Chapter One

An Excellent Mystery

 

Ellis Peters

The Eleventh Chronicle of Brother Cadfael

 

EBook Design Group [EDG] digital edition

 

v2 HTML – January 14,2003

 

 

First published in 1985 by Macmillan LondonLimited, Great Britain.

 

CONTENTS

^

Chapter One

 

Chapter Two

 

Chapter Three

 

Chapter Four

 

Chapter Five

 

Chapter Six

 

Chapter Seven

 

Chapter Eight

 

Chapter Nine

 

Chapter Ten

 

Chapter Eleven

 

Chapter Twelve

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

Chapter One

^ »

A ugust came in, that summer of 1141, tawny as alion and somnolent and purring as a hearthside cat. After theplenteous rains of the spring the weather had settled into angeliccalm and sunlight for the feast of Saint Winifred, and preservedthe same benign countenance throughout the corn harvest. Lammascame for once strict to its day, the wheat-fields were alreadygleaned and white, ready for the flocks and herds that would beturned into them to make use of what aftermath the season brought.The loaf-Mass had been celebrated with great contentment, and theearly plums in the orchard along the riverside were darkening intoripeness. The abbey barns were full, the well-dried straw bound andstacked, and if there was still no rain to bring on fresh greenfodder in the reaped fields for the sheep, there were heavy morningdews. When this golden weather broke at last, it might well breakin violent storms, but as yet the skies remained bleached andclear, the palest imaginable blue.

“Fat smiles on the faces of the husbandmen,” saidHugh Beringar, fresh from his own harvest in the north of theshire, and burned nut-brown from his work in the fields, “andchaos among the kings. If they had to grow their own corn, milltheir own flour and bake their own bread they might have no timeleft for all the squabbling and killing. Well, thank God forpresent mercies, and God keep the killing well away from us here.Not that I rate it the less ill-fortune for being there in thesouth, but this shire is my field, and my people, mine to keep. Ihave enough to do to mind my own, and when I see them brown androsy and fat, with full byres and barns, and a high wool tally ingood quality fleeces, I’m content.”

They had met by chance at the corner of the abbey wall, wherethe Foregate turned right towards Saint Giles, and beside it thegreat grassy triangle of the horse-fair ground opened, pallid andpockmarked in the sun. The three-day annual fair of Saint Peter wasmore than a week past, the stalls taken down, the merchantsdeparted. Hugh sat aloft on his raw-boned and cross-grained greyhorse, tall enough to carry a heavyweight instead of this light,lean young man whose mastery he tolerated, though he had preciouslittle love for any other human creature. It was no responsibilityof the sheriff of Shropshire to see that the fairground wasproperly vacated and cleared after its three-day occupation, butfor all that Hugh liked to view the ground for himself. It was hisofficers who had to keep order there, and make sure the abbeystewards were neither cheated of their fees nor robbed or otherwiseabused in collecting them. That was over now for another year. Andhere were the signs of it, the dappling of post-holes, the pallidoblongs of the stalls, the green fringes, and the trampled, baldpaths between the booths. From sun-starved bleach to lush green,and back to the pallor again, with patches of tough, flat cloversurviving in the trodden paths like round green footprints of somestrange beast.

“One good shower would put all right,” said BrotherCadfael, eyeing the curious chessboard of blanched and bright witha gardener’s eye. “There’s nothing in the worldso strong as grass.”

He was on his way from the abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paulto its chapel and hospital of Saint Giles, half a mile away at thevery rim of the town. It was one of his duties to keep the medicinecupboard there well supplied with all the remedies the inmatesmight require, and he made this journey every couple of weeks, moreoften in times of increased habitation and need. On this particularearly morning in August he had with him young Brother Oswin, whohad worked with him among the herbs for more than a year, and wasnow on his way to put his skills into practice among the mostneedy. Oswin was sturdy, well-grown, glowing with enthusiasm. Timehad been when he had cost plenty in breakages, in pots burnedbeyond recovery, and deceptive herbs gathered by mistake for othersonly too like them. Those times were over. All he needed now to bea treasure to the hospital was a cool-headed superior who wouldknow when to curb his zeal. The abbey had the right of appointment,and the lay head they had installed would be more than proofagainst Brother Oswin’s too exuberant energy.

“You had a good fair, after all,” said Hugh.

“Better than ever I expected, with half the south cut offby the trouble in Winchester. They got here from Flanders,”said Cadfael appreciatively. East Anglia was no very peacefulground just now, but the wool merchants were a tough breed, andwould not let a little bloodshed and danger bar them off from agood profit.

