by Ellis Peters
“In some sort,” said Cadfael soberly, “I think that is truth. He was like a man who has taken the first slippery step into a marsh, and then cannot draw back, and at every step forward sinks the deeper. From the assault on the rosebush to the attempt on your life, he went where he was driven. No wonder if the place where he arrived was utterly alien to him, and the face that waited for him in a mirror there was one he did not even know, a terrible stranger.”
*
They were all gone, Hugh Beringar back to the castle, to confront and question his prisoner now, while the shock of self-knowledge endured and the cold cunning of self-interest had not yet closed in to reseal a mind and conscience for a while torn open to truth; Sister Magdalen and Brother Cadfael back to the abbey, she to dine with Radulfus, having assured herself affairs in this house were in no need of her presence for a few hours, he back to his duties within the enclave, now that all was done and said that had to be done and said, and silence and time would have to be left to take their course, where clamour and haste were of no help. They were all gone, even the body of poor Bertred, gone to a grave in Saint Chad’s churchyard. The house was emptier than ever, half-depeopled by death and guilt, and the burden that fell back upon Judith’s shoulders was the heavier by two childless widows for whom she must make provision. Must and would. She had promised that she would tell her aunt all that she needed to know, and she had kept her promise. The first wild lamentation was over, the quiet of exhaustion came after. Even the spinning-women had deserted the house for today. The looms were still. There were no voices.
Judith shut herself up alone in the solar, and sat down to contemplate the wreckage, but it seemed rather that what she regarded was an emptiness, ground cleared to make room for something new. There was no one now on whom she could lean, where the clothiers’ trade was concerned, it was again in her own hands, and she must take charge of it. She would need another head weaver, one she could trust, and a clerk to keep the accounts, able to fill the place Miles had held. She had never shirked her responsibilities, but never made a martyrdom out of them, either. She would not do so now.
She had almost forgotten what day this was. There neither would nor could be any rose rent paid, that was certain. The bush was burned to the ground, it would never again bear the little, sweet-scented white roses that brought the years of her marriage back to mind. It did not matter now. She was free and safe and mistress of what she gave and what she retained; she could go to Abbot Radulfus and have a new charter drawn up and witnessed, giving the house and grounds free of all conditions. All the greed and calculation that had surrounded her was surely spent now, but she would put an end to it once for all. What did linger on after the roses was a faint bitter-sweetness of regret for the few short years of happiness, of which the one rose every year had been a reminder and a pledge. Now there would be none, never again.
In mid-afternoon Branwen put her head in timidly at the door to say that there was a visitor waiting in the hall. Indifferently Judith bade her admit him.
Niall came in hesitantly, with a rose in one hand, and a child by the other, and stood for a moment just within the doorway to get his bearings in a room he had never before entered. From the open window a broad band of bright sunlight crossed the room between them, leaving Judith in shadow on one side, and the visitors upon the other. Judith had risen, astonished at his coming, and stood with parted lips and wide eyes, suddenly lighter of heart, as though a fresh breeze from a garden had blown through a dark and gloomy place, filling it with the summer and sanctity of a saint’s festival day. Here without being summoned, without warning, was the one creature about her who had never asked or expected anything, made no demands, sought no advantages, was utterly without greed or vanity, and to him she owed more than merely her life. He had brought her a rose, the last from the old stem, a small miracle.
“Niall…” she said on a slow, hesitant breath, and that was the first time she had ever called him by his name.
“I’ve brought you your rent,” he said simply, and took a few paces towards her and held out the rose, half-open, fresh and white without a stain.
“They told me,” she said, marvelling, “there was nothing left, that all was burned. How is this possible?” And in her turn she went to meet him, almost warily, as though if she touched the rose it might crumble into ash.
Niall detached his hand very gently from the child’s grasp, as she hung back shyly. “I picked it yesterday, for myself when we came home.”
The two extended hands reached out and met in the band of brightness, and the opened petals turned to the rosy sheen of mother-of-pearl. Their fingers touched and clasped on the stem, and it was smooth, stripped of thorns.
“You’ve taken no harm?” she said. “Your wound will heal clean?”
“It’s nothing but a scratch. I dread,” said Niall, “that you have come by worse grief.”
