Chapter Four

«^»

I n the cell the little lamp for reading was notlighted, since one of the young attendants could not read,and the other could not speak, while the incumbent himself stilllay propped up with pillows in his cot, too weak to nurse a heavybook. But if Rhun could not read well, he could learn by heart, andrecite what he had learned with feeling and warmth, and he was inthe middle of a prayer of Saint Augustine which Brother Paul hadtaught him, when he felt suddenly that he had an audience largerthan he had bargained for, and faltered and fell silent, turningtowards the open end of the cell.

Nicholas Harnage stood hesitant within the doorway, until hiseyes grew accustomed to the dim light. Brother Humilis had openedhis eyes in wonder when Rhun faltered. He beheld the best-loved andmost trusted of his former squires standing almost timorously atthe foot of his bed.

“Nicholas?” he ventured, doubtful and wondering,heaving himself up to stare more intently.

Brother Fidelis stooped at once to prop and raise him, and bracethe pillows at his back, and then as silently withdrew into thedark corner of the cell, to leave the field to the visitor.

“Nicholas! It is you!”

The young man went forward and fell on his knee to clasp andkiss the thin hand stretched out to him.

“Nicholas, what are you doing here? You’re welcomeas the morning, but I never looked to see you in this place. It waskind indeed to seek me out in such a distant refuge. Come, sit byme here. Let me see you close!”

Rhun had slipped away silently. From the doorway he made a smallreverence before he vanished. Fidelis took a step to follow him,but Humilis laid a hand on his arm to detain him.

“No, stay! Don’t leave us! Nicholas, to this youngbrother I owe more than I can ever repay. He serves me as truly inthis field as you did in arms.”

“All who have been your men, like me, will be grateful tohim,” said Nicholas fervently, looking up into a faceshadowed by the cowl, and as featureless as voiceless in thishalf-darkness. If he wondered at getting no answer, but only aninclination of the head by way of acknowledgement, he shrugged itoff without another thought, for it was of no importance that heshould reach a closer acquaintance with one he might never seeagain. He drew the stool close to the bedside, and sat studying theemaciated face of his lord with deep concern.

“They tell me you are mending well. But I see you leanerand more fallen than when I left you, that time in Hyde, and wentto do your errand. I had a long search in Winchester to find yourprior, and enquire of him where you were gone. Need you have chosento ride so far? The bishop would have taken you into the OldMinster, and been glad of you.”

“I doubt if I should have been so glad of thebishop,” said Brother Humilis with a wry little smile.“No, I had my reasons for coming so far north. This shire andthis town I knew as a child. A few years only, but they are theyears a man remembers later in life. Never trouble for me, Nick,I’m very well here, as well as any other place, and betterthan most. Let us speak rather of you. How have you fared in yournew service, and what has brought you here to mybedside?”

“I’ve thrived, having your commendation. William ofYpres has mentioned me to the queen, and would have taken me amonghis officers, but I’d rather stay with FitzRobert’sEnglish than go to the Flemings. I have a command. It was you whotaught me all I know,” he said, at once glowing and sad,“you and the mussulmen of Mosul.”

“It was not the Atabeg Zenghi,” said BrotherHumilis, smiling, “whose affairs sent you here so far to seekme out. Leave him to the King of Jerusalem, whose noble andperilous business he is. What of Winchester, since I fled fromit?”

“The queen’s armies have encircled it. Few men getout, and no food gets in. The empress’s men are shut tight intheir castle, and their stores must be running very low. We camenorth to straddle the road by Andover. As yet nothing moves,therefore I got leave to ride north on my own business. But theymust attempt to break out soon or starve where they are.”

“They’ll try to reopen one of the roads and bring insupplies, before they abandon Winchester altogether,” saidHumilis, frowning thoughtfully over the possibilities. “Ifand when they do break, they’ll break for Oxford first. Well,if this stalemate has sent you here to me, one good thing has comeout of it. And what is this business that brought you toShrewsbury?”