“It was a fine wool clip.” Hugh had flocks of hisown on his manor of Maesbury, in the north, he knew about thequality of the year’s fleeces. There had been good buying infrom Wales, too, all along this border. Shrewsbury had ties ofblood, sympathy and mutual gain with the Welsh of both Powys andGwynedd, whatever occasional explosions of racial exuberance mightbreak the guarded peace. In this summer the peace with Gwynedd heldfirm, under the capable hand of Owain Gwynedd, since they had ashared interest in containing the ambitions of Earl Ranulf ofChester. Powys was less predictable, but had drawn in its horns oflate after several times blunting them painfully on Hugh’sprecautions.

“And the corn harvest the best for years. As for thefruit… It looks well,” said Cadfaelcautiously, “if we get some good rains soon to swell it, andno thunderstorms before it’s gathered. Well, the corn’sin and the straw stacked, and as good a hay crop as we’ve hadsince my memory holds. You’ll not hear mecomplain.”

But for all that, he thought, looking back in mild surprise, ithad been an unchancy sort of year, overturning the fortunes ofkings and empresses not once, but twice, while benignly smilingupon the festivities of the church and the hopeful labours ofordinary men, at least here in the midlands. February had seen KingStephen made prisoner at the disastrous battle of Lincoln, andswept away into close confinement in Bristol castle by hisarch-enemy, cousin and rival claimant to the throne of England, theEmpress Maud. A good many coats had been changed in haste afterthat reversal, not least that of Stephen’s brother andMaud’s cousin, Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester and papallegate, who had delicately hedged his wager and come round to thewinning side, only to find that he would have done well to drag hisfeet a little longer. For the fool woman, with the table spread forher at Westminster and the crown all but touching her hair, hadseen fit to conduct herself in so arrogant and overbearing a mannertowards the citizens of London that they had risen in fury to driveher out in ignominious flight, and let King Stephen’s valiantqueen into the city in her place.

Not that this last spin of the wheel could set King Stephenfree. On the contrary, report said it had caused him to be loadedwith chains by way of extra security, he being the one formidableweapon the empress still had in her hand. But it had certainlysnatched the crown from Maud’s head, most probably for ever,and it had cost her the not inconsiderable support of Bishop Henry,who was not the man to be over-hasty in his alliances twice in oneyear. Rumour said the lady had sent her half-brother and bestchampion, Earl Robert of Gloucester, to Winchester to set thingsright with the bishop and lure him back to her side, but withoutgetting a straight answer. Rumour said also, and probably on goodgrounds, that Stephen’s queen had already forestalled her, ata private meeting with Henry at Guildford, and got rather moresympathy from him than the empress had succeeded in getting. Anddoubtless Maud had heard of it. For the latest news, brought bylatecomers from the south to the abbey fair, was that the empresswith a hastily gathered army had marched to Winchester and taken upresidence in the royal castle there. What her next move was to bemust be a matter of anxious speculation to the bishop, even in hisown city.

And meantime, here in Shrewsbury the sun shone, the abbeycelebrated its maiden saint with joyous solemnity, the flocksflourished, the harvest whitened and was gathered in exemplaryweather, the annual fair took its serene course through the firstthree days of August, and traders came from far and wide, conductedtheir brisk business, took their profits, made their shrewdpurchases, and scattered again in peace to return to their ownhomes, as though neither king nor empress existed, or had any powerto hamper the movements or threaten the lives of ordinary, sensiblemen.

“You’ll have heard nothing new since the merchantsleft?” Cadfael asked, scanning the blanched traces theirstalls had left behind.

“Nothing yet. It seems they’re eyeing each otheracross the city, each waiting for the other to make a move.Winchester must be holding its breath. The last word is that theempress sent for Bishop Henry to come to her at the castle, and hehas sent a soft answer that he is preparing himself for themeeting. But stirred not a foot, so far, to move within reach ofher. But for all that,” said Hugh thoughtfully, “I darewager he’s preparing, sure enough. She has mustered herforces, he’ll be calling up his before ever he goes nearher—if he does!”

“And while they hold their breath, you may breathe morefreely,” said Cadfael shrewdly.

Hugh laughed. “While my enemies fall out, at least itkeeps their minds off me and mine. Even if they come to termsagain, and she wins him back, there’s at least a fewweeks’ delay gained for the king’s party. Ifnot—why, better they should tear each other than save theirarrows for us.”

