Chapter Fourteen

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T he burial of Brother Humilis brought togetherin the abbey guest-hall representatives of all the small nobilityof the shire, and most of the Benedictine foundations within theregion. Sheriff and town provost would certainly attend and sowould many of the elders and merchants of Shrewsbury, more byreason of the dramatic and tragic nature of the dead man’sdeparture than for any real knowledge they had had of him in hisshort sojourn in the town. Most had never seen him, but knew hisreputation before he took the cowl, and felt that his birth anddeath here in their midst gave them some title in him. It would bea great occasion, befitting an entombment within the church itself,a rare honour.

Reginald Cruce came down from Lai a day in advance of theceremony, malevolently gratified at all that Nicholas had toreport, and taking vengeful pleasure in having the miscreant whohad dared do violence to a member of the Cruce family securely inprison and tacitly acknowledged as guilty, even if trial had toawait the legal formalities. Hugh did nothing to cast doubts on hissatisfaction.

Reginald held the enamelled ring in a broad palm, and studiedthe intricate decoration with interest. “Yes, I remember it.Strange it should be this small thing that condemns him. She hadanother ring, I recall, that she valued, perhaps all the morebecause it was given to her as a child, when her fingers were fartoo small to retain it. Marescot sent it to her when the contractof betrothal was concluded, it was old, one that had been handeddown bride to bride in his family. She used to wear it on a chainround her neck because it was too big for her fingers. I’msure she would not leave that behind.”

“This was the only ring listed in the valuables she tookwith her,” said Nicholas, taking back the little jewel.“I’m pledged to return it to the silversmith’swife in Winchester.”

“The list was of the things intended for her dowry. Thering Marescot sent her she probably meant to keep. It was gold, asnake with red eyes making two coils about the finger. Very old,the scales were worn smooth. I wonder,” said Reginald,“where it is now. There are no more Marescots left, not ofthat branch, to give it to their brides.”

No more Marescots, thought Nicholas, and no more Julians. Adouble, grievous loss, for which revenge, now that he seemed tohave it securely in his hands, was no compensation at all.“Should you be mistaken, and she is still living,” thesilversmith’s wife had said, “and wants her ring, thengive it back to her, and pay me for it whatever you thinkfair.” If I had more gold than king and empress put together,thought Nicholas, nursing the ache he carried within him, it wouldnot be enough to pay for so inexpressible a blessing.

Brother Cadfael had behaved himself extremelymodestly and circumspectly these last days, strict to every scrupleof the horarium, prompt in every service, trying, he admitted tohimself ruefully, to deserve success, and disarm whateverdisapproval the heavens might be harbouring against him. The end inview, he was certain, was not only good but vitally necessary, forthe sake of the abbey and the church, and the peace of mind of allthose whose fate it was to live on now that Humilis was deliveredout of the body, and safe for ever. But the means—he was lesscertain that the means were above reproach. But what can a man do,or a woman either, but use what comes to hand?

He rose early on the funeral day, to have a little time for hisprivate and vehement prayers before Prime. Much depended on thisday, he had good reason to be uneasy, and to turn to Saint Winifredfor indulgence, pardon and aid. She had forgiven him, before this,for very irregular means towards desirable ends, and shown himhumouring kindness when sterner patrons might have frowned.

But this morning she had another petitioner before him. Someonewas crouched almost prostrate on the three steps leading up to heraltar. The rigid lines of body and limbs, the convulsive knot ofthe linked hands contorted on the highest step, spoke of a need atleast as extreme as his own. Cadfael drew back silently intoshadow, and waited, and after what seemed a long and anguished timethe petitioner gathered himself stiffly and slowly, like a mancrippled, rose from his knees, and slipped away towards the southdoor into the cloister. It came as a surprise and a wonder thatBrother Urien should be tearing out his heart thus alone in theearly morning. Cadfael had never paid, perhaps, sufficientattention to Brother Urien. Who did? Who talked with him, who wasfamiliar with him? The man elected himself into solitude.

