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cloak in his own
house by Saint Mary’s Church, with his wife bringing him his furred shoes and
his son clinging to his sword belt and clamoring to have his new, painted
wooden knight duly admired, was able to report an easy journey for the time of
year, and a satisfactory reception at court for his stewardship.
    “Though
I doubt if this Christmas truce will last long,” he said to Cadfael later,
after acquainting the abbot with all the news from Winchester. “He’s swallowed
the failure at Oxford gallantly enough, but for all that, he’s on his mettle
for vengeance, he’ll not sit still for long, winter or no. He wants Wareham
back, but it’s well stocked, and manned to the battlements, and Stephen never
did have the patience for a siege. He’d like a fortress more to the west, to
carry the war to Robert’s country. There’s no guessing what he’ll try first.
But he wants none of me or my men there in the south, he’s far too wary of the
earl of Chester to keep me long out of my shire. Thank God, for I’m of the same
mind myself,” said Hugh blithely. “And how have you been faring? Sorry I am to
hear your best illuminator had a fall that all but ended him. Father Abbot told
me of it. I can hardly have left you an hour, that day, when it happened. Is it
true he’s mending well?”
    “Better
than any of us ever expected,” said Cadfael, “least of all the man himself, for
he was certainly bent on clearing his soul for death. But he’s out of the
shadow, and in a day or two we’ll have him out of his bed. But his feet are
crippled for life, the slates chopped them piecemeal. Brother Luke is cutting
some crutches to his measure. Hugh,” said Cadfael directly, “what do you know
of the de Clarys who hold the manor of Hales? There was one of them was a
Crusader nearly twenty years back. I never knew him, he was after my time in
the east. Is he still living?”
    “Bertrand
de Clary,” said Hugh promptly, and looked up at his friend with quickening
interest. “What of him? He died years back, ten or more it must be. His son
holds the honor now. I’ve had no dealings with them, Hales is the only manor
they hold in this shire, the caput and most of their lands are in
Staffordshire. Why, what’s put de Clary in your mind?”
    “Why,
Haluin has. He was in their service before he took the cowl. It seems he feels
he has left unpaid some debt he still owes in that direction. It came to mind
when he made what he took to be his deathbed confession. In something he feels
he offended, and has it on his conscience still.”
    That
was all that could be told, even to Hugh, the confessional being sacred, and if
nothing more was offered, Hugh would ask for nothing more, however he might
speculate on what had not been said.
    “He’s
set on making the journey to set the account straight, when he’s fit to
undertake it. I was wondering… If this Bertrand’s widow is no longer in the
land of the living, either, as well Haluin should know it at once, and put it
out of his mind.”
    Hugh
was eyeing his friend with steady interest and a tolerant smile. “And you want
him to have nothing to trouble about, body or mind, but getting back into the
way of living as soon as may be. I’m no help, Cadfael. The widow’s living
still. She’s there at Hales, she paid her dues last Michaelmas. Her son’s
married to a Staffordshire wife, and has a young son to succeed him, and from
all accounts his mother is not of a nature to share another woman’s household
without meddling. Hales is her favorite home, she keeps there from choice and
leaves her son to rule his own roost, while she makes sure of ruling hers. No
doubt it suits them both very well. I should not be even so well informed, “ he
said by way of explanation, “if we had not ridden some miles of the way from
Winchester with a company of de Clary’s men, dispersing from the siege of
Oxford. The man himself I never