“My lord,” began Nicholas, leaning forward veryearnestly, “you remember how you sent me here to the manor ofLai, three years ago, to take the word to Humphrey Cruce and hisdaughter that you could not keep your compact to marryher?—that you were entering the cloister at HydeMead?”

“It is not a thing to forget,” agreed Humilisdrily.

“My lord, neither can I forget the girl! You never saw herbut as a child five years old, before you went to the Crusade. ButI saw her a grown lady, nearly nineteen. I did your message to herfather and to her, and came away glad to have it delivered anddone. But now I cannot get her out of my mind. Such grace she had,and bore the severance with such dignity and courtesy. My lord, ifshe is still not wed or betrothed, I want to speak for her myself.But I could not go without first asking your blessing andconsent.”

“Son,” said Humilis, glowing with astonishedpleasure, “there’s nothing could delight me more thanto see her happy with you, since I had to fail her. The girl isfree to marry whom she will, and I could wish her no better manthan you. And if you succeed I shall be relieved of all my guilttowards her, for I shall know she has made a better bargain thanever I should have been to her. Only consider, boy, we who enterthe cloister abjure all possessions, how then can we dare lay claimto rights of possession in another creature of God? Go, and may youget her, and my blessing on you both. But come back and tell me howyou fare.”

“My lord, with all my heart! How can I fail, if you sendme to her?”

He stooped to kiss the hand that held him warmly, and roseblithely from the stool to take his leave. The silent figure in theshadows returned to his consciousness belatedly; it was as if hehad been alone with his lord all this time, yet here stood the mutewitness. Nicholas turned to him with impulsive warmth.

“Brother, I do thank you for your care of my lord. Forthis time, farewell. I shall surely see you again on myreturn.”

It was disconcerting to receive by way of reply only silence,and the courteous inclination of the cowled head.

“Brother Fidelis,” said Humilis gently, “isdumb. Only his life and works speak for him. But I dare swear hisgoodwill goes with you on this quest, like mine.”

There was silence in the cell when the last crisp,light echo had died away on the day stairs. Brother Humilis laystill, thinking, it seemed, tranquil and contented thoughts, for hewas smiling.

“There are parts of myself I have never given toyou,” he said at last, “things that happened beforeever I knew you. There is nothing of myself I would not wish toshare with you. Poor girl! What had she to hope for from me, somuch her elder, even before I was broken? And I never saw her butonce, a little lass with brown hair and a solemn round face. Inever felt the want of a wife or children until I was thirty yearsold, having an elder brother to carry on my father’s lineafter the old man died. I took the Cross, and was fitting out acompany to go with me to the east, free as air, when my brotheralso died, and I was left to balance my vow to God and my duty tomy house. I owed it to God to do as I had sworn, and go for tenyears to the Holy Land, but also I owed it to my house to marry andbreed sons. So I looked for a sturdy, suitable little girl whocould well wait all those years for me, and still have all herchild-bearing time in its fullness when I returned. Barely sixyears old she was—Julian Grace, from a family with manors inthe north of this shire, and in Stafford, too.”

He stirred and sighed for the follies of men, and thepresumptuous solemnity of the arrangements they made for lives theywould never live. The presence beside him drew near, put back thecowl, and sat down on the stool Nicholas had vacated. They lookedeach other in the eyes gravely and without words, longer than mostmen can look each other in the eyes and not turn aside.

“God knew better, my son!” said Humilis. “Hisplans for me were not as mine. I am what I am now. She is what sheis. Julian Cruce… I am glad she should escape me and go to abetter man. I pray she has not yet given herself to any, for thisNicholas of mine would make her a fitting match, one that would setmy soul at rest. Only to her do I feel myself a debtor, andforsworn.”

Brother Fidelis shook his head at him, reproachfully smiling,and leaned and laid a finger for an instant over the mouth thatspoke heresy.

Cadfael had left Hugh waiting at the gatehouse,and was crossing the court to return to his duties in theherb-garden, when Nicholas Harnage emerged from the arch of thestairway, and recognising him, hailed him loudly and ran to pluckhim urgently by the sleeve.

“Brother, a word!”

