Brother Cadfael 15: The Confession of Brother Haluin

lady Emma could never be harsh to any young thing. Too soft, indeed, the pair of them could always get their will of her. But my own lady was given to solitude and melancholy, and when it came to a new marriage, no, she would not, she took the veil gladly rather than marry again."
    "Helisende has never considered that refuge?" asked Cadfael.
    "Not she, God forbid she ever should! My girl was never of that mind. For those who take to it kindly it may be bliss, but for those who are pressed into it, it must be a hell on earth! If you'll pardon my tongue, Brothers! You know your own vocation best, and no doubt you took the cowl for the best of reasons, but Helisende... No, I would not want that for her. Better by far this Perronet lad, if there has to be a second-best," She had begun to gather up the platters and dishes they had emptied, and took up the pitcher to refill their cups. "I did hear say that you've been at Elford, and seen Roscelin there. Is that true?"
    "Yes," said Cadfael, "we left Elford only yesterday. We did, by chance, have some brief talk with the young man, but never knew until this morning that he came from this neighbouring manor of Vivers."
    "And how did he look?" she asked longingly. "Is he well? Was he down in spirits? I have not seen him for a month or more, and I know how ill he took it that he should be sent away like some offending page from his own home, when he had done no wrong, nor thought none. As good a lad as ever stepped! What had he to say?"
    "Why, he was in excellent health at any rate," said Cadfael cautiously, "and very fair spirits, considering all. It's true he did complain of being banished, and was very ill-content where he is. Naturally he said little about the circumstances, seeing we were chance comers and unknown to him, and I daresay he would have said no more to anyone else who had as little business in the matter. But he did say he had given his word to abide by his father's orders, and wait for leave before he'd venture home."
    "But he does not know," she said, between anger and helplessness, "what's being planned here. Oh, he'll get leave to come home fast enough as soon as Helisende is out of the house, and far away south on her way to that young man's manor. And what a homecoming that will be for the poor lad! Shame to deal so behind his back!"
    "They think it for the best," said Haluin, pale and moved. "Even for his best interests, they believe. And this matter is hard even for them. If they are mistaken in hiding this marriage from him until it is over, surely they may be forgiven."
    "There are those," said Edgytha darkly, "who never will be." She picked up her wooden tray, and the keys at her girdle chimed faintly as she moved towards the door. "I wish this had been honestly done. I wish he had been told. Whether he could ever have her or not, he had a right to know, and to give his blessing or his ban. How was it you were brought in touch with him there, to know the half of his name but not the whole?"
    "It was the lady mentioned his name," said Cadfael, "when de Clary came in from riding, and the young man was with him. Roscelin, she called him. It was later we spoke with him. He saw my friend here stiff from a night on his knees, and came to lend him an arm to lean on."
    "So he would!" she said, warming. "To any one he saw in need. The lady, you say? Audemar's lady?"
    "No, our errand was not to him, we never saw his wife and children. No, this was his mother, Adelais de Clary."
    The dishes jangled momentarily on Edgytha's tray. With care she balanced it on one hand, and reached to the latch of the door. "She is there? There at Elford?"
    "She is. Or she was when we left, yesterday, and with the snow coming so shortly after, she is surely there still."
    "She visits very rarely," said Edgytha, shrugging. "They say there's small love lost between her and her son's wife. That's no uncommon thing, either, I suppose, so they're just as well apart." She nudged the door open expertly with an elbow, and swung the large tray through the doorway edgewise. "Do you hear the horses, outside there? That will be Jean de Perronet's party riding in."
    There was nothing clandestine or secretive, certainly, about Jean de Perronet's arrival, though nothing ceremonious or showy, either. He came with one body servant and two grooms, and with two led horses for the bride and her attendant, and packhorses for the baggage. The entire entourage was practical and efficient, and de