“Do you think he’ll stand out againsther?”

“She has treated him as haughtily as she does every man,when he did her good menial service. Now he has half-defied her hemay well be reflecting that she takes very unkindly to beingthwarted, and that a bishop can be clapped in chains as easily as aking, once she lays hands on him. No, I fancy his lordship isstocking his own castle of Wolvesey to withstand a siege, if itcomes to that, and calling up his men in haste. Who bargains withthe empress had better bargain from behind an army.”

“The queen’s army?” demanded Cadfael,sharp-eyed.

Hugh had begun to wheel his horse back towards the town, but helooked round over a bare brown shoulder with a flashing glint ofblack eyes. “That we shall see! I would guess the firstcourier ever he sent out for aid went to Queen Matilda.”

“Brother Cadfael…” began Oswin,trotting jauntily beside him as they walked on towards the rim ofthe town, where the hospital and its chapel rose plain and greywithin their long wattle fence.

“Yes, son?”

“Would even the empress really dare lay hands on theBishop of Winchester? The Holy Father’s legatehere?”

“Who can tell? But there’s not much she will notdare.”

“But… That there could be fighting betweenthem…”

Oswin puffed out his round young cheeks in a great breath ofwonder and deprecation. Such a thing seemed to him unimaginable.“Brother, you have been in the world and have experience ofwars and battles. And I know that there were bishops and greatchurchmen went to do battle for the Holy Sepulchre, as you did, butshould they be found in arms for any lesser cause?”

Whether they should, thought Cadfael, is for them to take upwith their judge in the judgement, but that they are so found, havebeen aforetime and will be hereafter, is beyond doubt. “To becharitable,” he said cautiously, “in this case hislordship may consider his own freedom, safety and life to be a veryworthy cause. Some have been called to accept martyrdom meekly, butthat should surely be for nothing less than their faith. And a deadbishop could be of little service to his church, and a legatemouldering in prison little profit to the Holy Father.”

Brother Oswin strode beside for some moments judicially mute,digesting that plea and apparently finding it somewhat dubious, orelse suspecting that he had not fully comprehended the argument.Then he asked ingenuously: “Brother, would you takearms again? Once having renounced them? For any cause?”

“Son,” said Cadfael, “you have the knack ofasking questions which cannot be answered. How do I know what Iwould do, in extreme need? As a brother of the Order I would wishto keep my hands from violence against any, but for all that, Ihope I would not turn my back if I saw innocence or helplessnessbeing abused. Bear in mind even the bishops carry a crook, meant toprotect the flock as well as guide it. Let princes and empressesand warriors mind their own duties, you give all your mind toyours, and you’ll do well.”

They were nearing the trodden path that led up a grassy slope tothe open gate in the wattle fence. The modest turret of the chapeleyed them over the roof of the hospice. Brother Oswin bounded upthe slope eagerly, his cherubic face bright with confidence, boundfor a new field of endeavour, and certain of mastering it. Therewas probably no pitfall here he would evade, but none of them wouldhold him for long, or damp his unquenchable ardour.

“Now remember all I’ve taught you,” saidCadfael. “Be obedient to Brother Simon. You will work for atime under him, as he did under Brother Mark. The superior is alayman from the Foregate, but you’ll see little of himbetween his occasional visitations and inspections, and he’sa good soul and listens to counsel. And I shall be in attendanceevery now and again, should you ever need me. Come, and I’llshow you where everything is.”

Brother Simon was a comfortable, round man in his forties. Hecame out to meet them at the porch, with a gangling boy of abouttwelve by the hand. The child’s eyes were white with the caulof blindness, but otherwise he was whole and comely, by no meansthe saddest sight to be found here, where the infected and diseasedmight find at once a refuge and a prison for their contagion, sincethey were not permitted to carry it into the streets of the town,among the uncorrupted. There were cripples sunning themselves inthe little orchard behind the hospice, old, pox-riddled men, andfaded women in the barn plaiting bands for the straw stooks as theywere stacked. Those who could work a little were glad to do so fortheir keep, those who could not were passive in the sun, unlessthey had skin rashes which the heat only aggravated. These keptunder the shade of the fruit-trees, or those most fevered in thechill of the chapel.

“As at present,” said Brother Simon, “we haveeighteen, which is not so ill, for so hot a season. Three areable-bodied, and mending of their sickness, which was notcontagious, and they’ll be on their way within days now. Butthere’ll be others, young man, there’ll always beothers. They come and go. Some by the roads, some out of thisworld’s bane. None the worse, I hope, for passing throughthat door in this place.”

