The Confession of Brother Haluin by Ellis Peters

way, and tomorrow, I warn you, you’ll find
some aches and pains you knew nothing of, from laboring so hard and so long.”
    “I
am tired,” admitted Haluin, with a sudden and singularly touching smile, as
brief as it was sweet. “You think we cannot reach Hales tomorrow, then?”
    “Don’t
think of it! No, we’ll get as far as the Augustinian canons at Wombridge, and
spend another night there. And you’ll have done well to get so far in the time,
so don’t grudge the one day more.”
    “As
you think best,” said Haluin submissively, and lay down to sleep with the
confiding simplicity of a child charmed and protected by his prayers.
     
    The
next day was less kind, for there was a thin, spasmodic rain that stung at times
with sleet, and a colder wind from the northeast, from which the long, green,
craggy bulk of the Wrekin gave them no shelter as the road skirted it to the
north. But they reached the priory before dusk, though Haluin’s lips were fast
clenched in determination by then, and the skin drawn tight and livid over his
cheekbones with exhaustion, and Cadfael was glad to get him into the warmth,
and go to work with oiled hands on the sinews of his arms and shoulders, and
the thighs that had carried him so bravely all day long.
    And
the third day, early in the afternoon, they came to the manor of Hales.
    The
manor house lay a little aside from the village and the church, timber-built on
the stone undercroft, in level, well-drained fields, with gentle wooded slopes
beyond. Within its wooden fence, stable and barn and bakehouse were ranged
along the pale, well maintained and neat. Brother Haluin stood in the open
gateway, and looked at the place of his old service with a face fixed and
still, only his eyes alive and full of pain.
    “Four
years,” he said, “I kept the manor roll here. Bertrand de Clary was my father’s
overlord. I was sent here before I was fourteen, to be page to his lady. Will
you believe, the man himself I never saw. Before I came here he was already in
the Holy Land. This is but one of his manors, the only one in these parts, but
his son was already installed in his place, and ruled the honor from
Staffordshire. She always liked Hales best, she left her son to his lordship
and settled here, and it was here I came. Better for her if I had never entered
this house. Better far for Bertrade!”
    “It’s
too late,” said Cadfael mildly, “to do right whatever was done amiss then. This
day is for doing aright what you have pledged yourself to do now, and for that
it is not too late. You’ll be freer with her, maybe, if I wait for you
without.”
    “No,”
said Haluin. “Come with me! I need your witness, I know it will be just.”
    A
tow-haired youth came out of the stable with a pitchfork in his hands, steaming
gently in the chill air. At sight of two black Benedictine habits in the
gateway he turned and came towards them, leisurely and amiable.
    “If
you’re wanting a bed and a meal, Brothers, come in, your cloth’s always welcome
here. There’s good lying in the loft, and they’ll feed you in the kitchen if
you’ll please to walk through.”
    “I
do remember,” said Haluin, his eyes still fixed upon a distant past, “your lady
kept always a hospitable house for travelers. But I shall need no bed this
night. I have an errand to the lady Adelais de Clary herself, if she will give
me audience. A few minutes of her time is all I ask.”
    The
boy shrugged, staring them over with grey, unreadable Saxon eyes, and waved
them towards the stone steps that led up to the hall door.
    “Go
in and ask for her woman Gerta, she’ll see if the lady’ll speak with you.” And
he stood to watch them as they crossed the yard, before turning back to his
labors among the horses.
    A
manservant was just coming up the steps from the kitchen into the passage as
they entered the great doorway. He came to ask their business, and being told,