Cadfael made his prayers. He had done what seemed best, he hadhad loyal and ingenious helpers, now he could only plump the wholematter confidingly into Saint Winifred’s tolerant Welsh arms,remind her he was her distant kin, and leave the rest to her.

In the morning of a mild, clear day, with all due ceremony andevery honour, Brother Humilis, Godfrid Marescot, was buried in thetransept of the abbey church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul.

Cadfael had been looking in vain for oneparticular mourner, and had not found her, but having rested hiscase with the saint he left the church not greatly troubled. And asthe brothers emerged into the great court, Abbot Radulfus leading,there she was, neat and competent and comely as ever, waiting nearthe gatehouse to advance to meet the concourse, like a lone knightventuring undeterred against an army. She had a gift for timing,she had conjured up for herself a great cloud of witnesses. Let therevelation be public and wonderful.

Sister Magdalen, of the Benedictine cell of Godric’s Ford,a few miles distant towards the Welsh border, had been bothbeautiful and worldly in her youth, a baron’s mistress bychoice, and honest and loyal to her bargain at that. True to herword and bond then, so she was now in her new vocation. If she hadbrought as escort some of her devoted army of countrymen from thewestern forests on this occasion, she had discreetly removed themfrom sight at this moment. She had the field to herself.

A plump, rosy, middle-aged lady, bright-eyed and brisk, theremnant of her beauty wisely tempered by the austere whiteness ofher wimple and blackness of her habit into something homely andcomfortable, at least until her indomitable dimple plungeddazzlingly in her cheek, like the twinkling dive of a small goldenfish, and again smoothed out as rapidly and demurely as the waterof a stream resuming its sunny level. Cadfael had known her for afew years now, and had had occasion to rely on her more than oncein complex matters. His trust in her was absolute.

She advanced decorously upon the abbot, glanced aside and veeredslightly towards Hugh, and succeeded in halting them both,arresting sacred and secular authority together. All the remainingmourners, monks and laymen, flooded out from the church and stoodwaiting respectfully for the nobility to disperse unimpeded.

“My lords,” said Sister Magdalen, dividing areverence between church and state, “I pray your pardon thatI come so late, but the recent rains have flooded some parts of theway, and I did not allow enough time for the delays. Meaculpa ! I shall make my prayers for our brothers in private,and hope to attend the Mass for them here, to make amends fortoday’s failing.”

“Late or early, sister, you have a welcome assured,”said the abbot. “You should stay a day or two, until the waysare clear again. And certainly you must be my guest at dinner nowyou are here.”

“You are very gracious, Father,” she said.“Having failed of my time, I would not have ventured totrouble you now, but that I am the bearer of a letter, to the lordsheriff.” She turned and looked full at Hugh, very gravely.She had the rolled and sealed parchment leaf in her hand. “Imust tell you how this came to Godric’s Ford. Mother Marianaregularly receives letters from the prioress of our mother house atPolesworth. In the most recent, which came only yesterday, thisother letter was enclosed, from a lady just arrived with a companyof other travellers, and now resting after her journey. It issuperscribed to the lord sheriff of Shropshire, and sealed with theseal of Polesworth. I brought it with me at this opportunity,seeing it may be important. With your leave, Father, here I deliverit.”

How it was done remained her secret, but she had a way ofholding people so that they felt they might miss some prodigy ifthey went away from her. No one had moved, no one had slipped intocasual talk, all the movement there was in the court was of thosestill making their way out to join the press, and sidling softlyround the periphery to find a place where they might see and hearbetter. There was only the softest rustling of garments andshuffling of feet as Hugh took the scroll. The seal would beimmaculate, for it was also the seal of Polesworth’s daughtercell at Godric’s Ford.

“Have I your leave, Father? It may well be something ofimportance.”

“By all means, read,” said the abbot.

Hugh broke the seal and unrolled the leaf. He read with browsdrawn close in fixed attention. Round the great court men heldtheir breath, or drew it very softly and cautiously. There wastension in the air, after all that had passed.