He had a slightly preaching style which caused Cadfael to smileinwardly, remembering Mark’s lovely simplicity, but he was agood man, hard-working, compassionate, and very deft with those bighands of his. Oswin would drink in his solemn homilies withreverence and wonder, and go about his work refreshed andunquestioning.

“I’ll see the lad round myself, if you’ll letme,” said Cadfael, hitching forward the laden scrip at hisgirdle. “I’ve brought you all the medicaments you askedfor, and some I thought might be needed, besides. We’ll findyou when we’re done.”

“And the news of Brother Mark?” asked Simon.

“Mark is already deacon. I have but to save my mostfearful confession a few more years, then, if need be, I’lldepart in peace.”

“According to Mark’s word?” wondered Simon,revealing unsuspected depths, and smiling to gloss them over. Itwas not often he spoke at such a venture.

“Well,” said Cadfael very thoughtfully,“I’ve always found Mark’s word good enough forme. You may well be right.” And he turned to Oswin, who hadfollowed this exchange with a face dutifully attentive andbewilderedly smiling, earnest to understand what evaded him likethistledown. “Come on, lad, let’s unload these and berid of the weight first, and then I’ll show you all that goeson here at Saint Giles.”

They passed through the hall, which was for eating and forsleeping, except for those too sick to be left among theirhealthier fellows. There was a large locked cupboard, to whichCadfael had his own key, and its shelves within were full of jars,flasks, bottles, wooden boxes for tablets, ointments, syrups,lotions, all the products of Cadfael’s workshop. Theyunloaded their scrips and filled the gaps along the shelves. Oswinenlarged with the importance of this mystery into which he had beeninitiated, and which he was now to practise in earnest.

There was a small kitchen garden behind the hospice, and anorchard, and barns for storage. Cadfael conducted his charge roundthe entire enclave, and by the end of the circuit they had three ofthe inmates in close and curious attendance, the old man who tendedthe cabbages and showed off his produce with pride, a lame youthherpling along nimbly enough on two crutches, and the blind child,who had forsaken Brother Simon to attach himself to Cadfael’sgirdle, knowing the familiar voice.

“This is Warin,” said Cadfael, taking the boy by thehand as they made their way back to Brother Simon’s littledesk in the porch. “He sings well in chapel, and knows theoffice by heart. But you’ll soon know them all byname.”

Brother Simon rose from his accounts at sight of them returning.“He’s shown you everything? It’s no greathousehold, ours, but it does a great work. You’ll soon getused to us.”

Oswin beamed and blushed, and said that he would do his best. Itwas likely that he was waiting impatiently for his mentor todepart, so that he could begin to exercise his new responsibilitywithout the uneasiness of a pupil performing before his teacher.Cadfael clouted him cheerfully on the shoulder, bade him be good,in the tones of one having no doubts on that score, and turnedtowards the gate. They had moved out into the sunlight from thedimness of the porch.

“You’ve heard no fresh news from the south?”The denizens of Saint Giles, being encountered at the very edge ofthe town, were usually beforehand with news.

“Nothing to signify. And yet a man must wonder andspeculate. There was a beggar, able-bodied but getting old, whocame in three days ago, and stayed only overnight to rest. He wasfrom the Staceys, near Andover, a queer one, perhaps a mite touchedin his wits, who can tell? He gets notions, it seems, that move himon into fresh pastures, and when they come to him he must go. Hesaid he got word in his head that he had best get away northwardswhile there was time.”

“A man of those parts who had no property to tie him mightvery well get the same notion now,” said Cadfael ruefully,“without being in want of his wits. Indeed, it might be hiswits that advised him to move on.”

“So it might. But this fellow said—if he did notdream it—that the day he set out he looked back from ahilltop, and saw smoke in clouds over Winchester, and in the nightfollowing there was a red glow all above the city, that flickeredas if with still quick flames.”

“It could be true,” said Cadfael, and gnawed aconsidering lip. “It would come as no great surprise. Thelast firm news we had was that empress and bishop were holding offcautiously from each other, and shifting for position. A littlepatience… But she was never, it seems, a patient woman. Iwonder, now, I wonder if she has laid him under siege. How longwould your man have been on the road?”

“I fancy he made what haste he could,” said Simon,“but four days at least, surely. That sets his story a weekback, and no word yet to confirm it.”

“There will be, if it’s true,” said Cadfaelgrimly, “there will be! Of all the reports that fly about theworld, ill news is the surest of all to arrive!”

