inward, it would not be long before he fell asleep, the best and best-earned
sleep since he had made confession.
“I
saw you ride in with the lord Audemar yesterday,” said Cadfael, studying the
youthful face before him. “The lady mentioned your name. Are you kin to the de Clarys?”
The
boy shook his head. “No. My father is tenant and vassal to him, they’ve always
been good friends, and there’s a marriage tie, a while back now. No, I’m sent
here to Audemar’s service at my father’s order.”
“But
not at your wish,” said Cadfael, interpreting the tone rather than the words,
“No!
Much against my wish!” said Roscelin abruptly, and scowled at the floorboards
between his booted feet.
“Yet
to all appearances as good a lord as you could hope for,” suggested Cadfael
mildly, “and better than most.”
“He’s
well enough,” the boy owned fairly. “I’ve no complaint of him. But I grudge it
that my father has sent me away here to be rid of me out of the house, and
that’s the truth of it.”
“Now,
why,” wondered Cadfael, curious but not quite asking, “why should any father
want to be rid of you?” For here was undoubtedly the very picture of a
presentable son, upstanding, well formed, well conducted, and decidedly
engaging in his fair-haired, smooth-cheeked comeliness, a son any father would
be glad to parade before his peers. Even in sullenness his face was pleasing,
but it was certainly true that he had not the look of one happy in his service.
“He
has his reasons,” said Roscelin moodily. “You’d say good reasons, too, I know
that. And I’m not so estranged from him that I could refuse him the obedience
due. So I’m here, and pledged to stay here unless lord and father both give me
leave to go. And I’m not such a fool as not to admit I could be in far worse
places. So I may as well get all the good I can out of it while I’m here.”
It
seemed that his mind had veered into another and graver quarter, for he sat for
some moments silent, staring down into his clasped hands with a frowning brow,
and looked up only to measure Cadfael earnestly, his eyes dwelling long upon
the black habit and the tonsure.
“Brother,”
he said abruptly, “I wondered, now and then—about the monkish life. Some men
have taken to it, have they not, because what they most wanted was forever
impossible—forbidden them! Is that true? Can it provide a life, if… if the life
a man wants is out of reach?”
“Yes,”
said Brother Haluin’s voice, gently and quietly out of a waking dream now very
close to sleep. “Yes, it can!”
“I
would not recommend entering it as a second-best,” said Cadfael stoutly. Yet that
was what Haluin had done, long ago, and he spoke now as one recording a
revelation, the opening of his inward eyes just as they were heavy and closing
with sleep.
“The
time might be long, and the cost high,” said Haluin with gentle certainty, “but
in the end it would not be second-best.”
He
drew in a long breath, and spent it in a great healing sigh, turning his head
away from them on the pillow. They were both so intent on him, doubting and
wondering, that neither of them had noted the approach of brisk footsteps
without, and they started round in surprise as the door was thrown wide open to
admit Lothair, carrying a basket of food and a pitcher of small ale for the
guests. At sight of Roscelin seated familiarly upon Cadfael’s pallet, and
apparently on good terms with the brothers, the groom’s weathered face
tightened perceptibly, almost ominously, and for an instant a deeper spark
flashed and vanished again in his pale eyes.
“What
are you doing here?” he demanded with the bluntness of an equal, and the
uncompromising authority of an elder. “Master Roger’s looking for you, and my
lord wants you in attendance as soon as he’s broken his fast. You’d best be
off, and sharp about it, too.”
It
could
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