Brother Cadfael 16: The Heretic's Apprentice

saw you come in at the gatehouse I'd seen that face somewhere before. Not your name! If ever I knew that, I've forgotten it years since. But you're the boy who was clerk to old William of Lythwood, and went off on pilgrimage with him, long ago now."
    "Seven years," said the boy, flashing into animation at being remembered. "And my name's Elave."
    "Well, well, so you're safe home after your wanderings! No wonder you had the look of having come half across the world. I remember William bringing his last gift to the church here, before he set out. He was bent on getting to Jerusalem. I recall at the time I half wished I could go with him. Did he reach the city indeed?"
    "He did," said Elave, growing ever brighter. "We did! Lucky I was that ever I took service with him. I had the best master a man could have. Even before he took the notion to take me with him on his journey, not having a son of his own."
    "No, no more he had," agreed Cadfael, looking back through seven years. "It's his nephews took over his business. A shrewd man he was, and a good patron to our house. There are many here among the brothers will remember his benefits..."
    He caught himself up abruptly there. In the flush of recollection of the past he had lost sight for a while of the present. He came back to it with a sudden recoil into gravity. This boy had departed with a single companion, and with a single companion he now returned.
    "Do you tell me," Cadfael asked soberly, "that it's William of Lythwood you've brought home in a coffin?"
    "It is," said Elave. "He died at Valognes, before we could reach Barfleur. He'd kept money by to pay his score if it happened, and get us both home. He'd been ill since we started north through France. Sometimes we had to halt a month or more along the way till he could go again. He knew he was dying, he made no great trouble about it. And the monks were good to us. I write a good hand, I worked when I could. We did what we wanted to do." He told it quite simply and tranquilly; having been so long with a master content in himself and his faith, and unafraid of his end, the boy had grown into the same practical and cheerful acceptance. "I have messages to deliver for him to his kin. And I'm charged to ask a bed for him here."
    "Here in abbey ground?" asked Cadfael.
    "Yes, I've asked to be heard tomorrow at chapter. He was a good patron to this house all his life, the lord abbot will remember that."
    "It's a different abbot we have now, but Prior Robert will know, and many others among us. And Abbot Radulfus will listen, you need not fear a refusal from him. William will have witnesses enough. But I'm sorry he could not come home alive to tell us of it." He eyed the lanky young man before him with considered respect. "You've done well by him, and a hard road you must have had of it, these last miles. You must have been barely a grown man when he took you off overseas."
    "I was nearly nineteen," said Elave, smiling. "Nineteen and hardy enough, strong as a horse I was. I'm twenty-six now, I can make my own way." He was studying Cadfael as intently as he was being studied. "I remember you, Brother. You were the one who soldiered in the east once, years ago."
    "So I did," acknowledged Cadfael, almost fondly. Confronted with this young traveller from places once well known, and sharp with memories for him, he felt the old longings quickening again within him, and the old ghosts stirring. "When you have time, you and I could have things to talk about. But not now! If you're not worn out with journeying, you should be, and there'll be a moment or two to spare tomorrow. Better go and get your sleep now. I'm bound for Compline."
    "It's true," owned Elave, heaving a long, fulfilled sigh at having reached the end of his charge. "I'm main glad to be here, and have done with what I promised him. I'll bid you good night, then, Brother, and thanks."
    Cadfael watched him cross the width of the court to the steps of the guest hall, a tough, durable young man who had packed into seven years more journeying than most men saw in a lifetime. No one else within these walls could follow in spirit where he had been, no one but Cadfael. The old appetite stirred ravenously, after contented years of stability and peace.
    "Would you have known him again?" asked Edmund, emerging at Cadfael's shoulder. "He came once or twice on his master's errands, I remember, but between eighteen or so and his middle twenties a man can change past recognition,