Brother Cadfael 15: The Confession of Brother Haluin

if Cenred so wishes, then I place her here in his fosterage, with all the rights he has exercised as her kinsman all these years. And in the matter of her marriage both he and I will take good care what is best for her, but never against her will. But now, let her be! She has asked for time untroubled, and she shall have it. When she is ready to return, I will fetch her home."
    "Content," said Cenred, breathing deeply. "I am content! I could ask no better."
    "And, Brother..." Audemar turned to Cadfael. He had the entire issue in his hands now, over all matters here his writ ran, and what he ordained would be done. The least damage was his design, as his mother's had been the ultimate destruction. "Brother, if you are going back to Farewell, tell them there what I have said. What's done is done, all that waits to be done shall be in daylight, openly. Roscelin," he ordered sharply, turning on the boy restless and glittering with the joy of his release, "have the horses readied, we ride for Elford. You are still in my service until I please to dismiss you, and I have not forgotten that you went forth without leave. Let me have no further cause for displeasure."
    But his voice was dry, and neither words nor look cast the least shadow upon Roscelin's exultant brightness. He bent his knee in the briefest of reverences by way of acknowledging the order, and went blithely to do his lord's bidding. The wind of his flight swung the curtain at the door, and sent a current of outer air floating across the chamber like a sigh.
    Audemar looked last and longest at Adelais, who stood with eyes steady and dark upon his face, waiting his judgment.
    "Madam, you will ride back with me to Elford. You have done what you came here to do."
    Nevertheless, it was Cadfael who got to horse first. No one was any longer in need of him here, and whatever natural curiosity he might feel concerning the family adjustments still to be made, and perhaps less easily accomplished than decreed, must be forever contained, since he was unlikely to pass this way again. He reclaimed his horse without haste, and mounted, and was ambling towards the gate when Roscelin broke away from the grooms who were busy saddling Audemar's horses, and came running to his stirrup.
    "Brother Cadfael..." He was lost for a moment for words, since his wonder and happiness were beyond words, and shook his head and laughed over his own incoherence. "Tell her! Tell her we're free, we need not change, there's no one can blacken us now..."
    "Son," said Cadfael heartily, "by this she knows it as well as you."
    "And tell her soon, very soon, I shall come for her. Oh, yes, I know," he said confidently, seeing Cadfael's raised brows, "but it's me he'll send. I know him! He'd rather a kinsman he knows and can rely on, his own man, with lands bordering his own, than any lordling from distant parts. And my father won't stand between us now. Why should he, when it solves everything? What's changed, except what needed changing?"
    And there was something in that, Cadfael reflected, looking down from the saddle into the young, ardent face. What was changed was the replacement of falsity by truth, and however hard the assimilation might be, it must be for the better. Truth can be costly, but in the end it never falls short of value for the price paid.
    "And tell him," said Roscelin earnestly, "the lame brother... her father..." His voice hung on the word with, wonder and awe. "Tell him I'm glad, say I owe him more than ever can be repaid. And tell him he need never fret for her happiness, for I'll give my life to it."
    Chapter Fourteen
    At about the same time that Cadfael dismounted in the court of Farewell, Adelais de Clary sat with her son in his private chamber at Elford. There had been a long and heavy silence between them. The afternoon was drawing to its close, the light dimming, and he had sent for no candles.
    "There is a matter," he said at length, stirring out of his mourne stillness, "which has hardly been touched on yet. It was to you, madam, that the old woman came. And you sent her away with a short answer. To her death! Was that at your orders?"
    Without passion she said, "No."
    "I will not ask what you know of it. To what end? She is dead. But I do not like your manner of dealing, and I choose to have no more ado with it. Tomorrow, madam, you shall return to Hales. Hales you may have for your hermitage. But do not come back to this house, ever, for you will not be admitted. The