He was still pondering this ominous shadow as heset off back along the Foregate, and his preoccupation was suchthat his greetings to acquaintances along the way were apt to bebelated and absent-minded. It was mid-morning, and the dusty roadbrisk with traffic, and there were few inhabitants of this parishof Holy Cross outside the town walls that he did not know. He hadtreated many of them, or their children, at some time in these hiscloistered years; even, sometimes, their beasts, for he who learnsabout the sicknesses of men cannot but pick up, here and there,some knowledge of the sicknesses of their animals, creatures withas great a capacity for suffering as their masters, and much lessmeans of complaining, together with far less inclination tocomplain. Cadfael had often wished that men would use their beastsbetter, and tried to show them that it would be good husbandry. Thehorses of war had been part of that curious, slow process withinhim that had turned him at length from the trade of arms into thecloister.

Not that all abbots and priors used their mules and stock beastswell, either. But at least the best and wisest of them recognisedit for good policy, as well as good Christianity.

But now, what could really be happening in Winchester, to turnthe sky over it black by day and red by night? Like the pillars ofcloud and fire that marked the passage of the elect through thewilderness, these had signalled and guided the beggar’sflight from danger. He saw no reason to doubt the report. The sameforeboding must have been on many loftier minds these last weeks,while the hot, dry summer, close cousin of fire, waited with atorch ready. But what a fool that woman must be, to attempt tobesiege the bishop in his own castle in his own city, with thequeen, every inch her match, no great distance away at the head ofa strong army, and the Londoners implacably hostile. And howadamant against her, now, the bishop must be, to venture all bydefying her. And both these high personages would remain stronglyprotected, and survive. But what of the lesser creatures they putin peril? Poor little traders and craftsmen and labourers who hadno such fortresses to shelter them!

He had meditated his way from the care of horses and cattle tothe tribulations of men, and was startled to hear at his back, at amoment when the traffic of the Foregate was light, the crisp, neathooves of mules catching up on him at a steady clip. He halted atthe corner of the horse fair ground and looked back, and had notfar to look, for they were close.

Two of them, a fine, tall beast almost pure white, fit for anabbot, and a smaller, lighter, fawn-brown creature steppingdecorously a pace or two to the rear. But what caused Cadfael topull up and turn fully towards them, waiting in surprised welcomefor them to draw alongside, was the fact that both riders wore theBenedictine black, brothers to each other and to him. Plainly theyhad noted his own habit trudging before them, and made haste toovertake him, for as soon as he halted and recognised them for hislike they eased to a walk, and so came gently alongside him.

“God be with you, brothers!” said Cadfael, eyeingthem with interest. “Do you come to our house here inShrewsbury?”

“And with you, brother,” said the foremost rider, ina rich voice which yet had a slight, harsh crepitation in it, asthough the cave of his breast created a grating echo.Cadfael’s ears pricked at the sound. He had heard the breathof many old men, long exposed to harsh outdoor living, rasp andecho in the same way, but this man was not old. “You belongto this house of Saint Peter and Saint Paul? Yes, we are boundthere with letters for the lord abbot. I take this to be hisboundary wall beside us? Then it is not far to go now.”

“Very close,” said Cadfael. “I’ll walkbeside you, for I’m homeward bound to that same house. Haveyou come far?”

He was looking up into a face gaunt and drawn, but fine-featuredand commanding, with deep-set eyes very dark and tranquil. The cowlwas flung back on the stranger’s shoulders, and the long,fleshless head wore its rondel of straight black hair like a crown.A tall man, sinewy but emaciated. There was the fading sunburn ofhotter lands than England on him, a bronze acquired over more yearsthan one, but turned somewhat dull and sickly now, and though heheld himself in the saddle like one born there, there was also alanguor upon his movements, and an uncomplaining weariness in hisface, a serene resignation which would better have fitted an oldman. This man might have been somewhere in his mid-forties, surelynot much more.

“Far enough,” he said with a thin, dark smile,“but today only from Brigge.”

“And bound further? Or will you stay with us for a while?You’ll be heartily welcome visitors, you and the youngbrother here.”

The younger rider hovered silently, a little apart, as a servantmight have done in dutiful attendance on his master. He was surelyscarcely past twenty, lissome and tall, though his companion wouldtop him by a head if they stood together. He had the oval, smooth,boy’s face of his years, but formed and firm for all itssuave planes. His cowl was drawn forward over his face, perhapsagainst the sun’s glare. Large, shadowed eyes gazed out fromthe hood, fixed steadily upon his elder. The one glance theyflashed at Cadfael was as quickly averted.

