Ellis Peters - Dead Man's Ransom

“What will become of them all?” Hugh wondered. “Elis will go home as soon as he’s well enough, I suppose, and send formally to ask for his girl. There’s no man of her kin to ask but her own mother’s brother, and he’s far off with the queen in Kent and out of reach. I fancy Sister Magdalen will advise the girl to go back to her step-mother for the waiting time, and have all done in proper form, and she has sense enough to listen to advice, and the patience to wait for what she wants, now she’s assured of getting it in the end. But what of the other pair?” Eliud and his companions would be well into Wales by this time and need not hurry, to tire the invalid too much. The draught of forgetfulness they had given him might dull his senses for a while even when he awoke, and his fellows would do their best to ease his remorse and grief, and his fear for Elis. But that troubled and passionate spirit would never be quite at rest.

“What will Owain do with him?”

“Neither destroy nor waste him,” said Cadfael, “provided you cede your rights in him. He’ll live, he’ll marry his Cristina—there’ll be no peace for prince or priest or parent until she gets her way. As for his penance, he has it within him, he’ll carry it lifelong. There is nothing but death itself you or any man could lay upon him that he will not lay upon himself. But God willing, he will not have to carry it alone. There is no crime and no failure can drive Cristina from him.” They parted at the head of the ride. It was premature dusk under the trees, but still the birds sang with the extreme and violent joy that seemed loud enough to shake such fragile instruments into dust or burst the hearts in their breasts. There were windflowers quivering in the grass.

“I go lighter than I came,” said Hugh, reining in for a moment before he took the homeward road.

“As soon as I see that lad walking upright and breathing deep, I shall follow. And glad to be going home.” Cadfael looked back at the low timber roofs of Mother Mariana’s grange, where the silvery light through gossamer branches reflected the ceaseless quivering of the brook. “I hope we have made, between us all, the best of a great ill, and who could do more? Once, I remember, Father Abbot said that our purpose is justice, and with God lies the privilege of mercy. But even God, when he intends mercy, needs tools to his hand.”