through my silence. There shall be amends made.
‘As to my living heretofore, I confess with all humility that I came to doubt whether I had the nun’s true vocation before ever I reached my goal, and therefore I have been living retired and serviceable, but have taken no vows as a nun. At Sopwell Priory by Saint Albans a devout woman may live a life of holiness and service short of the veil, through the charity of Prior Geoffrey. Now, being advised I am sought as one dead, I desire to show myself to all those who know me, that no one may go any longer in grief or peril because of me.
‘I entreat you, my lord, make this known to my good brother and all my kin, and send some trustworthy man to bring me safe to Shrewsbury, and I shall rest your lordship’s grateful debtor.
Julian Cruce.’ Long before he had reached the end there had begun a stirring, a murmur, an eddy that shook its way like a sudden rising wind through the ranks of the listeners, and then a roused humming like bees in swarm, and suddenly Reginald’s stunned silence broke in a bellow of wonder, bewilderment and delight all mingled: “My sister living? She’s alive! By God, we have been wildly astray…”
“Alive!” echoed Nicholas in a dazed whisper. “Julian is alive… alive and well…”
The murmur grew to a throbbing chorus of wonder and excitement, and above it the voice of Abbot Radulfus soared exultantly: “God’s mercies are infinite. Out of the shadow of death he demonstrates his miraculous goodness.”
“We have wronged an honest man!” cried Reginald, as vehement in amends as in accusation. “He was as truly her man as ever he claimed! Now it comes clear to me-all that he sold he sold for her, surely for her! Only those woman’s trinkets that were hers in the world-she had the right to what they would fetch…”
“I’ll bring her from Polesworth myself, along with you,” said Hugh, “and Adam Heriet shall be hauled out of his prison a free man, and go along with us. Who has a better right?”
The burial of Brother Humilis had become in a moment the resurrection of Julian Cruce, from a mourning into a celebration, from Good Friday to Easter. “A life taken from us and a life restored,” said Abbot Radulfus “is perfect balance, that we may fear neither living nor dying.”
Brother Rhun came from the refectory with his mind full of a strange blend of pleasure and sorrow, and took them with him into the quietness and solitude of the abbey orchards along the Gaye. There would be no one there at this hour of this season if he left the kitchen garden and the fields behind, and went on to the very edge of abbey ground. Beyond, trees came right down to the waterside, overhanging the river. There he halted, and stood gazing downstream, where Fidelis was gone.
The water was still turgid and dark, but the level had subsided slightly, though it still lay in silvery shallows over hollows in the water-meadows on the far shore. Rhun thought of his friend’s body being swept down beneath that opaque surface, lost beyond recovery. The morning had seen a woman supposed dead restored to life, and there was gladness in that, but it did not balance the grief he felt over the loss of Fidelis. He missed him with an aching intensity, though he had said no word of his pain to anyone, nor responded when others found the words he could not find to give expression to sorrow.
He crossed the boundary of abbey land, and threaded a way through the belt of trees, to have a view down the next long reach. And there suddenly he stopped and drew back a pace, for someone else was there before him, some creature even more unhappy than himself. Brother Urien sat huddled in the muddy grass among the bushes at the edge of the water, and stared at the rapid eddies as they coiled and sped by. Downstream from here the dull mirrors of water dappling the far meadows had been fed, since the storm, by two nights of gentler rain, and once filled could not drain away, they could only dry up slowly. Their stillness and tranquillity, reflecting back the pale blue of sky and fleeting white of clouds, made the demonic speed of the main stream seem more than a mere aspect of nature, rather a live, malignant force that gulped down men.
Rhun had made no noise in his approach, yet Urien grew aware that he was not alone, and turned a defensive face, hollow-eyed and hostile.
“You too?” he said dully. “Why you? It was I destroyed Fidelis.”
“No, you did no such thing!” protested Rhun, and came out of the bushes to stand beside him. “You must not say or think it.”
“Fool, you know what I did, why deny it? You know it, you did what you could to undo it,” said Urien bleakly. “I drove, I threatened-I destroyed Fidelis. If I had the courage I would go after him by the same way, but I have not the courage.”
Rhun sat down beside him in the grass, close but not touching him, and earnestly studied the drawn and embittered face. “You have not slept,” he said gently.
“How should I sleep, knowing what I know? Not slept, no, nor eaten, either, but it takes a long time to die of not eating. A man can go on water alone for many weeks. And I am neither patient nor brave. There’s only one way for me, and that is full confession. Oh, not for absolution, no-for retribution. I have been sitting here preparing for it. Soon I will go and get it over.”
“No!” said Rhun? with sudden, fierce authority. That you must not do.” He was not entirely clear himself why this was so urgent a matter, but there was something pricking at his mind, some truth deep within him that he could glimpse only by sidelong flashes, out of the corner of his mind’s eye. When he turned to pursue it directly, it vanished. Life and death were both mysteries. A life taken from us and a life restored, Abbot Radulfus had said, is perfect balance. A life taken, and a life restored, almost in the same moment…
He had it, then. Light opened brilliantly before him, the load on his heart was lifted away. A perfect balance, yes! He sat entranced, so filled and overfilled with enlightenment that all his senses were turned inward to the glow, like cold hands spread blissfully at a bright fire, and he scarcely heard Urien saying savagely: “That I must and will do. How can I bear this longer alone?”
Rhun stirred and awakened from his trance of bliss. “You need not be alone,” he said. “You are not alone now. I am here. Say what you choose to me, but never to any other. Even the confessional might not be secret enough. Then you would indeed have destroyed all that Fidelis was, all that Fidelis did, fouled and muddied it into a byword, a scandal that would cast a shadow on us all, on the Order, most of all on his memory…” He caught himself up there, smiling. “See how strong is habit! But I do know-I know now what you could tell, and for the sake of Fidelis it must never be told. Surely you see that, as clearly as I now see it. Do no more harm! Bear what you have to bear, and be as silent as Fidelis was.”
Urien’s stony face quivered and melted suddenly like wax. He clenched his arms fiercely over his eyes and bowed himself into the long, wet grass, and shook with a terrible storm of dry and silent sobbing. Rhun leaned down and confidently embraced the heaving shoulders. At the touch a great, soft groan passed through Urien’s body and ebbed out of him, leaving him limp and still. Once it had been Urien who touched, and Rhun who looked him mildly in the eyes and filled him with rage and shame. Now Rhun touched Urien, laid an arm about him and let it lie