“We look to stay here for some time, if the lord abbotwill give us refuge,” said the older man, “for we havelost one roof, and must beg admittance under another.”

They had begun to move on at a leisurely walk, the dust of theForegate powder-fine under the hooves of the mules. The young manfell in meekly behind, and let them lead. To the civil greetingsthat saluted them along the way, where Cadfael was well known, andthese his companions matter for friendly curiosity, the older manmade quiet, courteous response. The younger said never a word.

The gatehouse and the church loomed, ahead on their left, thehigh wall beside them reflected heat from its stones. The rider letthe reins hang loose on his mule’s neck, folded veined hands,long-fingered and brown, and fetched a long sigh. Cadfael held hispeace.

“Forgive me that I answer almost churlishly, brother, itis not meant so. After the habit and the daily company of silence,speech comes laboriously. And after a holocaust, and the fires ofdestruction, the throat is too dry to manage many words. You askedif we had come far. We have been some days on the road, for Icannot ride hard these days. We are come like beggars from thesouth…”

“From Winchester!” said Cadfael with certainty,recalling the foreboding, the cloud and the fire.

“From what is left of Winchester.” The worn butmuscular hands were quite still, leaving it to Cadfael to lead themule round the west end of the church and in at the arch of thegatehouse. It was not grief or passion that made it hard for theman to speak, he had surely seen worse in his time than he was nowrecalling. The chords of his voice creaked from under-use, andslowed upon the grating echo. A beautiful voice it must have beenin its heyday, before the velvet frayed. “Is itpossible,” he said wonderingly, “that we come thefirst? I had thought word would have flown thus far north almost aweek ago, but true, escape this way would have been no simplematter. Have we to bring the news, then? The great ones fell outover us. Who am I to complain, who have had my part in the like,elsewhere? The empress laid siege to the bishop in his castle ofWolvesey, in the city, and the bishop rained fire-arrows down uponthe roofs rather than upon his enemies. The town is laid waste. Anunnery burned to the ground, churches razed, and my priory of HydeMead, that Bishop Henry so desired to take into his own hands, isgone forever, brought down in flames. We are here, we two, homelessand asking shelter. The brothers are scattered through all theBenedictine houses of the land, wherever they have ties of blood orfriendship. There will never be any going home to Hyde.”

So it was true. The finger of God had pointed one poor devil outof the trap, and let him look back from a hill to see the scarletand the black of fire and smoke devour a city. Bishop Henry’sown city, to which his own hand had set light.

“God sort all!” said Cadfael.

“Doubtless he will!” The voice with its honeyedwarmth and abrasive echo rang under the archway of the gatehouse.Brother Porter came out, smiling welcome, and a groom came runningfor the horses, sighting fraternal visitors. The great court openedserene in sunshine, crossed and re-crossed by busy, preoccupiedpeople, brothers, lay brothers, stewards, all about their normal,mastered affairs. The child oblates and schoolboys, let loose fromtheir studies, were tossing a ball, their shrill voices gay andpiercing in the still half-hour before noon. Life here made itselfheard, felt and seen, as regular as the seasons.

They halted within the gate. Cadfael held the stirrup for thestranger, though there was no need, for he lighted down asnaturally as a bird settling and folding its wings; but sle lighted down asnaturally as a bird settling and folding its wings; but slowly,with languid grace, and stood to unfold a long, graceful butenfeebled body, well above six feet tall, and lance-straight as itwas lance-lean. The young one had leaped from the saddle in aninstant, and stood baulked, circling uneasily, jealous ofCadfael’s ministering hand. And still made no sound, neitherof gratitude nor protest.

“I’ll be your herald to Abbot Radulfus,” saidCadfael, “if you’ll permit. What shall I say tohim?”

“Say that Brother Humilis and Brother Fidelis, of thesometime priory of Hyde Mead, which is laid waste, ask audience andprotection of his goodness, in all submission, and in the name ofthe Rule.”

This man had surely known little in the past of humility, andlittle of submission, though he had embraced both now with a wholeheart.

“I will say so,” said Cadfael, and turned for amoment to the young brother, expecting his amen. The cowled headinclined modestly, the oval face was hidden in shadow, but therewas no voice.

“Hold my young friend excused,” said BrotherHumilis, erect by his mule’s milky head, “if he cannotspeak his greeting. Brother Fidelis is dumb.”