side of her head was bareiy touched
with grey, and the imperious, fine bones of her face had kept their
imperishable elegance, though the flesh that covered them was a little shrunken
and sapless now, and her body had grown angular and lean as the juices of youth
dried up. Her hands, though shapely still, betrayed her with swollen knuckles
and seamed veins, and there was a languor upon her pale skin at throat and
wrist where once the rounded gloss of youth had been. But for all that, in the
oval face, the long, resolute lips, and large eyes in their deep settings
Cadfael saw the ashes of great beauty. No, not ashes, embers, still alive and
as hot at least as the coals burning in the heart of the brazier.
“Come
nearer!” she said. And when Haluin stood before her with the light upon his
face, pale and cold light from the window, flushed from the fire: “It is you!”
she said. “I wondered. How have you come to this?”
Her
voice was low-pitched, full and authoritative, but the first implication of
dismay and concern was gone. She looked at him neither compassionately nor
coldly, but with a kind of detached indifference, a curiosity of no deep root.
“This
is no man’s blame but mine,” said Haluin. “Don’t regard it! I have what I
earned. I came by a great fall, but by the grace of God I am alive, who by this
time had thought to be dead. And as I have eased my soul to God and my
confessor for old sins, so I come to beg forgiveness of you.”
“Was
that needful?” she said, marveling. “After so many years, and all this way?”
“Yes,
it was needful. I do greatly need to hear you say that you forgive me the wrong
I did, and the grief I brought upon you. There can be no rest for me now until
the leaf is washed clear of every last stain.”
“And
you have told over all the old writing,” said Adelais with some bitterness,
“all that was secret and shameful, have you? To your confessor? And how many
more? This good brother who bears you company? The whole household at chapter?
Could you not bear to be still a sinner unshriven, rather than betray my
daughter’s name to the world, and she so long in her grave? I would have gone
sinful into purgatory rather!”
“And
so would I!” cried Haluin, wrung. “But no, it is not so. Brother Cadfael bears
me company because he is the only one who knows, excepting only Abbot Radulfus,
who heard my confession. No other will ever know from us. Brother Cadfael was
also grossly wronged in what I did, he had a right to give or withhold forgiveness.
It was from his store and after his teaching that I stole those medicines I
gave to you.”
She
turned her gaze upon Cadfael in a long, steady stare, and her face, for once
seen clearly, was intent and still. “Well,” she said, again turning away into
indifference, “it was very long ago. Who would remember now? And I am not dying
yet. What do I know! I shall need a priest myself someday, I could better have
answered you then. Well, to put an end to it… Have what you ask! I do forgive
you. I would not add to what you suffer. Go back in peace to your cloister. I
forgive you as I hope for forgiveness.”
It
was said without passion; the brief spurt of anger was already gone. It cost
her no effort to absolve him; she did it as neutrally, it seemed, and with as
little feeling as she would have handed out food to a beggar. Of gentlewomen of
her nobility alms could properly be asked, and granting was a form of largesse,
the due fulfillment of a rite of lordship. But what she gave lightly came as
relieving grace to Haluin. The braced tension went out of his leaning shoulders
and stiffly clenched hands. He bent his head humbly before her, and uttered his
thanks in a low and halting voice, like a man momentarily dazed.
“Madam,
your mercy lifts a load from me, and from my heart I am grateful.”
“Go
back to the life you have chosen and the duties you have undertaken,”
with grey, and the imperious, fine bones of her face had kept their
imperishable elegance, though the flesh that covered them was a little shrunken
and sapless now, and her body had grown angular and lean as the juices of youth
dried up. Her hands, though shapely still, betrayed her with swollen knuckles
and seamed veins, and there was a languor upon her pale skin at throat and
wrist where once the rounded gloss of youth had been. But for all that, in the
oval face, the long, resolute lips, and large eyes in their deep settings
Cadfael saw the ashes of great beauty. No, not ashes, embers, still alive and
as hot at least as the coals burning in the heart of the brazier.
“Come
nearer!” she said. And when Haluin stood before her with the light upon his
face, pale and cold light from the window, flushed from the fire: “It is you!”
she said. “I wondered. How have you come to this?”
Her
voice was low-pitched, full and authoritative, but the first implication of
dismay and concern was gone. She looked at him neither compassionately nor
coldly, but with a kind of detached indifference, a curiosity of no deep root.
“This
is no man’s blame but mine,” said Haluin. “Don’t regard it! I have what I
earned. I came by a great fall, but by the grace of God I am alive, who by this
time had thought to be dead. And as I have eased my soul to God and my
confessor for old sins, so I come to beg forgiveness of you.”
“Was
that needful?” she said, marveling. “After so many years, and all this way?”
“Yes,
it was needful. I do greatly need to hear you say that you forgive me the wrong
I did, and the grief I brought upon you. There can be no rest for me now until
the leaf is washed clear of every last stain.”
“And
you have told over all the old writing,” said Adelais with some bitterness,
“all that was secret and shameful, have you? To your confessor? And how many
more? This good brother who bears you company? The whole household at chapter?
Could you not bear to be still a sinner unshriven, rather than betray my
daughter’s name to the world, and she so long in her grave? I would have gone
sinful into purgatory rather!”
“And
so would I!” cried Haluin, wrung. “But no, it is not so. Brother Cadfael bears
me company because he is the only one who knows, excepting only Abbot Radulfus,
who heard my confession. No other will ever know from us. Brother Cadfael was
also grossly wronged in what I did, he had a right to give or withhold forgiveness.
It was from his store and after his teaching that I stole those medicines I
gave to you.”
She
turned her gaze upon Cadfael in a long, steady stare, and her face, for once
seen clearly, was intent and still. “Well,” she said, again turning away into
indifference, “it was very long ago. Who would remember now? And I am not dying
yet. What do I know! I shall need a priest myself someday, I could better have
answered you then. Well, to put an end to it… Have what you ask! I do forgive
you. I would not add to what you suffer. Go back in peace to your cloister. I
forgive you as I hope for forgiveness.”
It
was said without passion; the brief spurt of anger was already gone. It cost
her no effort to absolve him; she did it as neutrally, it seemed, and with as
little feeling as she would have handed out food to a beggar. Of gentlewomen of
her nobility alms could properly be asked, and granting was a form of largesse,
the due fulfillment of a rite of lordship. But what she gave lightly came as
relieving grace to Haluin. The braced tension went out of his leaning shoulders
and stiffly clenched hands. He bent his head humbly before her, and uttered his
thanks in a low and halting voice, like a man momentarily dazed.
“Madam,
your mercy lifts a load from me, and from my heart I am grateful.”
“Go
back to the life you have chosen and the duties you have undertaken,”
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