The Confession of Brother Haluin (13 page)

“And
no daughter? There was a young girl looked into the hall for a moment, while we
were waiting. Is she not a child of the house?”

She
gave him a long, steady, searching look, with raised brows and tight lips,
plainly disapproving of such interest in young women, coming from a monastic.
But guests in the house must be treated with unfailing courtesy, even when they
fall short of deserving it.

“That
lady is the lord Cenred’s sister,” she said. “The old lord Edric, his father,
married a second time in his later years. More like a daughter to him than a
sister, with the difference in years. I doubt you’ll see her again. She would
not wish to disturb the retirement of men of your habit. She has been well
brought up,” concluded Edgytha with evident personal pride in the product of
her own devotion, and a plain warning that black monks cast by chance into the
household should deep their eyes lowered in a young virgin’s presence.

“If
you had her in charge,” said Cadfael amiably, “I make no doubt she does credit
to her upbringing. Had you Cenred’s boy in your care too?”

“My
lady would not have dreamed of trusting her chick to any other.” The old woman
had warmed into fond fervor in thinking of the children she had nursed. “No one
ever had the care of better babes,” she said, “and I love them both like my
own.”

When
she was gone Haluin lay silent for a while, but his eyes were open and clear,
and the lines of his face alert and aware.

“Was
there indeed a girl who came in?” he said at last, frowning in the effort to
recall a moment which had become hazy and uncertain in his mind. “I have been
lying here trying to recall why I so started up. I remember the crutches
dropping away from under me, but yery little besides. Coming into the warmth
made my head go round.”

“Yes,”
said Cadfael, “there was a girl. Half sister, it seems, to Cenred, but younger
by some twenty years. If you were thinking you dreamed her, no, she was no
dream. She came into the hall from the solar, all unaware of us, and perhaps
not liking the look of us, she drew back again in haste and closed the door
between. Do you not remember that?”

No,
he did not remember it, or only as an unconnected snatch of vision comes back
out of a dream, and is gone again as soon as glimpsed. He frowned after it
anxiously, and shook his head as if to clear eyes misted by weariness. “No…
there’s nothing clear to me. I do recall the door opening, I take your word for
it she came in… but I can recall nothing, no face… Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“We
shall see no more of her,” said Cadfael, “if that devoted dragon of hers has
any say in the matter. I think she has no very high opinion of monks, Mistress
Edgytha. Well, are you minded for sleep? Shall I put out the lamp?”

But
if Haluin had no clear recollection of the daughter of the house, no image left
from that brief glimpse of her, first a dark outline against candlelight, then
lit from before by the ruddy glow of the torch, Cadfael had a very clear image,
one that grew even clearer when the lamp was quenched and he lay in the dark
beside his sleeping companion. And beyond the remembrance he had a strange,
disquieting sense that it bore for him a special significance, if he could but
put his finger on it. Why that should be so was a mystery to him. Wakeful in
the dark, he called up the features of her face, the motion of her body as she
stepped into the light, and could find nothing there that should have been
meaningful to him, no likeness to any woman he had ever seen before, except as
all women are sisters. Yet the sense of some elusive familiarity about her
persisted.

A
tall girl, though perhaps not so tall as she gave the impression of being, for
her slenderness contributed to the image, but above the middle height for a
girl just becoming woman. Her bearing was erect and graceful, but still with
the tentative and vulnerable springiness of the child, the suddenness of a lamb
or a fawn, alert to every sound and motion. Startled, she had sprung back from
them, and yet she had closed the door with measured softness, not to startle in
return. And her face—she was not beautiful, except as youth and innocence and
gallantry are always beautiful. An oval face she had, tapered from broad brow
and wide and wide-set eyes to the firm, rounded chin. Her head was uncovered,
her brown hair drawn back and braided, still further emphasizing the high white
brow and the great eyes under their level dark brows and long lashes. The eyes
consumed half the face. Not pure brown, Cadfael thought, for in spite of their
darkness they had a clarity and depth and brightness perceptible even in that one
glimpse of her. Rather a dark hazel shot with green, and so clear and deep it
seemed possible to plunge into them and drown. Eyes utterly candid and
vulnerable, and quite fearless. Young, wild, mettlesome creatures of the woods
never yet hunted or harmed, may have that look. And the pure, fine lines of her
cheekbones Cadfael remembered, elegant and strong, after the eyes her chief
distinction.

And
in all of this, sharply defined in his mind’s eye, what was there to trouble
him, to pierce him like an elusive memory of some other woman? He found himself
summoning up, one by one, the faces of women he had known, half the population
of a long and varied life, in case some cast of features or carriage of head or
gesture of hand should strike the chord that would vibrate and sing for him.
But there was no match, and no echo. Cenred’s sister remained unique and apart,
haunting him thus only because she had appeared and vanished in a moment, and
he would probably never see her again.

Nevertheless,
the last fleeting vision within his eyelids as he fell asleep was of her
startled face.

By
morning the air had lost its frosty bite, and most of the snow that had fallen
had already thawed and vanished, leaving its tattered laces along the foot of
every wall and under the bole of every tree. Cadfael looked out from the hall
door, and was inclined to wish that the fall had persisted, to prevent Haluin
from insisting on taking to the road again immediately. As it turned out he
need not have worried, for as soon as the manor was up and about its daily
business Cenred’s steward came looking for them, with the request that they
would come to his lord in the solar after they had broken their fast, for he
had something to ask of them.

