Ellis Peters: Sanctuary Sparrow

‘Come,’ said Brother Cadfael, ‘we’ll bring you through the gate and see you on your way. And God go with you!’

And forth they went, hopefully and happily, the new leather bag slung proudly on Liliwin’s shoulder. To a life that could never be less than hard and insecure, he the wandering entertainer at fairs and markets and small manors, she, no doubt, soon just as adept with that pure, small voice of hers, and a dance or two to her husband’s playing. In all weathers, at all seasons, but with luck finding a decent patron for the winter, and a good fire. And at the very worst, together.

‘Do you truly believe,’ asked Cadfael, when the two little figures had vanished along the Foregate, ‘that Iestyn also may have a life before him?’

‘If he can make the effort. No one is going to press for his death. He is coming back to life, not willingly, but because he must. There is a vigour in him he can’t shift all on to the past. It will be a minor love, but he’ll marry and breed yet.’

‘And forget her?’

‘Have I said so?’ said Hugh, and smiled.

‘Whatever she did of worst,’ said Cadfael soberly, ‘came of that in her that might have been best, if it had not been maimed. She was much wronged.’

‘Old friend,’ said Hugh, shaking his head with rueful affection, ‘I doubt if even you can get Susanna into the fold among the lambs. She chose her way, and it’s taken her far out of reach of man’s mercy, if ever she’d lived to face trial. And now, I suppose,’ he said, seeing his friend’s face still thoughtful and undismayed, ‘you will tell me roundly that God’s reach is longer than man’s.’

‘It had better be,’ said Brother Cadfael very solemnly, ‘otherwise we are all lost.’