Brother Cadfael 13: The Rose Rent

before sign after sign pointed another way. She heard him out with unwavering attention, those arresting grey eyes dauntingly wide and intelligent.
    "But still," she said, "I do not understand. You speak as if there was nothing of note or consequence in his leaving the enclave by night as he did. But you know it is something utterly unknown, for a young brother so to dare. And he, I thought, so meek and dutiful, no breaker of rules. Why did he do so? What can have made it so important to him to visit the rose-bush? Secretly, illicitly, by night? What did it mean to him, to drive him so far out of his proper way?"
    No question but she was asking honestly. She had never thought of herself as a disturber of any man's peace. And she meant to have an answer, and there was none to give her but the truth. The abbot might have hesitated at this point. Cadfael did not hesitate.
    "It meant to him," he said simply, "the memory of you. It was no change of policy that removed him from being bearer of the rose. He had begged to be relieved of a task which had become torment to him, and his request was granted. He could no longer bear the pain of being in your presence and as far from you as the moon, of seeing you, and being within touch of you, and forbidden to love. But when he was released, it seems he could not bear absence, either. In a manner, he was saying his goodbye to you. He would have got over it," said Cadfael with resigned regret, "if he had lived. But it would have been a long, bleak sickness."
    Still her eyes had not wavered nor her face changed, except that the blood had drained from her cheeks and left her pale and translucent as ice. "Oh, God!" she said in a whisper. "And I never knew! There was never word said, never a look... And I so much his elder, and no beauty! It was like sending one of the singing boys from the school to me. Never a wrong thought, how could there be?"
    "He was cloistered almost from his cradle," said Cadfael gently, "he had never had to do with a woman since he left his mother. He had no defence against a gentle face, a soft voice and a motion of grace. You cannot see yourself with his eyes, or you might find yourself dazzled."
    After a moment of silence she said: "I did feel, somehow, that he was not happy. No more than that. And how many in this world can boast of being happy?" And she asked, looking up again into Cadfael's face: "How many know of this? Need it be spoken of?"
    "No one but Father Abbot, Brother Richard his confessor, Brother Anselm and myself. And now you. No, it will never be spoken of to any other. And none of these can or will ever think one thought of blame for you. How could we?"
    "But I can," said Judith.
    "Not if you are just. You must not take to yourself more than your due. That was Eluric's error."
    A man's voice was raised suddenly in the shop, young and agitated, and Niall's voice replying in hasty reassurance. Miles burst in through the open doorway, the sunlight behind him casting him into sharp silhouette, and shining through his ruffled fair hair, turning light brown into flaxen. He was flushed and out of breath, but he heaved a great, relieved sigh at the sight of Judith sitting composed and tearless and in calm company.
    "Dear God, what has been happening here? The tales they're buzzing along the Foregate of murder and malice! Brother, is it true? My cousin... I knew she was coming here this morning. Thank God, girl dear, I find you safe and well befriended. No harm has come to you? I came on the run as soon as I heard what they were saying, to take you home."
    His boisterous coming had blown away, like a March wind, the heavy solemnity that had pervaded the room, and his vigour had brought back some rising colour to Judith's frozen face. She rose to meet him, and let him embrace her in an impulsive hug, and kiss her cold cheek.
    "I've taken no harm, no need to fret for me. Brother Cadfael has been kind enough to keep me company. He was here before I came, and Father Abbot also, there was never any threat or danger to me."
    "But there has been a death?" With his arms still protectively about her he looked from her face to Cadfael's, anxiously frowning. "Or is it all a false tale? They were saying a brother of the abbey was carried home from this place, and his face covered?"
    "It's all too true," said Cadfael, rising somewhat wearily. "Brother Eluric, the custodian of Saint Mary's altar, was found here this morning stabbed to death."
    "Here? What,