Cadfael halted and turned to face him. “How do you findhim? The long ride put him to too great a strain, and he did notseek help until his wound was broken and festering, butthat’s over now. All’s clean, wholesome and healing.You need not fear we shall let him founder like that a secondtime.”

“I believe it, Brother,” said the young manearnestly. “But I see him now for the first time after threeyears, and much fallen even from the man he was after he got hisinjuries. I knew they were grave, the doctors had him in carebetween life and death a long time, but when he came back to us atleast he looked like the man we knew and followed. He made hisplans then to come home, I know, but he had served already moreyears than he had promised, it was time to attend to his lands andhis life here at home. I made that voyage with him, he bore itwell. Now he has lost flesh, and there’s a languor about himwhen he moves a hand. Tell me the truth of it, how bad is it withhim?”

“Where did he ever get such crippling wounds?” askedCadfael, considering scrupulously how much he could tell, andguessing at how much this boy already knew, or at leasthazarded.

“In that last battle with Zenghi and the men of Mosul. Hehad Syrian doctors after the battle.”

That might very well be why he survived so terrible a maiming,thought Cadfael, who had learned much of his own craft from bothSaracen and Syrian physicians. Aloud he asked cautiously:“You have not seen his wounds? You don’t know theirwhole import?”

Surprisingly, the seasoned crusader was struck silent for amoment, and a slow wave of blood crept up under his golden tan, buthe did not lower his eyes, very wide and direct eyes of a profoundblue. “I never saw his body, no more than when I helped himinto his harness. But I could not choose but understand what Ican’t claim I know. It could not be otherwise, or he wouldnever have abandoned the girl he was betrothed to. Why should he doso? A man of his word! He had nothing left to give her but aposition and a parcel of dower lands. He chose rather to give herher freedom, and the residue of himself to God.”

“There was a girl?” said Cadfael.

“There is a girl. And I am on my way to hernow,” said Nicholas, as defiantly as if his right had beenchallenged. “I carried the word to her and her father that hewas gone into the monastery at Hyde Mead. Now I am going to Lai toask for her hand myself, and he has given me his consent andblessing. She was a small child when she was affianced to him, shehas never seen him since. There is no reason she should not listento my suit, and none that her kin should reject me.”

“None in the world!” agreed Cadfael heartily.“Had I a daughter in such case, I would be glad to see thesquire follow in his lord’s steps. And if you must report toher of his well-being, you may say with truth that he is doing whathe wishes, and enjoys content of mind. And for his body, it iscared for as well as may be. We shall not let him want for anythingthat can give him aid or comfort.”

“But that does not answer what I need to know,”insisted the young man. “I have promised to come back andtell him how I’ve fared. Three or four days, no longer,perhaps not so long. But shall I still find him then?”

“Son,” said Cadfael patiently, “which of uscan answer that for himself or any other man? You want truth, andyou deserve it. Yes, Brother Humilis is dying. He got hisdeath-wound long ago in that last battle. Whatever has been donefor him, whatever can be done, is staving off an ending. But deathis not in such a hurry with him as you fear, and he is in no fearof it. You go and find your girl, and bring him back good news, andhe’ll be here to be glad of it.”

“And so he will,” said Cadfael toEdmund, as they took the air in the garden together before Complinethat evening, “if that young fellow is brisk about hiscourting, and I fancy he’s the kind to go straight for whathe wants. But how much longer we can hold our ground with Humilis Idare not guess. This fashion of collapse we can prevent, but theold harm will devour him in the end. As he knows better thanany.”

“I marvel how he lived at all,” agreed Edmund,“let alone bore the journey home, and has survived threeyears or more since.”

They were private together down by the banks of the Meole Brook,or they could not have discussed the matter at all. No doubt bythis hour Nicholas Harnage was well on his way to the north-east ofthe county, if he had not already arrived at his destination. Goodweather for riding, he would be in shelter at Lai before dark. Anda very well-set-up young fellow like Harnage, in a thriving way inarms by his own efforts, was not an offer to be sneezed at. He hadthe blessing of his lord, and needed nothing more but thegirl’s liking, her family’s approval, and the sanctionof the church.

