance of unbelieving misery, lurched forward in haste and went trotting after his son.
Chapter Nine
The evening was drawing in by the time they had buried Rhisiart, and it was too late for Prior Robert and his companions to take their prize and leave at once for home, even if it had been a seemly thing to do, after all that had happened. Some ceremony was due to the community the saint was leaving, and the houses that had offered hospitality freely even to those who came to rob them.
“We will stay this night over, and sing Vespers and Compline in the church with you, and give due thanks,” said the prior. “And after Compline one of us will again watch the night through with Saint Winifred, as is only proper. And should the prince’s bailiff require that we stay longer, we will do as he asks. For there is still the matter of Brother John, who stands in contempt of the law, to our disgrace.”
“At present,” said Father Huw deprecatingly, “the bailiff is giving his attention to the case of Rhisiart’s murder. For though we have suffered many revelations in that matter, you see that we are no nearer knowing who is guilty. What we have seen today is one man who certainly is innocent of the crime, whatever his other sins may be.”
“I fear,” said Prior Robert with unwonted humility, “that without ill intent we have caused you great grief and trouble here, and for that I am sorry. And greatly sorry for the parents of that sinful young man, who are suffering, I think, far worse than he, and without blame.”
“I am going to them now,” said Huw. “Will you go on ahead, Father Prior, and sing Vespers for me? For I may be delayed some time. I must do what I can for this troubled household.”
The people of Gwytherin had begun to drift away silently by many paths, vanishing into the woods to spread the news of the day’s happening to the far corners of the parish. In the long grass of the graveyard, trampled now by many feet, the dark, raw shape of Rhisiart’s grave made a great scar, and two of his men were filling in the earth over him. It was finished. Sioned turned towards the gate, and all the rest of her people followed.
Cadfael fell in beside her as the subdued, straggling procession made its way home towards the village.
“Well,” he said resignedly, “it was worth trying. And we can’t say it got us nothing. At least we know now who committed the lesser crime, if we’re very little nearer knowing who committed the greater. And we know why there were two, for they made no sense, being one and the same. And at any rate, we have shaken the devil off that boy’s back. Are you quite revolted at what he did? As he is?”
“Strangely,” said Sioned, “I don’t believe I am. I was too sick with horror, that short time while I thought him the murderer. After that, it was simple relief that he was not. He has never gone short of anything he wanted, you see, until he wanted me.”
“It was a real wanting,” said Brother Cadfael, remembering long-past hungers of his own. “I doubt if he’ll ever quite get over it, though I’m pretty sure he’ll make a sound marriage, and get handsome children like himself, and be fairly content. He grew up today, she won’t be disappointed, whoever she may be. But she’ll never be Sioned.”
Her tired, woeful, discouraged face had softened and warmed, and suddenly she was smiling beside him, faintly but reassuringly. “You are a good man. You have a way of reconciling people. But no need! Do you think I did not see how he dragged himself painfully to this afternoon’s business, and has gone striding away with his head up to embrace his punishment? I might really have loved him a little, if there had been no Engelard. But only a little! He may do better than that.”
“You are a fine girl,” said Brother Cadfael heartily. “If I had met you when I was thirty years younger, I should have made Engelard sweat for his prize. Peredur should be thankful even for such a sister. But we’re no nearer knowing what we want and need to know.”
“And have we any more shafts left to loose?” she asked ruefully. “Any more snares to set? At least we’ve freed the poor soul we caught in the last one.”
He was silent, glumly thinking.
“And tomorrow,” she said sadly, “Prior Robert will take his saint and all his brothers, and you with them, and set out for home, and I shall be left with nobody to turn to here. Father Huw is as near a saint himself, in his small, confused way, as ever Winifred was, but no use to me. And Uncle Meurice is a gentle creature who knows about running a manor, but nothing about anything else, and wants no trouble and no exertion. And Engelard must go on hiding, as well you know. Peredur’s plot against him is quite empty now, we all know it. But does that prove he did not kill my father, after a raging quarrel?”
“In the back?” said Cadfael, unguardedly indignant.
She smiled. “All that proves is that you know him! Not everyone does. Some will be saying at this moment, perhaps, after all… that Peredur may have been right without even knowing it.”
He thought about it and was dismayed, for no question but she was right. What, indeed, did it prove if another
