Read Online The Confession of Brother Haluin by Ellis Peters - Free Book Online Page B

guilty thanks, and took a restrained leave of the good man, who watched them in
wondering speculation until they had climbed the steps to the porch, and closed
the door after them.
    “No!”
said Cadfael firmly, as soon as they were clear of the churchyard, and passing
along the track between the village houses to reach the highroad. “That you
cannot do!”
    “I
can, I must!” Brother Haluin responded with no less determination. “Why should
I not?”
    “Because,
in the first place, you do not know how far it is to Etford. As far again as we
have come, and half as far after that. And you know very well how hard you have
pushed yourself already. And in the second place, because you were given leave
to attempt this journey in the belief that it would end here, and we two return
from here. And so we should. No, never shake your head at me, you know very
well Father Abbot never envisaged more than that, and would never have given
you leave for more. We should turn back here.”
    “How
can I?” Haluin’s voice was implacably reasonable, even tranquil. His way was
perfectly clear to him, and he was patient with dissent. “If I turn back, I am
forsworn. I have not yet done what I vowed to do, I should go back
self-condemned and contemptible. Father Abbot would not wish that, however
little either he or I expected so long a penance. He gave me leave until I had
accomplished what I swore to do. If he were here to be asked, he would tell me
to go on. I said I would not rest until I had gone on foot to the tomb where
Bertrade lies buried, and there passed a night in prayer and vigil, and that I
have not done.”
    “Through
no fault of yours,” said Cadfael strenuously.
    “Does
that excuse me? It is a just judgment on me that I must go double the way. If I
fail of this, I said, may I live forsworn and die unforgiven! On the blessed
relics of Saint Winifred, who has been so good to us all, I swore it. How can I
turn back? I would rather die on the road, at least still faithfully trying to
redeem my vow, than abandon my faith and honor, and go back shamed.”
    And
who was that speaking, Cadfael wondered, the dutiful monk, or the son of a good
Norman house, from a line at least as old as King William’s when he came
reaching for the crown of England, and without the irregularity of bastardy, at
that. No doubt but pride is a sin, and unbecoming a Benedictine brother, but
not so easily shed with the spurs and title of nobility.
    Haluin,
too, had caught the fleeting implication of arrogance, and flushed at the
recognition, but would not draw back from it. He halted abruptly, swaying on
his crutches, and detached a hand in haste to take Cadfael by the wrist. “Don’t
chide me! Well I know you could, and your face shows me I deserve it, but spare
to condemn. I can do no other. Oh, Cadfael, I do know every argument you could
justly use against me. I have thought of them, I think of them still, but still
I am bound. Bound by vows I will not, dare not break. Though my abbot judge me
rebellious and disobedient, though my abbey cast me out, that I must bear. But
to take back what I have pledged to Bertrade that I will not bear.”
    The
flush of blood mantling in his pale cheeks became him, warmed away the faded
look of emaciation from illness, and even stripped some years from him. In
stillness he stood upright, stretching his bent back upward between the braced
crutches. No persuasion was going to move him. As well accept it.
    “But
you, Cadfael,” he said, gripping the wrist he held, “you have made no such vow,
you are not bound. No need for you to go further, you have done all that was
expected of you. Go back now, and speak for me to the lord abbot.”
    “Son,”
said Cadfael, between sympathy and exasperation, “I am fettered as fast as you,
and you should know it. My orders are to go with you in case you founder, and
to take care of you if you do. You are on your own