The Confession of Brother Haluin by Ellis Peters Read Free Book Online Page B

benefit by this journey, even though it
passed successfully, except the penitent himself, at least partially restored
to his self-respect? Certainly not the poor girl who had committed no worse sin
than to venture too much for love, and who surely was long since in a state of
grace. Nor the mother who must long ago have put this evil dream behind her,
and must now be confronted by it once again after years. And Cadfael was not of
the opinion that a man’s main business in this world was to save his own soul.
There are other ailing souls, as there are ailing bodies, in need of a hoist
towards health.
    But
Haluin’s needs were not his needs. Haluin’s bitter years of silent self-blame
certainly called for a remedy.
    “On
these most holy relics,” said Brother Haluin, with his palm pressed against the
drapings that covered the reliquary, “I record my penitential vow: that I will
not rest until I have gone on foot to the tomb in which Bertrade de Clary lies,
and there passed a night’s vigil in prayer for her soul, and again on foot
returned here to the place of my due service. And if I fail of this, may I live
forsworn and die unforgiven.”
     
    They
set out after Prime, on the fourth morning of March, out at the gate and along
the Foregate towards Saint Giles and the highroad due east. The day was cloudy
and still, the air chill but not wintry cold. Cadfael viewed the way ahead in
his mind, and found it not too intimidating. They would be leaving the western
hills behind them, and with every mile eastward the country about them would
subside peaceably into a green level. The road was dry, for there had been no
recent rain, and the cloud cover above was high and pale, and threatened none,
and there was a grassy verge such as could be found only on the king’s
highways, wide on either side the track, easy walking even for a crippled man.
The first mile or two might pass without grief, but after that the constant
labor would begin to tell. He would have to be the judge of when to call a
halt, for Haluin was likely to grit his teeth and press on until he dropped.
Somewhere under the Wrekin they would find a hospitable refuge for the night,
for there were abbey tenants there among the cottagers, and any hut along the
way would willingly give them a place by the fire for a midday rest. Food they
had with them in the scrip Cadfael carried.
    In
the brisk hopefulness of morning, with Haluin’s energy and eagerness at their
best, they made good speed, and rested at noon very pleasurably with the parish
priest at Attingham. But in the afternoon the pace slowed somewhat, and the
strain began to tell upon Haluin’s hardworking shoulders, aching from the
constant weight and endlessly repeated stress, and the cold as evening
approached numbed his hands on the grips of his crutches, in spite of their
mufflings of woolen cloth. Cadfael called a halt as soon as the light began to
fade into the windless March dusk, grey and without distances, and turned aside
into the village of Uppington, to beg a bed for the night at the manor.
    Haluin
had been understandably silent along the road, needing all his breath and all
his resolution for the effort of walking. Fed and at ease in the evening, he
sat watching Cadfael in accepting silence still for a while.
    “Brother,”
he said at last, “I take it very kindly that you’ve come with me on this
journey. With no other but you could I speak without conceal of that old grief,
and before ever we see Shrewsbury again I may sorely need to speak of it. The
worst of me you already know, and I will never say word in excuse. But in
eighteen years I have never until now spoken her name aloud, and now to utter
it is like food after starvation.”
    “Speak
or be silent as the need takes you,” said Cadfael, “and I’ll hear or be deaf
according to your wish. But as for tonight you should take your rest, for
you’ve come a good third part of the