Brother Cadfael 12: The Raven in the Foregate by Ellis Peters Read Free Book Online Page A

frightened. They look within for sins they may have committed, unknowing. They are no longer sure what is sin and what is not, so they dare not breathe without wondering if they do wrong. But there is more still."
    "I am listening," said the abbot.
    "My lord, there's a decent poor man of this parish, Centwin, whose wife Elen bore a very weakly child, a boy, four days ago. It was about Sext when the baby was born, and it was so small and feeble, they were sure it must die, and Centwin ran quickly to the priest's house, and begged him to come and baptise the boy before he died, that his soul might be saved. And Father Ailnoth sent out word that he was at his devotions, and could not come until he had completed the office. Centwin begged him, but he would not interrupt his prayers. And when he did go, Father, the baby was dead."
    The small, chill silence seemed to bring down a looming darkness on the panelled room.
    "Father, he would not give the child Christian burial, because it was not baptised. He said it could not come within the hallowed ground, though he would say what prayers he could at its burial - which was in a grave outside the pale. The place I can show."
    Abbot Radulfus said with infinite heaviness: "He was within his rights."
    "His rights! What of the child's rights? It might have been christen soul if he had come when he was called for."
    "He was within his rights," said Radulfus again, inexorably but with deep detestation. "The office is sacrosanct."
    "So is the newborn soul," said Erwald, remorselessly eloquent.
    "You say well. And God hears us both. There can and shall be dispensation. If you have more to tell, go on, tell me all."
    "My lord, there was a girl of this parish - Eluned - very beautiful. Not like other girls, wild as a hare. Everyone knew her. God knows she never harmed a soul but herself, the creature! My lord, she could not say no to men. Time and again she went with this one or that, but always she came back, as wild returning as going, in tears, and made her confession, and swore amendment. And meant it! But she never could keep it, a lad would look at her and sigh ... Father Adam always took her back, confessed her, gave her penance, and afterwards absolution. He knew she could not help it. And she as kind a creature to man or child or beast as ever breathed - too kind!"
    The abbot sat still and silent, foreseeing what was to come.
    "Last month she bore a child. When she was delivered and recovered she came, as she always came, mad with shame, to make her confession. He refused her countenance. He told her she had broken every promise of amendment, and so she had, but still ... He would not give her penance, because he would not take her word, and so he refused her absolution. And when she came humbly to enter the church and hear Mass, he turned her away, and shut the door against her. Publicly and loudly he did it, in front of all."
    There was a long and deep silence before the abbot asked, perforce: "What became of her?" For clearly she was already in the past, an outcast shade.
    "They took her out of the mill-pond, my lord. By good fortune she had drifted down to the brook, and those who drew her out were from the town, and did not know her, so they took her with them back to their own parish, and the priest of Saint Chad's has buried her. It was not clear how she came to drown, it was taken for accident."
    Though of course everyone knew it was none. That was clear in look and voice. Despair is deadly sin. Then what of the record of those who deal out despair?
    "Leave all this in my hands," said Abbot Radulfus. "I will speak to Father Ailnoth."
    There was no trace of guilt, trepidation or want of assurance in the long, austere, handsome face that confronted Abbot Radulfus across the desk in his parlour, after Mass.
    The man stood quite erect and still, with hands folded at ease and face invincibly calm.
    "Father Abbot, if I may speak freely, the souls of my cure had been long neglected, to