Cenred
was alone in the room when they entered, Haluin’s crutches sounding hollowly on
the boards of the floor. The room was lit by two deep, narrow windows with
cushioned seats built into them, and furnished with handsome bench-chests along
one wall, a carved table, and one princely chair for the lord’s use. Evidently
the lady Emma ran a well-regulated household, for hangings and cushions were of
fine embroidery, and the tapestry frame in one corner, with its half-finished
web of bright colors, showed that they were of home production.

“I
hope you have slept well, Brothers,” said Cenred, rising to greet them, “Are
you recovered fully from last night’s indispostion? If there is anything my
house has failed to offer you, you have but to ask for it. Use my manor as you
would your own dwelling. And you will, I hope, consent to stay yet a day or two
before you need set out again.”

Cadfael
shared the hope, but was all too afraid that Haluin would rouse his overanxious
conscience to find objections. But he had no time to do more than open his
mouth, for Cenred went on at once:

“For
I have something to ask of you… Is either of you ordained a priest?”

Chapter Seven

“YES,”
SAID HALUIN, after a moment of blank silence.

“I
am a priest. I studied for minor orders from the I time I entered the abbey,
and became full priest when I reached thirty years. We are encouraged to do so
now, those who enter young and are already lettered. As a priest, what is there
I can do to serve you?”

“I
want you to conduct a marriage,” said Cenred.

This
time the silence was longer, and their concentration on him more wary and
thoughtful. For if a marriage was contemplated in this house, surely provision
would already have been made for a priest, and one who knew the circumstances
and the parties, not a chance Benedictine benighted here by a fall of snow.
Cenred saw their doubts reflected in Haluin’s attentive face.

“I
know what you would say. This must surely be the proper business of my own
parish priest. There is no church here in Vivers, though I intend to build and
endow one. And it so happens that our nearest parish church is at this moment
without a priest until it pleases the bishop to name his choice, for the
advowson is with him. I had meant to send for a cousin of our house who is in
orders, but if you are willing we may spare him a wintry journey. I promise you
there is nothing underhand in this matter, and if it is being arranged in some
haste, there are sound reasons. Sit down with me, at least, and I’ll tell you
freely all you need to know, and you shall judge.”

With
the impulsive and generous vehemence that seemed to be natural to him, he
strode forward himself to support Haluin by the forearms as he lowered himself
to the cushioned bench built against the paneled wall. Cadfael sat down beside
his friend, content to watch and listen, since he was no priest, and here had
no hard decision to consider, and the delay came gratefully to him for Haluin’s
sake.

“In
his old age,” said Cenred, coming bluntly to the business in hand, “my father
married a second time, a wife thirty years younger than he was. I was already
married, with a son a year old, when my sister Helisende was born. Those two
children grew up in this house, boy and girl together, like brother and sister,
and close at that. And we, their elders, have taken them for granted and been
glad they should have each other’s company. I have been much to blame. I never
noticed when they began to be more than playmates. I never thought how childish
companionship and affection could change so after years, into something more
perilous by far. I do not blink away facts, Brothers, once I have seen them,
and been forced to see them. Those two were left alone to play too long and too
lovingly. They have slipped into an inordinate affection under my very nose,
and I stone-blind to it until almost too late. They love each other in a
fashion and to a degree that is anathema between two so closely kin. Thanks be
to God, they have not sinned in the flesh, not yet. I hope I have awakened in
time. God knows I want what is best for them both, I would have them happy, but
what happiness can there be in a love which is an abomination? Better by far to
tear them apart now, and trust to time to take away the pain. I have sent my
son away to serve his apprenticeship to arms with my overlord, who is a good
friend, and knows the reason and the need. And sore as he is at being banished
so, my son has pledged himself not to return until I give him leave. Have I
done right?”

“I
think,” said Haluin slowly, “you could have done no other. But it is a pity it
went so far unchecked.”

“So
it is. But when two grow up from babes together as brother and sister, that in
itself is commonly enough to put away from them without grief all thought of
affection after the way of marriage. I have wondered sometimes how much Edgytha
noticed that I did not. She indulged them always. But never, never did she say
word to me or to my wife, and whether I have done well or not, I must go on.”

“Tell
me,” said Cadfael, speaking for the first time “is not your son’s name
Roscelin?”

Cenred’s
eyes flashed to Cadfael’s face, astonished. “So it is. But how can you know
that?”

“And
your overlord is Audemar de Clary. Sir, we came hither directly from Elford, we
have spoken with your son there, he lent Brother Haluin here a strong arm to
lean on when he needed it.”

“You
have talked with him! And what did my son have to say, there at Elford? What
had he to say of me?” He was alert and ready to hear bitter rumor of complaint
and estrangement, and to swallow that grief if he must.

“Very
little, and certainly nothing you could not have heard with a quiet mind. No
word of your sister. He mentioned that he had left home at his father’s wish,
and that he could not refuse you the obedience due. We had no more than a few
minutes talk with him, by pure chance. But I saw nothing there of which you
should not be glad and proud. Consider, he is barely three miles away, and
against his own wish, but he keeps true to his word. There is but one thing I
remember him saying,” pursued Cadfael with sudden probing intent, “that perhaps
you have a father’s right to hear. He asked us, very solemnly, whether our
order could provide a worthwhile life for a man—if the life he most longed for
was forbidden to him.”

“No!”
cried Cenred in sharp protest. “Not that! I would not for the world he should
turn his back on arms and reputation and hide himself away in the cloister. He
is not made for that! A youth of such promise! Brother, this does but confirm
me in what I am asking. There is no putting off what must be done. Once done,
he will accept it. As long as the loss is not final he will go on hoping and
hankering after the impossible. It is why I want her married, married and out
of this house, before ever Roscelin enters it again.”