“It’s over now. I shall do well enough.” But she felt that to him she seemed beyond measure solitary and forsaken. They were looking steadily into each other’s eyes, with an intensity that was hard to sustain and harder to break. The little girl took a shy step or two and again hesitated to venture nearer.
“Your daughter?” said Judith.
“Yes.” He turned to hold out his hand to her. “There was no one with whom I could leave her.”
“I’m glad. Why should you leave her behind when you come to me? No one could be more welcome.”
The child came to her father in a sudden rush of confidence, seeing this strange but soft-voiced woman smile at her. Five years old and tall for her age, with a solemn oval face of creamy whiteness with the gloss of the sun on it, she stepped into the bar of brilliance, and lit up like a candle-flame, for the hair that clustered about her temples and hung on her shoulders was a true dark gold, and long gold lashes fringed her dark-blue eyes. She made a brief dip of the knee by way of reverence, without taking those eyes or their bright, consuming curiosity from Judith’s face. And in a moment, having made up her mind, she smiled, and unmistakably held up her face for the acceptable kiss from an accepted elder.
She could as well have put her small hand into Judith’s breast and wrung the heart that had starved so many years for just such fruit. Judith stooped to the embrace with tears starting to her eyes. The child’s mouth was soft and cool and sweet. On the way through the town she had carried the rose, and the scent of it was still about her. She had nothing to say, not yet, she was too busy taking in and appraising the room and the woman. She would be voluble enough later, when both became less strange.
“It was Father Adam gave her her name,” said Niall, looking down at her with a grave smile. “An unusual name—she’s called Rosalba.”
“I envy you!” said Judith, as she had said once before.
A slight constraint had settled upon them again, it was difficult to find anything to say. So few words, and so niggardly, had been spent here throughout. He took his daughter’s hand again, and drew back out of the bar of light towards the door, leaving Judith with the white rose still sunlit on her breast. The other white rose gave a skipping step back, willing to go, but looked back over her shoulder to smile by way of leave-taking.
“Well, chick, we’ll be making for home. We’ve done our errand.”
And they would go, both of them, and there would be no more roses to bring, no more rents to pay on the day of Saint Winifred’s translation. And if they went away thus, there might never again be such a moment, never these three in one room together again.
He had reached the door when she said suddenly: “Niall…”
He turned, abruptly glowing, to see her standing full in the sunlight, her face as white and open as the rose.
“Niall, don’t go!” She had found words at last, the right words, and in time. She said to him what she had said in the dead of night, at the gate of Godric’s Ford:
“Don’t leave me now!”
Glossary of Terms
Alltud
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A foreigner living in Wales
Arbalest
A crossbow that enables the bow to be drawn with a winding handle
Baldric
A sword-belt crossing the chest from shoulder to hip.
Bannerole
A thin ribbon attached to a lance tip
Bodice
The supportive upper area of a woman’s dress, sometimes a separate item of clothing worn over a blouse
Brychan
A woollen blanket
Caltrop
A small iron weapon consisting four spikes. Set on the ground and used against horses and infantry
Capuchon
A cowl-like hood
Cariad
Welsh for ‘beloved’
Cassock
A long garment of the clergy
Castellan
The ruler of a castle
Chatelaine
The lady of a manor house
Chausses
Male hose
Coif
The cap worn under a nun’s veil
Conversus
A man who joins the monkhood after living in the outside world
Cottar
A Villein who is leased a cottage in exchange for their work
Cotte
A full- or knee-length coat. Length is determined by the class of the wearer
Croft
Land used as pasture that abuts a house
Currier
A horse comb used for grooming
Demesne
The land retained by a lord for his own use
Diocese
The district attached to a cathedral
Dortoir
Dormitory (monastic)
Electuary
Medicinal powder mixed with honey. Taken by mouth