“I have heard it argued,” said Brother Edmund,“that when an affianced man enters a monastic order, thebetrothed lady is not necessarily free of the compact. But it seemsa selfish and greedy thing to try to have both worlds, choose thelife you want, but prevent the lady from doing likewise. But Ithink the question seldom arises but where the man cannot bear toloose his hold of what once he called his, and himself fights tokeep her in chains. And here that is not so, Brother Humilis isglad there should be so happy a solution. Though of course she maybe married already.”

“The manor of Lai,” mused Cadfael. “What doyou know of it, Edmund? What family would that be?”

“Cruce had it. Humphrey Cruce, if I remember rightly, hemight well be the girl’s father. They hold several manors upthere, Ightfeld, and Harpecote—and Prees, from the Bishop ofChester. Some lands in Staffordshire, too. They made Lai the headof their honour.”

“That’s where he’s bound. Now if he comes backin triumph,” said Cadfael contentedly, “he’llhave done a good day’s work for Humilis. He’s alreadygiven him a great heave upward by showing his honest brown face,but if he settles the girl’s future for her he may have addeda year or more to his lord’s life, at the sametime.”

They went to Compline at the first sound of the bell. Thevisitor had indeed given Humilis a heft forward towards health, itseemed, for here he came, habited and erect on Fidelis’s arm,having asked no permission of his doctors, bent on observing thenight office with the rest. But I’ll hound him back as soonas the observance is over, thought Cadfael, concerned for hisdressing. Let him brandish his banner this once, it speaks well forhis spirit, even if his flesh is drawn with effort. And who am I tosay what a brother, my equal, may or may not do for his ownsalvation?

The evenings were already beginning to draw in, the height ofthe summer was over while its heat continued as if it would neverbreak. In the dimness of the choir what light remained was colouredlike irises, and faintly fragrant with the warm, heady scents ofharvest and fruit. In his stall the tall, handsome, emaciated manwho was old in his middle forties stood proudly, Fidelis on hisleft hand, and next to Fidelis, Rhun. Their youth and beauty seemedto gather to itself what light there was, so that they shone with anative radiance of their own, like lighted candles.

Across the choir from them Brother Urien stood, kneeled,genuflected and sang, with the full, assured voice of maturity, andnever took his eyes from those two young, shining heads, the flaxenand the brown. Day by day those two drew steadily together, themute one and the eloquent one, matched unfairly, unjustly, to hisabsolute exclusion, the one as desirable and as inviolable as theother, while his need burned in his bowels day and night, andprayer could not cool it, nor music lull it to sleep, but it atehim from within like the gnawing of wolves.

They had both begun—dreadful sign!—to look to himlike the woman. When he gazed at either of these two, theboy’s lineaments would dissolve and change subtly, and therewould be her face, not recognising, not despising, simply staringthrough him to behold someone else. His heart ached beyond bearing,while he sang mellifluously in the Compline psalm.

In the twilight of the softer, more open countryin the northeast of the shire, where day lingered longer than amongthe folded hills of the western border, Nicholas Harnage rodebetween flat, rich fields, unwontedly dried by the heat, into thewattled enclosure of the manor of Lai. Wrapped round on all sidesby the enlarged fields of the plain, sparsely tree’d to makeway for wide cultivation, the house rose long and low, astone-built hall and chambers over a broad undercroft, with stablesand barns about the interior of the fence. Fat country, good forgrain and for roots, with ample grazing for any amount of cattle.The byres were vocal as Nicholas entered at the gate, the mild,contented lowing of well-fed beasts, milked and drowsy.

A groom heard the entering hooves and came forth from thestables, bared to the waist in the warm night. Seeing one younghorseman alone, he was quite easy. They had had comparative peacehere while Winchester burned and bled.

“Seeking whom, young sir?”

“Seeking the master, your lord, Humphrey Cruce,”said Nicholas, reining in peaceably and shaking the reins free.“If he still keeps house here?”

“Why, the lord Humphrey’s dead, sir, three yearsago. His son Reginald is lord here now. Would your errand do aswell to him?”

