“None,” said Adelais. “But until now she believed herself so. It is not her fault, never cast blame on her.”
“She is no kin to me. I owe her nothing, neither dowry nor lands. She has no claim on me.” He said it bitterly rather than vengefully, lamenting the abrupt severance of a strong affection.
“None. But she is kin to me,” said Adelais. “Her mother’s dower lands went to Polesworth when she took the veil, but Helisende is my granddaughter and my heiress. The lands I hold in my own right will go to her. She will not be penniless.” She looked at de Perronet as she spoke, and smiled, but wryly. No need to make the lovers’ path too smooth by rendering the girl less profitable, and therefore less attractive in the rival’s eyes.
“Madam, you mistake me.” said Cenred with muted fury. “This house has been her home, she will still think of it as home. Where else is there for her? It is we here who are suddenly cut off, like topped limbs. Her father and mother, both, are in the cloister, and what guidance, what care has she ever had from you? Kin to us or not, she belongs here at Vivers.”
“But nothing prevents now,” cried Roscelin triumphantly. “I may approach her, I may lawfully ask for her, there is no barrier now. We’ve done no wrong, there’s no shadow over us, no ban between us. I’ll go and bring her home. She’ll come, blithely she’ll come! I knew,” he exulted, his blue eyes brilliant with vindicated joy, “I knew we did no wrong in loving, never, never! It was you persuaded me I sinned. Sir, let me go and fetch her home!”
At that de Perronet took fire in his turn, with a hiss like a sulphur match flaring, and took two rapid strides forward to confront the boy. “You leap too soon and too far, my friend! Your rights are no better than mine. I do not withdraw my suit, I urge it, I will pursue it with my might.”
“And so you may,” exulted Roscelin, too drunk with relief and delight to be ungenerous or take easy offense. “I don’t grudge any man his say, but on fair terms now, you and I and any who come, and we shall see what Helisende replies.” But he knew what her reply would be, his very certainty was offense, though it meant none, and de Perronet had his hand on his dagger and hotter words mounting in his throat when Audemar smote the table and bellowed them both into silence.
“Hush your noise! Am I overlord here, or no? The girl is not without kin, for she is niece to me. If there is anyone here who has rights in her and a duty towards her-any who has not farmed out both upon another man long since!-it is I, and I say that 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 moume 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 doors of every manor of mine except Hales are henceforth closed to you.”
Indifferently she said, “As you will, it is all one to me. I need only a little space, and may not need it long. Hales will do very well.”
“Then, madam, take your leave when you will. You shall have a safe escort on the road, seeing,” he said with bitter meaning, “that you have parted with your own grooms. And a litter, if you prefer to hide your face. Let it not be said that I left you to travel defenseless, like an old woman venturing out alone by night.”
Adelais rose from her stool and went out from him without a word.
In the hall the servants had begun to kindle the first torches and set them in their sconces, but in every corner, and in the smoky beams of the lofty roof, darkness gathered and clung, draped cobwebs of shadow.
Roscelin was standing over the central fire on its flagged hearth, driving the heel of his boot into it to tease it into life after the damped-down hours of the day. He still had Audemar’s cloak over his arm, the capuchon dangling from one hand, The light from the reviving flames gilded his stooping face into gold, smooth-cheeked, with elegant bones and a brow as fair as a girl’s, and on his dreaming lips the softest and most beguiling of smiles bore witness to his deep happiness. His flaxen hair swung against his cheek, and parted above the suave nape of his neck, the most revealing beauty of the young. For a moment she stood apart in the shadows to watch him, herself unnoticed, for the pleasure and the pain of experiencing again the irresistible attraction, the unbearable bliss and anguish of beholding beauty and youth pass by and depart. Too sharp and sweet a reminder of things ended long ago, and for years believed forgotten, only to burn up into new life, like the phoenix, when a door opened, and confronted her with the ruin the years had left of the beloved being.