Eremite
A religious hermit
Espringale
Armament akin to a large crossbow
Frater
Dining room (monastic)
Garderobe
A shaft cut into a building wall used as a lavatory
Garth
A grass quadrangle within the cloisters (monastic)
Geneth
Welsh for ‘girl’
Gentle
A person of honourable family
Glebe
An area of land attached to a clerical office
Grange
The lands and buildings of a monastery farm
Groat
A small coin
Gruel
Thin porridge
Guild
A trade association
Gyve
An iron shackle
Hauberk
A chainmail coat to defend the neck and shoulders
Helm
A helmet
Horarium
The monastic timetable, divided into canonical hours, or offices, of Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline
Husbandman
A tenant farmer
Jess
A short strap attached to a hawk’s leg when practising falconry
Largesse
Money or gifts, bestowed by a patron to mark an occasion
Leat (Leet)
A man-made waterway
Litany
Call and response prayer recited by clergyman and congregation
Llys
The timber-built royal court of Welsh princes
Lodestar
A star that acts as a fixed navigational point, i.e. the Pole Star
Lodestone
Magnetised ore
Lye
A solution used for washing and cleaning
Mandora
A stringed instrument, precursor to the mandolin
Mangonel
Armament used for hurling missiles
Marl
Soil of clay and lime, used as a fertiliser
Messuage
A house (rented) with land and out-buildings
Midden
Dung-heap
Missal
The prayer book detailing Mass services throughout the calendar
Moneyer
Coin minter
Mountebank
Trickster or entertainer
Mummer
An actor or player in a mime or masque
Murage
A tax levied to pay for civic repairs
Murrain
An infectious disease of livestock
Myrmidon
A faithful servant
Nacre
Mother-of-pearl
Oblatus
A monk placed in the monastery at a young age
Orts
Food scraps
Ostler
Horse handler
Palfrey
A horse saddled for a woman
Pallet
A narrow wooden bed or thin straw mattress
Palliative
A pain-killer
Pannikin
A metal cup or saucepan
Parfytours
Hounds used in hunting
Parole
The bond of a prisoner upon release from captivity
Patten
A wooden sandal
Pavage
A tax levied for street paving
Penteulu
A Welsh rank: captain of the royal guard
Pommel
The upward point on the front of a saddle
Poniard
A dagger
Prelate
A high-ranking member of the church (i.e. abbot or bishop)
Prie-Dieu
A kneeling desk used in prayer
Pyx
A small box or casket used to hold consecrated bread for Mass
Quintain
A target mounted on a post used for tilting practice
Rebec
A three string instrument, played using a bow
Rheum
Watery discharge of nose or eyes
Saeson
An Englishman
Scabbard
A sword or dagger sheath
Sconce
A bracket for candle or torch set on a wall
Sheepfold
A sheep pen
Shriven
Having received confession
Shut
An alley between streets
Skiff
A rowing boat for use in shallow waters
Sow
The structure protecting the men wielding a battering ram
Springe
A noose set as snare for small animals
Stoup
Drinking vessel
Sumpter
Pack-horse
Synod
A council or assembly of church officials presided over by the bishopry
Tallow
Fat used in candle or soap manufacture
Timbrel
A tambourine-like instrument
Tithe
A tax levied against labour and land and used to support the clergy
Torsin
Alarm bell
Toper
Drunkard
Touchstone
A heavy black stone used to test the quality of gold or silver
Trencher
A wooden platter
Troche
Medicinal lozenge
Uchelwr
A Welsh nobleman
Vassal
Tenant of a plot of land leased by and under the protection of a lord
Villein
Serf or tenant bound to a lord
Virelai
A French song form that usually has three stanzas and a refrain. It is one of the three formes fixes (the others being the ballade and the rondeau)
Vittles
Food and provisions
Votary
A person who vows to obey a certain code, usually religious
Wattle
Building material consisting of interwoven sticks,
twigs and branches
Wicket
Small door or gate within or adjacent to a larger door
Wimple
Linen or silk cloth a woman would fold round her head and wrap under her chin
Yeoman
A freeman, usually a farmer, below the status of gentleman
A Guide to Welsh Pronunciation
ae
As in chwaer (sister), like the y in sky, never the ae in Caesar.
c
As in cael (have), like the c in cat, never the c in city.
ch
As in chwech (six), like the ch in Scottish loch.
dd
As in Caerdydd (Cardiff), like the th in then, never the th in throw.
f
As in fioled (violet), like the v in violin.
ff
