Brother Cadfael 10: The Pilgrim of Hate

needed to close her eyes to them. I have seen her strip a man's dignity from him when he came submissive, offering support... Better at making enemies than friends. All the more she needs," he said, "the few she has. Where is she gone? Did your messenger know?"
    "Westward for Oxford. And they'll reach it safely. The Londoners won't follow so far, their part was only to drive her out."
    "And the bishop? Is he gone with her?" The entire enterprise had rested upon the efforts of Henry of Blois, and he had done his best for her, not entirely creditably but understandably and at considerable cost, and his best she herself had undone. Stephen was a prisoner in Bristol, but Stephen was still crowned and anointed king of England. No wonder Hugh's eyes shone.
    "Of the bishop I know nothing as yet. But he'll surely join her in Oxford. Unless..."
    "Unless he changes sides again," Olivier ended for him, and laughed. "It seems I shall have to leave you in more haste than I expected," he said with regret. "One fortune rises, another falls. No sense in quarrelling with the lot."
    "What will you do?" asked Hugh, watching him steadily. "You know, I think, that whatever you may ask of us here, is yours, and the choice is yours. Your horses are fresh. Your men will not yet have heard the news, they'll be waiting on your word. If you need stores for a journey, take whatever you will. Or if you choose to stay..."
    Olivier shook his blue-black head, and the clasping curves of glossy hair danced on his cheeks. "I must go. Not north, where I was sent. What use in that, now? South for Oxford. Whatever she may be else, she is my liege lord's liege lady, where she is he will be, and where he is, I go."
    They eyed each other silently for a moment, and Hugh said softly, quoting remembered words: "To tell you truth, now I've met you I expected nothing less."
    "I'll go and rouse my men, and we'll get to horse. You'll follow to your house, before I go? I must take leave of Lady Beringar."
    "I'll follow you," said Hugh.
    Olivier turned to Brother Cadfael without a word but with the brief golden flash of a smile breaking through his roused gravity for an instant, and again vanishing. "Brother... remember me in your prayers!" He stooped his smooth cheek yet again in farewell, and as the elder's kiss was given he embraced Cadfael vehemently, with impulsive grace. "Until a better time!"
    "God go with you!" said Cadfael.
    And he was gone, striding rapidly along the gravel path, breaking into a light run, in no way disheartened or down, a match for disaster or for triumph. At the corner of the box hedge he turned in flight to look back, and waved a hand before he vanished.
    "I wish to God," said Hugh, gazing after him, "he was of our party! There's an odd thing, Cadfael! Will you believe, just then, when he looked round, I thought I saw something of you about him. The set of the head, something..."
    Cadfael, too, was gazing out from the open doorway to where the last sheen of blue had flashed from the burnished hair, and the last echo of the light foot on the gravel died into silence. "Oh, no," he said absently, "he is altogether the image of his mother."
    An unguarded utterance. Unguarded from absence of mind, or design?
    The following silence did not trouble him, he continued to gaze, shaking his head gently over the lingering vision, which would stay with him through all his remaining years, and might even, by the grace of God and the saints, be made flesh for him yet a third time. Far beyond his deserts, but miracles are neither weighed nor measured, but as uncalculated as the lightnings.
    "I recall," said Hugh with careful deliberation, perceiving that he was permitted to speculate, and had heard only what he was meant to hear, "I do recall that he spoke of one for whose sake he held the Benedictine order in reverence... one who had used him like a son..."
    Cadfael stirred, and looked round at him, smiling as he met his friend's fixed and thoughtful eyes. "I always meant to tell you, some day," he said tranquilly, "what he does not know, and never will from me. He is my son."