“If he’ll admit me, yes, surely to him, then,”said Nicholas, and dismounted. “Let him know, I was here somethree years ago, to speak for Godfrid Marescot. It was his father Isaw then, but the son will know of it.”

“Come within,” said the groom placidly, acceptingthe credentials without question. “I’ll have your beastseen to.”

In the smoky, wood-scented hall they were at meat, or stillsitting at ease after the meal was done, but they had heard hisstep on the stone stairs that led to the open hall door, andReginald Cruce rose, alert and curious, as the visitor entered. Abig, black-haired man of austere features and imperious manner, butwell-disposed, it seemed, towards chance travellers. His lady sataloof and quiet, a pale-haired woman in green, with a boy of aboutfifteen at her side, and a younger boy and girl about nine or ten,who by their likeness might well be twins. Evidently Reginald Crucehad secured his succession with a well-filled quiver, for by thelady’s swelling waist when she rose to muster the hospitalityof the house, there was another sibling on the way.

Nicholas made his reverence and offered his name, a littleconfounded at finding Julian Cruce’s brother a man surelyturned forty, with a wife and growing children, where he hadassumed a young fellow in his twenties, perhaps newly-married sinceinheriting. But he recalled that Humphrey Cruce had been an old manto have a daughter still so young. Two marriages, surely, the firstblessed with an heir, the second undertaken late, when Reginald wasa grown man, ready for marriage himself, or even married already tohis pale, prolific wife.

“Ah, that!” said Reginald of his guest’sformer errand to this same house. “I remember it, though Iwas not here then. My wife brought me a manor in Staffordshire, wewere living there. But I know how it fell out, of course. A strangebusiness altogether. But it happens! Men change their minds. Andyou were the messenger? Well, but leave it now and take somerefreshment. Come to table! There’ll be time to talk of allsuch business afterwards.”

He sat down and kept his visitor company while a servant broughtmeat and ale, and the lady, having made her grave good night, droveher younger children away to their beds, and the heir sat solemnand silent studying his elders. At last, in the deepening evening,the two men were left alone to their talk.

“So you are the squire who brought that word fromMarescot. You’ll have noticed there’s a generation, asnear as need be, between my sister and me—seventeen years. Mymother died when I was nine years old, and it was another eightbefore my father married again. An old man’s folly, shebrought him nothing, and died when the girl was born, so he hadlittle joy of her.”

At least, thought Nicholas, studying his host dispassionately,there was no second son, to threaten a division of the lands. Thatwould be a source of satisfaction to this man, he was authenticallyof his class and kind, and land was his lifeblood.

“He may well have had great joy of his daughter,however,” he said firmly, “for she is a very graciousand beautiful girl, as I well recall.”

“You’ll be better informed of that than I,”said Reginald drily, “if you saw her only three years ago. Itmust be eighteen or more since I set eyes on her. She was astumbling infant then, two years old, or three, it might be. Imarried about that time, and settled on the lands Cecilia broughtme. We exchanged couriers now and then, but I never came back hereuntil my father was on his deathbed, and they sent for me to cometo him.”

“I didn’t know of his death when I set out to comehere on this errand of my own,” said Nicholas. “I heardit only from your groom at the gate. But I may speak as freely withyou as I should have done with him. I was so much taken with yoursister’s grace and dignity that I’ve thought of herever since, and I’ve spoken with my lord Godfrid, and havehis full consent to what I’m asking. As for myself,” hethrust on, leaning eagerly across the board, “I am heir totwo good manors from my father, and shall have some lands alsoafter my mother, I stand well in the queen’s armies and mylord will speak for me, that I’m in earnest in this matter,and will provide for Julian as truly as any man could, if youwill…”

His host was gazing, astonished, smiling at his fervour, and hadraised a warning hand to still the flood.

“Did you come all this way to ask me to give you mysister?”

“I did! Is that so strange? I admired her, and I’mcome to speak for her. And she might have worse offers,” headded, flushing and stiffening at such a reception.

