Brother Cadfael 15: The Confession of Brother Haluin

village I knew well, before I took the cowl at Shrewsbury. Now," said Haluin earnestly, observing how brightly he was studied, and feeling the need to account for his return, "I have good need to give thanks for escaping alive from a mishap that might have caused my death, and I have taken thought to discharge, while I may, every debt I have on my conscience. Of which number, one brings me here to this tomb. There was a lady of the de Clary family whom I reverenced, and she died untimely. I should like to spend the night here at her burial place, in prayers for her. It was long before your time, eighteen years ago now. It will not disturb you if I spend the night here within?"
    "Why, as to that, you'd be welcome," said the priest heartily, "and I could light a cresset for you. It gives some help against the cold. But surely, Brother, you're under some mistake. True, what you say puts this before my time, but Father Wulfnoth told me much concerning the church and the manor, he'd been in the service of the lords of Hales all his life. It was they helped him to his studies and set him up here as priest. There has been no burial here in this tomb since the old lord died, this one who's carved here on the stone. And that was more than thirty years back. It's his grandson rules now. A lady of the family, you say? And died young?"
    "A kinswoman," said Haluin, low-voiced and shaken, his eyes lowered to the stone which had not been raised for thirty years. "She died here at Hales. I had thought she must be buried here." He would not name her, or betray more than he must of himself and what moved him, even to this kindly man. And Cadfael stood back from them, watched, and held his peace.
    "And only eighteen years ago? Then be certain. Brother, she is not here. If you knew Father Wulfnoth, you know you can rely upon what he told me. And I know his wits were sharp until the day he died."
    "I do believe it, " said Haluin, quivering with the chill of disappointment. "He would not be mistaken. So - she is not here!"
    "But this is not the chief seat of the de Clary honour," the priest pointed out gently, "for that's Elford, in Staffordshire. The present lord, Audemar, took his father there for burial; the family has a great vault there. If there are any close kin dead these last years, that's where they'll be. No doubt the lady you speak of was also taken there to lie among her kinsfolk."
    Haluin seized upon the hope hungrily. "Yes... yes, it could well be so, it must be so. There I shall find her."
    "I have no doubt of it," said the priest. "But it's a long way to go afoot." He had sensed an urgency that was very unlikely to listen to reason, but he did his best to temper it. "You'd be well advised to go mounted, if you must go now, or put it off for longer days and better weather. At least come inside, to my house, and take meat with me, and rest overnight."
    But that Haluin would not do, so much was already clear to Brother Cadfael. Not while there was still an hour or more of daylight left at the windows, and he had still the strength to go a mile further. He excused himself with slightly guilty thanks, and took a restrained leave of the good man, who watched them in wondering speculation until they had climbed the steps to the porch, and closed the door after them.
    "No!" said Cadfael firmly, as soon as they were clear of the churchyard, and passing along the track between the village houses to reach the highroad. "That you cannot do!"
    "I can, I must!" Brother Haluin responded with no less determination. "Why should I not?"
    "Because, in the first place, you do not know how far it is to Etford. As far again as we have come, and half as far after that. And you know very well how hard you have pushed yourself already. And in the second place, because you were given leave to attempt this journey in the belief that it would end here, and we two return from here. And so we should. No, never shake your head at me, you know very well Father Abbot never envisaged more than that, and would never have given you leave for more. We should turn back here."
    "How can I?" Haluin's voice was implacably reasonable, even tranquil. His way was perfectly clear to him, and he was patient with dissent. "If I turn back, I am forsworn. I have not yet done what I vowed to do, I should go back self-condemned and contemptible. Father Abbot would not wish that, however little either he or I expected so long a penance. He gave me leave until I had