Brother Cadfael 20: Brother Cadfael's Penance by Ellis Peters Page A
Authors: Ellis Peters
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of reluctance in his voice. "And we are no nearer to finding out what they have done with Olivier."
"With that matter," said Cadfael, "I have not finished yet. But for you, best get away from here, and let it lie."
"And that cloud still over my name?" said Yves bitterly.
"I have not finished with that, either. The truth will be known in the end. Hard to bury truth for ever. Since you certainly did not kill Brien de Soulis, there's somewhere among us a man who did, and whoever uncovers his name removes the shadow from yours. If, indeed, there is anyone who truly believes you guilty."
"Oh, yes," said Yves, with a wry and painful smile. "Yes, there is. One at least!"
But it was the nearest he got to giving that person a name; and Cadfael pressed him no more.
In the morning, group by group, they all departed. Philip FitzRobert was gone, alone as he had come, before ever the bell rang for Prime, making no farewells. King Stephen waited to attend High Mass before gathering all his baronage about him and setting forth briskly for Oxford. Some northern lords left for their own lands to make all secure, before returning their attention to either king or empress. The empress herself mustered for Gloucester in mid-morning, having lingered to be sure her rival was out of the city before her, and not delaying to use even this opportunity for recruiting support behind her back.
Yves had gone alone into the church when the party began to gather, and Cadfael, following at a discreet distance, found him on his knees by a transept altar, shunning notice in his private devotions before departure. It was the stiff unhappiness of the boy's face that caused Cadfael to discard discretion and draw closer. Yves heard him come, and turned on him a brief, pale smile, and hurriedly raised himself. "I'm ready."
The hand he leaned upon the prie-dieu wore a ring Cadfael had never seen before. A narrow, twisted gold band, no way spectacular, and so small that it had to be worn on the boy's little finger. The sort of thing a woman might give to a page as reward for some special service. Yves saw how Cadfael's eyes rested upon it, and began an instinctive movement to withdraw it from sight, but then thought better of it, and let it lie. He veiled his eyes, himself staring down at the thin band with a motionless face.
"She gave you this?" Cadfael asked, perceiving that he was permitted, even expected, to question.
Half resigned, half grateful, Yves said simply: "Yes." And then added: "I tried to refuse it."
"You were not wearing it last night," said Cadfael.
"No. But now she will expect... I am not brave enough," said Yves ruefully, "to face her and discard it. Halfway to Gloucester she'll forget all about me, and then I can give it to some shrine, or a beggar along the way."
"Why so?" said Cadfael, deliberately probing this manifest wound. "If it was for services rendered?"
Yves turned his head with a sharp motion of pain, and started towards the door. Aside he said, choking on the utterance: "It was unearned." And again, more gently: "I had not earned it."
They were gone, the last of the glittering courtiers and the steel captains, the kings and the kingmakers, and the two visiting bishops, Nigel of Ely to his own diocese, Henry of Blois with his royal brother to Oxford, before going beyond, to his see of Winchester. Gone with nothing settled, nothing solved, peace as far away as ever. And one dead man lying in a mortuary chapel here until he could be coffined and disposed of wherever his family, if he had family, desired to bury him. In the great court it was even quieter than normally, since the common traffic between town and priory had not yet resumed after the departure of the double court of a still divided land.
"Stay yet a day or two," Cadfael begged of Hugh. "Give me so much grace, for if I then return with you I am keeping to terms. God knows I would observe the limits laid on me if I can. Even a day might tell me what I want to
"With that matter," said Cadfael, "I have not finished yet. But for you, best get away from here, and let it lie."
"And that cloud still over my name?" said Yves bitterly.
"I have not finished with that, either. The truth will be known in the end. Hard to bury truth for ever. Since you certainly did not kill Brien de Soulis, there's somewhere among us a man who did, and whoever uncovers his name removes the shadow from yours. If, indeed, there is anyone who truly believes you guilty."
"Oh, yes," said Yves, with a wry and painful smile. "Yes, there is. One at least!"
But it was the nearest he got to giving that person a name; and Cadfael pressed him no more.
In the morning, group by group, they all departed. Philip FitzRobert was gone, alone as he had come, before ever the bell rang for Prime, making no farewells. King Stephen waited to attend High Mass before gathering all his baronage about him and setting forth briskly for Oxford. Some northern lords left for their own lands to make all secure, before returning their attention to either king or empress. The empress herself mustered for Gloucester in mid-morning, having lingered to be sure her rival was out of the city before her, and not delaying to use even this opportunity for recruiting support behind her back.
Yves had gone alone into the church when the party began to gather, and Cadfael, following at a discreet distance, found him on his knees by a transept altar, shunning notice in his private devotions before departure. It was the stiff unhappiness of the boy's face that caused Cadfael to discard discretion and draw closer. Yves heard him come, and turned on him a brief, pale smile, and hurriedly raised himself. "I'm ready."
The hand he leaned upon the prie-dieu wore a ring Cadfael had never seen before. A narrow, twisted gold band, no way spectacular, and so small that it had to be worn on the boy's little finger. The sort of thing a woman might give to a page as reward for some special service. Yves saw how Cadfael's eyes rested upon it, and began an instinctive movement to withdraw it from sight, but then thought better of it, and let it lie. He veiled his eyes, himself staring down at the thin band with a motionless face.
"She gave you this?" Cadfael asked, perceiving that he was permitted, even expected, to question.
Half resigned, half grateful, Yves said simply: "Yes." And then added: "I tried to refuse it."
"You were not wearing it last night," said Cadfael.
"No. But now she will expect... I am not brave enough," said Yves ruefully, "to face her and discard it. Halfway to Gloucester she'll forget all about me, and then I can give it to some shrine, or a beggar along the way."
"Why so?" said Cadfael, deliberately probing this manifest wound. "If it was for services rendered?"
Yves turned his head with a sharp motion of pain, and started towards the door. Aside he said, choking on the utterance: "It was unearned." And again, more gently: "I had not earned it."
They were gone, the last of the glittering courtiers and the steel captains, the kings and the kingmakers, and the two visiting bishops, Nigel of Ely to his own diocese, Henry of Blois with his royal brother to Oxford, before going beyond, to his see of Winchester. Gone with nothing settled, nothing solved, peace as far away as ever. And one dead man lying in a mortuary chapel here until he could be coffined and disposed of wherever his family, if he had family, desired to bury him. In the great court it was even quieter than normally, since the common traffic between town and priory had not yet resumed after the departure of the double court of a still divided land.
"Stay yet a day or two," Cadfael begged of Hugh. "Give me so much grace, for if I then return with you I am keeping to terms. God knows I would observe the limits laid on me if I can. Even a day might tell me what I want to
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