“I don’t doubt it, but, man, man, you should haveput in a word to give her due warning then. You come three yearstoo late!”

“Too late?” Nicholas sat back and drew in his handsslowly, stricken. Then she’s already married?”

“You might call it so!” Reginald hoisted wideshoulders in a helpless gesture. “But not to any man. And youmight have sped well enough if you’d made more haste, for allI know. No, this is quite a different story. There was somediscussion, even, about whether she was still bound like a wife toMarescot—a great foolery, but the churchmen have to asserttheir authority, and my father’s chaplain was prim as avirgin—though I suspect, for all that, in private he wasnone!—and clutched at every point of canon law that gave himpower, and he took the extreme line, and would have it she waslegally a wife, while the parish priest argued the opposing way,and my father, being a sensible man, took his side and insisted shewas free. All this I learned by stages since. I never took part orput my head into the hornets’ nest.”

Nicholas was frowning into his cupped hands, feeling the coldheaviness of disappointment drag his heart down. But still this wasnot a complete answer. He looked up ruefully. “So how didthis end? Why is she not here to use her freedom, if she has notyet given herself to a husband?”

“Ah, but she has! She took her own way. She said that ifshe was free, then she would make her own choice. And she chose todo as Marescot had done, and took a husband not of this world. Shehas taken the veil as a Benedictine nun.”

“And they let her?” demanded Nicholas, wrung betweenrage and pain. “Then, when she was moved by this brokenmatch, they let her go so easily, throw away her youth sounwisely?”

“They let her, yes. How do I know whether she was wise orno? If it was what she wished, why should she not have it? Sinceshe went I’ve never had word from her, never has shecomplained or asked for anything. She must be happy in her choice.You must look elsewhere for a wife, my friend!”

Nicholas sat silent for a time, swallowing a bitterness thatburned in his belly like fire. Then he asked, with carefulquietness: “How was it? When did she leave her home? Howattended?”

“Very soon after your visit, I judge. It might be a monthwhile they fought out the issue, and she said never a word. But allwas done properly. Our father gave her an escort of threemen-at-arms and a huntsman who had always been a favourite and madea pet of her, and a good dowry in money, and also some ornamentsfor her convent, silver candlesticks and a crucifix and such. Hewas sad to see her go, I know by what he said later, but she wantedit so, and her wants were his commands always.” A very slightchill in his brisk, decisive voice spoke of an old jealousy. Thechild of Humphrey’s age had plainly usurped his whole heart,even though his son would inherit all when that heart no longerbeat. “He lived barely a month longer,” said Reginald.“Only long enough to see the return of her escort, and knowshe was safely delivered where she wished to be. He was old andfeeble, we knew it. But he should not have dwindled sosoon.”

“He might well miss her,” said Nicholas, very lowand hesitantly, “about the place. She had abrightness… And you did not send for her, when her fatherdied?”

“To what end? What could she do for him, or he for her?No, we let her be. If she was happy there, why troubleher?”

Nicholas gripped his hands together under the board, and wrungthem hard, and asked his last question: “Where was it shechose to go?” His own voice sounded to him hollow anddistant.

“She’s in the Benedictine abbey of Wherwell, closeby Andover.”

So that was the end of it! All this time she hadbeen within hail of him, the house of her refuge encircled now byarmies and factions and contention. If only he had spoken out whathe felt in his heart at the first sight of her, even hampered as hehad been by the knowledge of the blow he was about to deal her, andgagged by that knowledge when for once he might have been eloquent.She might have listened, and at least delayed, even if she couldfeel nothing for him then. She might have thought again, andwaited, and even remembered him. Now it was far too late, she was abride for the second time, and even more indissolubly.

This time there was no question of argument. The betrothal vowsmade by or for a small girl might justifiably be dissolved, but thevocational vows of a grown woman, taken in the full knowledge oftheir meaning, and of her own choice, never could be undone. He hadlost her.

Nicholas lay all night in the small guest-chamber prepared forhim, fretting at the knot and knowing he could not untie it. Heslept shallowly and uneasily, and in the morning he took his leave,and set out on the road back to Shrewsbury.