calm of exhaustion and relief came back gradually to his face. But still he found something to fret him even in his release.
"Father... the charter... It will be void if the rose is not delivered and the rent paid."
"The rose will be delivered," said Radulfus forcibly. "The rent will be paid. This task I lift here and now from your shoulders. Tend your altar, and give no further thought to how or by whom the duty is undertaken from this day."
"Father, what more should I do for the cleansing of my soul?" ventured Eluric, quivering to the last subsiding tremors of guilt.
"Penance may well be salutary for you," admitted the abbot somewhat wearily. "But beware of making extravagant claims even upon punishment. You are far from a saint - so are we all - but neither are you a notable sinner; nor, my child, will you ever be."
"God forbid!" whispered Eluric, appalled.
"God does indeed forbid," said Radulfus dryly, "that we should make more of our virtues or our failings than is due. More than your due you shall not have of, neither praise nor blame. For your soul's ease, go and make your confession as I have ordered, with moderation, but say to your confessor that you have also been with me, and have my countenance and blessing, and are by me delivered from the duty which was too heavy for you. Then perform whatever penance he may give you, and beware of asking or expecting more."
Brother Eluric went out from the presence on shaky legs, emptied of all feeling, and dreading that this emptiness could not last. It was not pleasure, but at least it was not pain. He had been dealt with kindly, he who had come to this interview looking upon success and release from the ordeal of the woman's nearness as the end of all his troubles, yet now this void within him was like the house swept clean in the Bible, ready for residence, aching to be filled, and as apt for devils as for angels.
He did as he had been bidden. Until the end of his novitiate his confessor had been Brother Jerome, ear and shadow of Prior Robert, and from Jerome he could have counted on all the chastisement his over-anxious soul desired. But now it was to the sub-prior, Richard, that he must turn, and Richard was known to be easy and consoling to his penitents, as much out of laziness as kindliness. Eluric did his best to obey the abbot's injunction, not to spare himself but not to accuse himself of what he had not committed, even in his secret mind. When it was done, penance allotted and absolution given, still he kneeled, with closed eyes and brows painfully drawn together.
"Is there more?" asked Richard.
"No, Father... No more to tell of what is done. Only I am afraid..." The numbness was beginning to melt, a small ache had begun in his guts, the empty house would not long be uninhabited. "I will do all I may to put away even the memory of this illicit affection, but I am not sure... I am not sure! How if I fail? I go in dread of my own heart."
"My son, whenever that heart fails you, you must go to the source of all strength and compassion, and pray to be aided, and grace will not fail you. You serve the altar of Our Lady, who is perfect purity. Where better could you turn for grace?"
Where, indeed! But grace is not a river into which a man can dip his pail at will, but a fountain that plays when it lists, and when it lists is dry and still. Eluric performed his penance before the altar he had newly trimmed, kneeling on the chill tiles of the floor, his whispering voice half-choked with passion, and kneeled still when he was done, with every nerve and sinew of his body imploring plenitude and peace.
Surely he should have been happy, for he was vindicated, delivered from the weight of mortal guilt, saved from ever having to see the face of Judith Perle again, or hear her voice, or breathe the faint sweetness that distilled out of her clothing as she moved. Free of that torment and temptation, he had believed his troubles were at an end. Now he knew better.
He