“Father,” said Hugh, looking up abruptly,“there is matter here that concerns more than me. Others herehave much more to do in this, and deserve and need to know at oncewhat is set down here. It is a marvel! Of such weight, I shouldhave had to issue its purport as a public proclamation. With yourleave I’ll do so here and now, before all thiscompany.”

There was no need to raise his voice, every ear was strained toattend on every word as he read clearly:

‘My lord Sheriff,

‘It is come to my ears, to my greatdismay, that in my own shire I am rumoured to be dead, robbed anddone to death for gain. Wherefore I send in haste this presentwitness that I am not so wronged, but declare myself alive andwell, here arrived into the hospitality of the house sisters atPolesworth. I repent me that lives and honours may have been put inperil mistakenly on my account, some, perhaps, who have been goodfriends and servants to me. And I ask pardon if I have been themeans of disruption and distress to any, unknown to me but throughmy silence. There shall be amends made.

‘As to my living heretofore, I confesswith all humility that I came to doubt whether I had thenun’s true vocation before ever I reached my goal, andtherefore I have been living retired and serviceable, but havetaken no vows as a nun. At Sopwell Priory by Saint Albans a devoutwoman may live a life of holiness and service short of the veil,through the charity of Prior Geoffrey. Now, being advised I amsought as one dead, I desire to show myself to all those who knowme, that no one may go any longer in grief or peril because ofme.

‘I entreat you, my lord, make thisknown to my good brother and all my kin, and send some trustworthyman to bring me safe to Shrewsbury, and I shall rest yourlordship’s grateful debtor.

Julian Cruce.’

Long before he had reached the end there had begun a stirring, amurmur, an eddy that shook its way like a sudden rising windthrough the ranks of the listeners, and then a roused humming likebees in swarm, and suddenly Reginald’s stunned silence brokein a bellow of wonder, bewilderment and delight all mingled:

“My sister living ? She’s alive! By God, wehave 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 deathhe demonstrates his miraculous goodness.”

“We have wronged an honest man!” cried Reginald, asvehement in amends as in accusation. “He was as truly her manas ever he claimed! Now it comes clear to me—all that he soldhe sold for her, surely for her! Only those woman’s trinketsthat were hers in the world—she had the right to what theywould fetch…”

“I’ll bring her from Polesworth myself, along withyou,” said Hugh, “and Adam Heriet shall be hauled outof his prison a free man, and go along with us. Who has a betterright?”

The burial of Brother Humilis had become in a moment theresurrection of Julian Cruce, from a mourning into a celebration,from Good Friday to Easter. “A life taken from us and a liferestored,” said Abbot Radulfus “is perfect balance,that we may fear neither living nor dying.”

Brother Rhun came from the refectory with his mindfull of a strange blend of pleasure and sorrow, and took them withhim into the quietness and solitude of the abbey orchards along theGaye. There would be no one there at this hour of this season if heleft the kitchen garden and the fields behind, and went on to thevery edge of abbey ground. Beyond, trees came right down to thewaterside, overhanging the river. There he halted, and stood gazingdownstream, where Fidelis was gone.

The water was still turgid and dark, but the level had subsidedslightly, though it still lay in silvery shallows over hollows inthe water-meadows on the far shore. Rhun thought of hisfriend’s body being swept down beneath that opaque surface,lost beyond recovery. The morning had seen a woman supposed deadrestored to life, and there was gladness in that, but it did notbalance the grief he felt over the loss of Fidelis. He missed himwith an aching intensity, though he had said no word of his pain toanyone, nor responded when others found the words he could not findto give expression to sorrow.

He crossed the boundary of abbey land, and threaded a waythrough the belt of trees, to have a view down the next long reach.And there suddenly he stopped and drew back a pace, for someoneelse was there before him, some creature even more unhappy thanhimself. Brother Urien sat huddled in the muddy grass among thebushes at the edge of the water, and stared at the rapid eddies asthey coiled and sped by. Downstream from here the dull mirrors ofwater dappling the far meadows had been fed, since the storm, bytwo 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 mereaspect of nature, rather a live, malignant force that gulped downmen.

