would fill out into solid and shapely manhood, with every
movement under smooth control, but as yet he retained the vulnerable
uncertainty of a boy. He looked after Audemar with surprised speculation,
stared at Cadfael in candid curiosity, and turned slowly towards the door of
Audemar’s hall.
So
this must be the Roscelin to whom Adelais had referred, thought Cadfael, watching
him go. Not a son of the house, by the cut of him and the coloring, but not a
servant, either. Doubtless a youngster from the family of one of Audemar’s
tenants, sent here to his overlord to get his training in arms, and acquire the
skills and practices of a small court, in preparation for the wider world. Such
apprentice lordlings proliferated in every great barony, the de Clary honor
might well be patron to one or two of the same kind.
The
early evening had turned cold, and there was a biting wind rising, with a few
fine needles of sleet stinging in its touch. The hour of Vespers was not far
away. Cadfael went in thankfully from the chill, to find Brother Haluin awake
and waiting, silent and tense, for his hour of fulfillment.
Adelais
had evidently made her dispositions well. No one intruded upon their privacy,
no one asked any question or showed any curiosity. The young groom Luc brought
them food before Vespers, and at the end of the office they were left alone in
the church to conduct their vigil as they pleased. Doubtful if any among the
household wondered about them at all, being accustomed to random visitors of
all kinds, with differing needs, and the devotions of a pair of itinerant
Benedictines surprised no one. If monks of the abbey of Saint Peter elected to
spend a night in prayer in a church of Saint Peter, that was no special wonder,
and concerned no one else.
So
Brother Haluin had his will, and redeemed his vow. He would have no softening
of the stone, no extra cloak to ward off the cold of the night, nothing to
abate the rigors of his penance. Cadfael helped him to his knees, within reach
of the solid support of the tomb, so that if faintness or dizziness came over
him he could at least hold fast by it to break his fall. The crutches were laid
at the foot of the stone. There was no more he would permit anyone to do for
him. But Cadfael kneeled with him, withdrawn into shadow to leave him solitary
with his dead Bertrade and a God doubtless inclining a compassionate ear.
It
was a long night, and cold. The altar lamp made an eye of brightness in the
gloom, at least ruddy like fire if it gave no warmth. The silence carried hour
by hour, like an infinitesimal ripple vibrating through it, the gradual heave
of Haluin’s breathing and the constant whisper of his moving lips, felt in the
blood and the bowels rather than audible with the ear. From somewhere within
him he drew an inexhaustible wealth of words to be spent for his dead Bertrade.
Their tension and passion kept him erect and oblivious to pain, though pain
took fast hold of him before midnight, and never left him until his rapture and
his ordeal ended together with the coming of light.
When
he opened his eyes at last to the full light of a frosty morning, and
laboriously unlocked his cold, clasped hands, the sounds of the customary early
activity were already audible from the outside world. Haluin stared dazedly
upon the waking day, returning from some place very far off, very deep within.
He essayed to move, to grip the rim of the stone, and his fingers were so
numbed they could not feel, and his arms so stiff they could give him no help
to raise himself. Cadfael wound an arm about him to lift him, but Haluin could
not straighten his stiff knees to set his better foot to the ground, but hung a
dead weight on the encircling arm. And suddenly there was a flurry of light
footsteps, and another arm, young and strong, embraced the helpless body from
the other side, a fair head stooped to Haluin’s shoulder, and between his
movement under smooth control, but as yet he retained the vulnerable
uncertainty of a boy. He looked after Audemar with surprised speculation,
stared at Cadfael in candid curiosity, and turned slowly towards the door of
Audemar’s hall.
So
this must be the Roscelin to whom Adelais had referred, thought Cadfael, watching
him go. Not a son of the house, by the cut of him and the coloring, but not a
servant, either. Doubtless a youngster from the family of one of Audemar’s
tenants, sent here to his overlord to get his training in arms, and acquire the
skills and practices of a small court, in preparation for the wider world. Such
apprentice lordlings proliferated in every great barony, the de Clary honor
might well be patron to one or two of the same kind.
The
early evening had turned cold, and there was a biting wind rising, with a few
fine needles of sleet stinging in its touch. The hour of Vespers was not far
away. Cadfael went in thankfully from the chill, to find Brother Haluin awake
and waiting, silent and tense, for his hour of fulfillment.
Adelais
had evidently made her dispositions well. No one intruded upon their privacy,
no one asked any question or showed any curiosity. The young groom Luc brought
them food before Vespers, and at the end of the office they were left alone in
the church to conduct their vigil as they pleased. Doubtful if any among the
household wondered about them at all, being accustomed to random visitors of
all kinds, with differing needs, and the devotions of a pair of itinerant
Benedictines surprised no one. If monks of the abbey of Saint Peter elected to
spend a night in prayer in a church of Saint Peter, that was no special wonder,
and concerned no one else.
So
Brother Haluin had his will, and redeemed his vow. He would have no softening
of the stone, no extra cloak to ward off the cold of the night, nothing to
abate the rigors of his penance. Cadfael helped him to his knees, within reach
of the solid support of the tomb, so that if faintness or dizziness came over
him he could at least hold fast by it to break his fall. The crutches were laid
at the foot of the stone. There was no more he would permit anyone to do for
him. But Cadfael kneeled with him, withdrawn into shadow to leave him solitary
with his dead Bertrade and a God doubtless inclining a compassionate ear.
It
was a long night, and cold. The altar lamp made an eye of brightness in the
gloom, at least ruddy like fire if it gave no warmth. The silence carried hour
by hour, like an infinitesimal ripple vibrating through it, the gradual heave
of Haluin’s breathing and the constant whisper of his moving lips, felt in the
blood and the bowels rather than audible with the ear. From somewhere within
him he drew an inexhaustible wealth of words to be spent for his dead Bertrade.
Their tension and passion kept him erect and oblivious to pain, though pain
took fast hold of him before midnight, and never left him until his rapture and
his ordeal ended together with the coming of light.
When
he opened his eyes at last to the full light of a frosty morning, and
laboriously unlocked his cold, clasped hands, the sounds of the customary early
activity were already audible from the outside world. Haluin stared dazedly
upon the waking day, returning from some place very far off, very deep within.
He essayed to move, to grip the rim of the stone, and his fingers were so
numbed they could not feel, and his arms so stiff they could give him no help
to raise himself. Cadfael wound an arm about him to lift him, but Haluin could
not straighten his stiff knees to set his better foot to the ground, but hung a
dead weight on the encircling arm. And suddenly there was a flurry of light
footsteps, and another arm, young and strong, embraced the helpless body from
the other side, a fair head stooped to Haluin’s shoulder, and between his
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