Brother Cadfael 15: The Confession of Brother Haluin

once his mind is at peace."
    "And will it be at peace after tonight? Is this what he needs?"
    "I believe he will. I believe it is."
    "Then it has my blessing. And then you will take him back to Shrewsbury? I can provide you horses," she said, "for the way back. Lothair can fetch them to Hales when we return."
    "That kindness he will surely refuse," said Cadfael. "He has sworn to complete this penance on foot."
    She nodded understanding. "I will ask him, nonetheless. Well - that is all, Brother. If he will not, I can do no more. Yes, one thing I can! I am coming to Vespers tonight. I will speak to the priest, and make certain that no one - no one! - shall question or trouble his vigil. You understand, nothing must be let slip to any soul but us who already know all too well. Tell him so. What remains is between him and God."
    The master of the house was just riding in at the gate as Cadfael walked back to the lodging where Haluin lay sleeping. The ring of harness and hooves and voices entered ahead of the cavalcade, a lively sound, bringing out grooms and servants like bees from a disturbed hive to attend on their lord's arrival. And here he came, Audemar de Clary, on a tall chestnut horse, a big man in dark, plain, workmanlike riding clothes, without ornament, and needing none to mark him out as having authority here. He rode in with head uncovered, the hood of his short cloak flung back on his shoulders, and his shock of crisp hair was as dark as his mother's, but the powerful bones of his face, high-bridged nose, thrusting cheekbones, and lofty forehead he surely had from his Crusader father.
    He could not, Cadfael thought, be yet forty years old. The vigour of his movements as he dismounted, the spring of his step on the ground, the very gestures of his hands as he stripped off his gloves, all were young. But the formidable features of his face and the mastery that was manifest all about him, in the efficiency of his management here and the prompt and competent service he expected and got, made him seem older in dominance than he was in years. He had been master, Cadfael recalled, in his father's long absence, beginning early, probably before he was twenty, and the de Clary honour was large and scattered. He had learned his business well. Not a man to be crossed lightly, but no one here feared him. They approached him cheerfully and spoke with him boldly. His anger, when justified, might be withering, even perilous, but it would be just.
    He had a young fellow, page or squire, riding close at his elbow, a youth of seventeen or eighteen, fresh-faced and flushed with open air and exercise, and after them came two kennelmen on foot with the hounds on leash after their run. Audemar handed over his bridle to the groom who came running, and stood stamping his booted feet as he shed his cloak into the young man's ready hands. The brief flurry of activity was over in a few minutes, the horses on their way across the court to the stables, the hounds away to the kennels. The young groom Luc came out of the stableyard and spoke to Audemar, apparently to deliver a message from Adelais, for Audemar at once looked round toward the lady's lodging, nodded understanding, and came striding towards her door. His eyes fell on Cadfael, standing discreetly aside from his path, and for an instant he checked as though to stop and speak, but then changed his mind and went on, to vanish into the deep doorway.
    Judging by the time that she and her grooms and her maid had passed by in the forest, Cadfael reckoned, Adelais must have arrived here that same day, two days previously. They would have no need to halt for a night between Chenet and Elford, for on horseback the distance was easy. Therefore she must already have seen and talked with her son. What she had to communicate to him now, as soon as he returned from riding, might well have to do with whatever was news this day at the manor of Elford. And what was new but the arrival of the two monks from Shrewsbury, and their reason for being here, a reason she would interpret with discretion for his ears. For he had been here at Elford when his sister died in Hales, for the world's ears - and her brother's also? - of a fever. That must be all he had ever known of it, a simple, sad death, such as may happen in any household, even to one in the bloom of youth. No, that strong and resolute woman would never have let her son into the secret. An old, trusted, confidential maidservant, maybe. She