Rhun had made no noise in his approach, yet Urien grew awarethat he was not alone, and turned a defensive face, hollow-eyed andhostile.

“You too?” he said dully. “Why you? It was Idestroyed Fidelis.”

“No, you did no such thing!” protested Rhun, andcame out of the bushes to stand beside him. “You must not sayor think it.”

“Fool, you know what I did, why deny it? You know it, youdid what you could to undo it,” said Urien bleakly. “Idrove, I threatened—I destroyed Fidelis. If I had the courageI would go after him by the same way, but I have not thecourage.”

Rhun sat down beside him in the grass, close but not touchinghim, 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. Aman can go on water alone for many weeks. And I am neither patientnor brave. There’s only one way for me, and that is fullconfession. Oh, not for absolution, no—for retribution. Ihave been sitting here preparing for it. Soon I will go and get itover.”

“No!” said Rhun? with sudden, fierce authority. Thatyou must not do.” He was not entirely clear himself why thiswas so urgent a matter, but there was something pricking at hismind, some truth deep within him that he could glimpse only bysidelong flashes, out of the corner of his mind’s eye. Whenhe turned to pursue it directly, it vanished. Life and death wereboth mysteries. A life taken from us and a life restored, AbbotRadulfus had said, is perfect balance. A life taken, and a liferestored, almost in the same moment…

He had it, then. Light opened brilliantly before him, the loadon his heart was lifted away. A perfect balance, yes! He satentranced, so filled and overfilled with enlightenment that all hissenses were turned inward to the glow, like cold hands spreadblissfully at a bright fire, and he scarcely heard Urien sayingsavagely: “That I must and will do. How can I bear thislonger alone?”

Rhun stirred and awakened from his trance of bliss. “Youneed not be alone,” he said. “You are not alone now. Iam here. Say what you choose to me, but never to any other. Eventhe confessional might not be secret enough. Then you would indeedhave destroyed all that Fidelis was, all that Fidelis did, fouledand muddied it into a byword, a scandal that would cast a shadow onus all, on the Order, most of all on his memory…” Hecaught himself up there, smiling. “See how strong is habit!But I do know—I know now what you could tell, and for thesake of Fidelis it must never be told. Surely you see that, asclearly as I now see it. Do no more harm! Bear what you have tobear, 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 intothe long, wet grass, and shook with a terrible storm of dry andsilent sobbing. Rhun leaned down and confidently embraced theheaving shoulders. At the touch a great, soft groan passed throughUrien’s body and ebbed out of him, leaving him limp andstill. Once it had been Urien who touched, and Rhun who looked himmildly in the eyes and filled him with rage and shame. Now Rhuntouched Urien, laid an arm about him and let it lie quiet there,and all the rage and shame sighed out of him and left himclean.

“Keep the secret. You must, if you loved him.”

“Yes—yes,” said Urien brokenly out of hissheltering arms.

“For his sake…” This time Rhun turned back,smiling, to set right what he had said. “For hersake!”

“Yes, yes—to the grave. Stay with me!”

“I’m here. When we go, we’ll go together. Whoknows? Even the harm already done may not be incurable.”

“Can the dead live again?” demanded Urienbitterly.

“If God pleases!” said Rhun, who had his own goodreasons for believing in miracles.

Julian Cruce arrived at the abbey of Saint Peterand Saint Paul just in time to attend the Mass for the souls ofBrother Humilis and Brother Fidelis, drowned together in the greatstorm. It was the second day after the burial of Humilis, a fresh,cool day of soft blue sky and soft green earth, the gloss of summerbriefly restored. By that time every soul in and around Shrewsburyhad heard the story of the woman come back from the dead, andeveryone was curious to witness her return. There was a great crowdin the court to watch her ride in, her brother at her side and HughBeringar and Adam Heriet following. Within the gates theydismounted, and the horses were led away. Reginald took his sisterby the hand, and brought her between the eager watchers to thechurch door.

