“No, let me end it. Elis… I loved him, but I loved Cristina more. And he would have wed her, and been content, but she… He did not know the burning we knew. He knows it now. I never willed it… it was not planned, what I did. All I did was to remember the lord Einon’s cloak and I went, just as I was, to fetch it. I had his saddle, cloth on my arm, “ He closed his eyes against what he remembered all too clearly, and tears welled out from under the braised lids and ran down on either cheek. “He was so still, hardly breathing at all—so like death. And in an hour Elis would have been on his way home and I left behind in his place. So short a step to go! I did the thing I wish to God I had cut off my hands rather than do, I held the saddle, cloth over his face. There has not been a waking moment since when I have not wished it undone,” whispered Eliud, “but to undo is not so easy as to do. As soon as I understood my own evil I snatched my hands away, but he was gone. And I was cowardly afraid and left the cloak lying, for if I’d taken it, it would have been known I’d been there. And that was the quiet hour and no one saw me, going or coming.” Again he waited, gathering strength with a terrible, earnest patience to continue to the end. “And all for nothing—for nothing! I made myself a murderer for nothing. For Elis came and told me how he loved the lord Gilbert’s daughter and willed to be released from his bond with Cristina, as bitterly as she willed it, and I also. And he would go to make himself known to her father… I tried to stop him… I needed someone to go there and find my dead man, and cry it aloud, but not Elis, oh, not Elis! But he would go. And even then they still thought the lord Gilbert alive, only sleeping. So I had to fetch the cloak, if no one else would cry him dead—but not alone… a witness, to make the discovery. I still thought Elis would be held and I should go home. He longed to stay and I to go… This knot some devil tied,” sighed Eliud, “and only I have deserved it. All they three suffer because of me. And you, brother, I did foully by you…”
“In choosing me to be your witness?” said Cadfael gently. “And you had to knock over the stool to make me look closely enough, even then. Your devil still had you by the hand, for if you had chosen another there might never have been the cry of murder that kept you both prisoners.”
“It was my angel, then, no devil. For I am glad to be rid of all lies and known for what I am. I would never have let it fall on Elis—nor on any other man. But I am human and fearful,” he said inflexibly, “and I hoped to go free. Now that is solved. One way or another, I shall give a life for a life. I would not have let Elis bear it… Tell her so!” There was no need, she already knew. But the head of the cot was towards the door, and Eliud had seen nothing but the rough vault of the cell, and Cadfael’s stooping face. The lamp had not wavered, and did not waver now, as Melicent withdrew from the threshold very softly and carefully, drawing the door to by inches after her.
“They have taken away my halter,” said Eliud, his eyes wandering languidly over the bare little room. “They’ll have to find me another one now.”
When it was all told he lay drained, very weak and utterly biddable, eased of hope and grateful for contrition. He let himself be handled for healing, though with a drear smile that said Cadfael wasted his pains on a dead man. He did his best to help the handling, and bore pain without a murmur when his wounds were probed and cleansed and dressed afresh. He tried to swallow the draughts that were held to his lips, and offered thanks for even the smallest service. When he drifted into an uneasy sleep, Cadfael went to find the two men Hugh had left to run his errands, and sent one of them riding to Shrewsbury with the news that would bring Hugh back again in haste. When he returned into the precinct, Melicent was waiting for him in the doorway. She read in his face the mixture of dismay and resignation he felt at having to tell over again what had been ordeal enough to listen to in the first place, and offered instant and firm reassurance.
“I know. I heard. I heard you talking, and his voice… I thought you might need someone to fetch and carry for you, so I came to ask. I heard what Eliud said. What is to be done now?” For all her calm, she was bewildered and lost between father killed and lover saved, and the knowledge of the fierce affection those two foster-brothers had for each other, and every way was damage and every escape was barred. “I have told Elis,” she said. “Better we should all know what we are about. God knows I am so confused now, I doubt if I know right from wrong. Will you come to Elis? He’s fretting for Eliud.” Cadfael went with her in perplexity as great as hers. Murder is murder, but if a life can pay the debt for a life, there was Elis to level the account. Was yet another life demanded? Another death justifiable? He sat down with her beside the bed, confronted by an Elis wide awake and in full possession of his senses, for all he hesitated on the near edge of fever.
“Melicent has told me,” said Elis, clutching agitatedly at Cadfael’s sleeve. “But is it true? You don’t know him as I do! Are you sure he is not making up this story, because he fears I may yet be charged? May he not even believe I did it? It would be like him to shoulder all to cover me. So he has done in old times when we were children, so he might even now. You saw, you saw what he has already done for me! Should I be here alive now but for Eliud? I can’t believe so easily…” Cadfael went about hushing him the most practical way, by examining the dressing on his arm and finding it dry, unstained and causing him no pain, let well alone for the time being. The tight binding round his damaged rib had caused him some discomfort and shortness of breath, and might be slightly slackened to ease him. And whatever dose was offered him he swallowed almost absently, his eyes never shifting from Cadfael’s face, demanding answers to desperate questions. And there would be small comfort for him in the naked truth.
“Son,” said Cadfael, “there’s no virtue in fending off truth. The tale Eliud has told fits in every particular and it is truth. Sorry I am to say it, but true it is. Put all doubts out of your head.” They received that with the same white calm and made no further protest.
After a long silence Melicent said: “I think you knew it before.”
“I did know it, from the moment I set eyes on Einon ab Ithel’s brocaded saddle, cloth. That, and nothing else, could have killed Gilbert, and it was Eliud whose duty it was to care for Einon’s horse and harness. Yes, I knew. But he made his confession willingly, eagerly, before I could question or accuse him. That must count to him for virtue, and speak on his side.”
“God knows,” said Melicent, shutting her pale face hard between her hands, as if to hold her wits together, “on what side I dare speak, who am so torn. All I know is that Eliud cannot, does not carry all the guilt. In this matter, which of us is innocent?”
“You are!” said Elis fiercely. “How did you fail? But if I had taken a little thought to see how things were with him and with Cristina… I was too easy, too light, too much in love with myself to take heed. I’d never dreamed of such a love, I didn’t know… I had all to learn.” It had been no easy lesson for him, but he had it by heart now.
“If only I had had more faith in myself and my father,” said Melicent, “we could have sent word honestly into Wales, to Owain Gwynedd and to my father, that we two loved and entreated leave to marry…”