“Then your only resort is confession and penance,”said Hugh lightly.

“Not until Brother Mark is full-fledged a priest!”Young Mark was gone from his mother-house and from his flock atSaint Giles, gone to the household of the bishop of Lichfield, withLeoric Aspley’s endowment to see him through his studies, andthe goal of all his longings shining distant and clear before him,the priesthood for which God had designed him. “I’msaving for him,” said Cadfael, “all those sins I feel,perhaps mistakenly, to be no sins. He was my right hand and a pieceof my heart for three years, and knows me better than any manliving. Barring, it may be, yourself?” he added, and slanteda guileless glance at his friend. “He will know the truth ofme, and by his judgement and for his absolution I’ll embraceany penance. You might deliver the judgement, Hugh, but you cannotdeliver the absolution.”

“Nor the penance, neither,” said Hugh, and laughedfreely. “So tell it to me, and go free withoutpenalty.”

The idea of confiding was unexpectedly pleasing and acceptable.“It’s a long story,” said Cadfeel warningly.

“Then now’s your time, for whatever I can do here isdone, nothing is asked of me but watchfulness and patience, and whyshould I wait unentertained if there’s a good story to beheard? And you are at leisure until Vespers. You may even getmerit,” said Hugh, composing his face into priestlysolemnity, “by unburdening your soul to the secular arm. AndI can be secret,” he said, “as anyconfessional.”

“Wait, then,” said Cadfael, “while I fetch adraught of that maturing wine, and come within to the bench underthe north wall, where the afternoon sun falls. We may as well be atease while I talk.”

“It was a year or so before I knewyou,” said Cadfael, bracing his back comfortably against thewarmed, stony roughness of the herb-garden wall. “We werewithout a tame saint to our house, and somewhat envious of Wenlock,