Cadfael had had some qualms about this moment, and had taken hisstand close beside Nicholas Harnage, where he could pluck at hissleeve in sharp warning should he be startled into some indiscreetutterance. It might have been better to warn him beforehand, andforestall the danger. But on the other hand, it must be gain if theyoung man never did make the connection, and it seemed worth takingthe risk. If he was never forced to consider how formidable a rivalwas gone before him, and how indelible must be the memory of adevotion unlikely ever to be matched, there would be less of abarrier to his own courtship. If he approached her in innocence hecame with strong advantages, having had the trust and affection ofGodfrid Marescot, as well as amply proving his concern for the girlherself. There was every ground for kindness there. If herecognised her, and saw in a moment the whole pattern of events, hemight be too discouraged ever to approach her at all, for who couldfollow Humilis and not be diminished? But he might—it wasjust possible—he might even be large enough to accept all thedisadvantages, hold his tongue, and still put his fortune to thetest. There was promise in him. Still, Cadfael stood alerted andanxious, his hand hovering at the young man’s elbow.

She came through the crowd on her brother’s arm, no greatbeauty, simply a tall girl in a dark cloak and gown, with a graveoval face austerely framed in a white wimple and a dark blue hood.Sister Magdalen and Aline between them had done well by her. Thegeneral mourning forbade bright colours, but Aline had carefullyavoided providing anything that could recall the rusty monasticblack. They were of much the same build, tall and slender, the gownfitted well. The tonsure would take some time to grow out, buthiding the ring of chestnut hair completely and covering half thelofty brow did much to change the shape of the serious face. Shehad darkened her lashes, which gave a changed value and an irisshade to the clear grey of her eyes. She held up her head andwalked slowly past men who had lived side by side with BrotherFidelis for many weeks now, and they saw no one but Julian Cruce,nothing to do with the abbey of Shrewsbury, simply a ninedays’ wonder from the outer world, interesting now but soonto be forgotten.

Nicholas watched her draw near, and was filled with deep,glowing gratitude, simply that she was alive. Her life might haveno place for him, but at least it was hers, all the years he hadthought stolen from her by a cruel crime, while here, it seemed,was no crime at all. He could, he would, make the assay, but notyet. Let her have time to know him, for she knew nothing of himyet, and he had no claim on her, unless, perhaps, Hugh Beringar hadtold her of his part in the search for her. Even that gave him norights. Those he would have to earn.

But as she drew level with him she turned her head and lookedhim in the eyes. An instant only, but it was enough.

Cadfael saw him start and quiver, saw him open his lips, perhapsto cry out in the sheer shock of recognition. But he made no sound,after all. Cadfael had gripped him by the arm, but released him atonce, for there had been no need. Nicholas turned on him a face ofstarry brightness, dazzled and dazzling, and said in arapid whisper: “Never fret! I am the dumb one now!”

So quick and agile a mind, thought Cadfael approvingly, wouldnot be put off by difficulties. And the girl was still barelytwenty-three. They had time. Why should a girl who had had thedevoted company of one fine man therefore fail to appreciate thevalue of a second? I wonder, he thought, what Humilis said to herat Salton that last day? Did he know, in the end, what and who shewas? I hope he did. Certainly he knew the candlesticks and thecross, once Hugh described them to him, for of course she took themwith her into Hyde, and with Hyde they must have gone to dust. Butthen, I think, he was in two minds, half afraid his Fidelis hadbeen mixed up in Julian’s death, half wondering… Bythe end, however the light came, surely he knew the truth.

In his chosen stall next to Brother Urien, Rhunleaned close to whisper: “Look! Look at the lady! This is shewho should have been wife to Brother Humilis.”

Urien looked, but with listless eyes that saw only what theyexpected to see. He shook his head. “You know her,”said Rhun. “Look again!” He looked again, and he knewher. The load of guilt and grief and penitence lifted from him likea lark rising. He ceased to sing, for his throat was constrictedand his tongue mute. He stood lost between knowledge and wonder,the inheritor of her silence.

Julian emerged from the church into the temperatesunlight with the blankness of wonder, endurance and loss still inher face. Watching her from the shadow of the cloister, Nicholasabandoned all thought of approaching her just yet. Now that heunderstood at last the magnitude of what she had done, it becameimpossible to offer her an ordinary marriage and a customary love.Not yet, not for a long while yet. But he could bide his time, keeptouch with her brother, make his way to her by delicate degrees,open his heart to her only when hers was reconciled and atpeace.

She had halted, looking about her, withdrawing her hand from herbrother’s as if she sought someone to whom recognition wasdue. The palest of smiles touched her face. She came towardsNicholas with hand extended. About the middle finger the littlegolden serpent twined in a coil, he caught the tiny glitter of itsruby eyes.

“Sir,” said Julian, in a voice pitched almostchildishly high, but very soft and sweet, “the lord sheriffhas told me of all the pains you have been spending for me. I amsorry I have caused you and others so much needless trouble andcare. Thanks are poor recompense for so much kindness.”

Her hand lay firm and cool in his. Her smile was still faint andremote, acknowledging nothing of any other identity but that ofJulian Cruce. He might have thought she was denying her other self,but for the clear, straight gaze of her grey eyes, opened wide toadmit him into a shared knowledge where words were unnecessary.Nothing need ever be said where everything was known andunderstood.

“Madam,” said Nicholas, “to see you here aliveand well is all the recompense I need or want.”

“But I hope you will come soon to visit us at Lai,”she said. “It would be a kindness. I should like to makebetter amends.”

And that was all. He kissed the hand he held, and she turned andwent away from him. And surely this was nothing more than paying adue of gratitude, as she paid all her dues, to the last scruple ofpain, devotion and love. But she had asked, and she was not one ofthose women who ask without meaning. And he would go to Lai, soon,yes, very soon. To make do with the touch of her hand and her palesmile and the undoubted trust she had just placed in him, until itwas fair and honourable to hope for more.

They sat in Cadfael’s workshop in theherb-garden, in the after-dinner hush, Sister Magdalen, HughBeringar and Cadfael together. It was all over, the curious allgone home, the brothers innocent of all ill except the loss of twoof their number, and two who had been with them only a short time,and somewhat withdrawn from the common view, at that. They wouldsoon become but very dim figures, to be remembered by name inprayer while their faces faded from memory.

“There could still be some awkward questions asked,”admitted Cadfael, “if anyone went to the trouble to probedeeper, but now no one ever will. The Order can breathe again.There’ll be no scandal, no aspersions cast on either Hyde orShrewsbury, no legatine muck-raking, no ballad-makers running offdirty rhymes about monks and their women, and hawking them roundthe markets, no bishops bearing down on us with damningvisitations, no carping white monks fulminating about the laxityand lechery of the Benedictines… And no foul blight clinginground that poor girl’s name and blackening her for life.Thank God!” he concluded fervently.

He had broached one of his best flasks of wine. He felt theydeserved it as much as they needed it.

“Adam was in her confidence throughout,” said Hugh.“It was he who got her the clothes to turn her into a youngman, he who cut her hair, and sold for her the few things sheconsidered her own, to pay her lodging until she presented herselfat Hyde. When he said she was dead, he spoke in the bitterness ofhis heart, for she was indeed dead to the world, by her own choice.And when I brought him from Brigge, he was frantic to get news ofher, for he’d given her up for lost after Hyde burned, butwhen I told him there was a second brother come from Hyde withGodfrid, then he was easy, for he knew who the second must be. Hewould have died rather than betray her. He knew the ugliness ofwhich men are capable, as well as we.”

“And she, I hope and think,” said Cadfael,“must know the loyalty and devotion of which one man, atleast, was capable. She should, seeing it is the mirror of her own.No, there was no other solution possible but for Fidelis to die andvanish without trace, before Julian could come back to life. But Inever thought the chance would come as it did…”

“You took it nimbly enough,” said Hugh.

“It was then or never. It would have come out else. Madogwould never have said anything, but she had stopped caring whenHumilis died.” He had had her in his arms, herself half-dead,on that ride to Godric’s Ford to commit her to SisterMagdalen’s care, the russet tonsure wet and draggled on hisshoulder, the pale, soiled face stricken into ice, the grey eyeswide open, seeing nothing. “It was as much as we could do toget him out of her arms. Without Aline we should have been lost. Ialmost feared we might lose the girl as well as the man. But SisterMagdalen is a powerful physician.”

“That letter I composed for her,” said SisterMagdalen, looking back on it with a critical but satisfied eye,“was the hardest ever I had to write. And not a lie fromstart to finish! Not one in the whole of it. A little milddeception, but no lies. That was important, you understand. Do youknow why she chose to be mute? Well, there is the matter of hervoice, of course, a woman’s if ever there was. Theface—it’s a good face, clear and strong and delicate,one that could as well belong to a boy as to a girl, but not thevoice. But beyond that,” said Sister Magdalen, “she hadtwo good reasons for being dumb. First, she was resolute she wouldnever ask anything of him, never make any woman’s appeal, forshe held he owed her nothing, no privilege, no consideration. Whatshe got of him she had to earn. And second, she was absolute shewould never lie to him. Who cannot speak cannot plead or cajole,and cannot lie.”

“So he owed her nothing, and she owed him all,” saidHugh, shaking his head over the unfathomable strangeness ofwomen.

“Ah, but she also had her due,” said Cadfael.“What she wanted and held to be hers she took, the whole ofit, to the end, to the last moment. His company, the care of him,the secrets of his body, as intimate as ever was marriage—hislove, far beyond the common claims of marriage. No use any mantelling her she was free, when she knew she was a wife. Iwonder is she free even now.”

“Not yet, but she will be,” Sister Magdalen assuredthem. “She has too much courage to give over living. And ifthat young man who fancies her has courage enough not to give overloving, he may do very well in the end. He starts with a strongadvantage, having loved the same idol. Besides,” she added,viewing a future that held a certain promise even for some who feltjust now that they had only a past, “I doubt if thathousehold of her brother’s, with a wife in possession, andthree children, not to speak of another on the way—no, Idoubt if an unwed sister’s part in Lai will have much lastingattraction for a woman like Julian Cruce.”

The half-hour of rest after dinner had passed, thebrothers stirred again to their work, and so did Cadfael, partingfrom his friends at the turn of the box hedge. Sister Magdalen andher two stout woodsmen would be off back to Godric’s Ford bythe westward track, and Hugh was heading thankfully for home.Cadfael passed through the herb-garden into the small plot where hehad a couple of apple trees and a pear tree of his own growing,just old enough to crop. He surveyed the scene with deep content.Everything was greening afresh where it had been pale as straw. TheMeole Brook had still a few visible shoals, but was no longer amere sad, sluggish network of rivulets struggling through pebbleand sand. September was again September, mellowed and fruitfulafter the summer heat and drought. Much of the abundant weight offruit had fallen unplumped by reason of the dryness, but even sothere would still be harvest enough for thanksgiving. After everyextreme the seasons righted themselves, and won back the half atleast of what was lost. So might the seasons of men rightthemselves, with a little help by way of rain from heaven.

O God, who hast consecrated the state ofMatrimony to such an excellent mystery… Look mercifully,upon these thy servants.

from ‘Theform of Solemnization of Matrimony’

 

in The Book of Common Prayer

 

About the Author

E llis Peters is the nom-de-crime of Englishnovelist Edith Pargeter, author of many books under her own name.She is also well known as a translator of poetry and prose from theCzech and has been awarded the Gold Medal and Ribbon of theCzechoslovak Society for Foreign Relations for her services toCzech literature. A recipient of the Crime Writers Silver DaggerAward, Miss Pargeter’s Brother Cadfael mysteries have wonmounting recognition and success in the United States. The authorlives in Shropshire, England.