Chapter Two

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B ring our brothers in to me,” said AbbotRadulfus, rising from his desk in surprise and concern when Cadfaelhad reported to him the arrivals, and the bare bones of theirstory. He pushed aside parchment and pen and stood erect, dark andtall against the brilliant sunlight through the parlour window.“That this should ever be! City and church laid wastetogether! Certainly they are welcome here lifelong, if need be.Bring them hither, Cadfael. And remain with us. You may be theirguide afterwards, and bring them to Prior Robert. We must makeappropriate places for them in the dortoir.”

Cadfael went on his errand well content not to be dismissed, andled the newcomers down the length of the great court to the cornerwhere the abbot’s lodging lay sheltered in its small garden.What there was to be learned from the travellers of affairs in thesouth he was eager to learn, and so would Hugh be, when he knew oftheir coming. For this time news had been unwontedly slow on theroad, and matters might have been moving with considerably greaterspeed down in Winchester since the unlucky brothers of Hydedispersed to seek refuge elsewhere.

“Father Abbot, here are Brother Humilis and BrotherFidelis.”

It seemed dark in the little wood-panelled parlour after theradiance without, and the two tall, masterful men stood studyingeach other intently in the warm, shadowy stillness. Radulfushimself had drawn forward stools for the newcomers, and with amotion of a long hand invited them to be seated, but the young onedrew back deferentially into deeper shadow and remained standing.He could never be the spokesman; that might well be the reason forhis self-effacement. But Radulfus, who had yet to learn of theyoung man’s disability, certainly noted the act, and observedit without either approval or disapproval.

“Brothers, you are very welcome in our house, and all wecan provide is yours. I hear you have had a long ride, and a sadloss that has driven you forth. I grieve for our brothers of Hyde.But here at least we hope to offer you tranquillity of mind, and asecure shelter. In these lamentable wars we have been fortunate.You, the elder, are Brother Humilis?”

“Yes, Father. Here I present you our prior’s letter,commending us both to your kindness.” He had carried it inthe breast of his habit, and now drew it forth and laid it on theabbot’s desk. “You will know, Father, that the abbey ofHyde has been an abbey without an abbot for two years now. They saycommonly that Bishop Henry had it in mind to bring it into his ownhands as an episcopal convent, which the brothers stronglyresisted, and denying us a head may well have been a move designedto weaken us and reduce our voice. Now that is of no consequence,for the house of Hyde is gone, razed to the ground and blackened byfire.”

“Is it such entire destruction?” asked Radulfus,frowning over his linked hands.

“Utter destruction. In time to come a new house may beraised there, who knows? But of the old nothing remains.”

“You had best tell me all that you can,” saidRadulfus heavily. “Here we live far from these events, almostin peace. How did this holocaust come about?”

Brother Humilis—what could his proud name have been beforehe thus calmly claimed for himself humility?—folded his handsin the lap of his habit, and fixed his hollow dark eyes upon theabbot’s face. There was a creased scar, long ago healed andpale, marking the left side of his tonsure, Cadfael noted, andknew, the crescent shape of a glancing stroke from a right-handedswordsman. It did not surprise him. No straight western sword, buta Seljuk scimitar. So that was where he had got the bronze that hadnow faded and sickened into dun.

“The empress entered Winchester towards the end of July. Ido not recall the date, and took up her residence in the royalcastle by the west gate. She sent to Bishop Henry in his palace tocome to her, but they say he sent back word that he would come, butmust a little delay, by what excuse I never heard. He delayed toolong, but by what followed he made good use of such days of graceas he had, for by the time the empress lost patience and moved upher forces against him he was safely shut up in his new castle ofWolvesey, in the south-east corner of the city, backed into thewall. And the queen, or so they said in the town, was moving herFlemings up in haste to his aid. Whether or no, he had a greatgarrison within there, and well supplied. I ask pardon of God andof you, Father,” said Brother Humilis gently, “that Itook such pains to follow these warlike reports, but my trainingwas in arms, and a man cannot altogether forget.”

“God forbid,” said Radulfus, “that a manshould feel he need forget anything that was done in good faith andloyal service. In arms or in the cloister, we have all a score topay to this country and this people. Closed eyes are of little useto either. Go on! Who struck the first blow?”

For they had been allies only a matter of weeks earlier!

“The empress. She moved to surround Wolvesey as soon asshe knew he had shut himself in. Everything they had they usedagainst the castle, even such engines as they were able to raise.And they pulled down any buildings, shops, houses, all that lay tooclose, to clear the ground. But the bishop had a strong garrison,and his walls are new. He began to build, as I hear, only ten yearsor so ago. It was his men who first used firebrands. Much of thecity within the wall has burned, churches, a nunnery,shops—it might not have been so terrible if the season hadnot been high summer, and so dry.”

“And Hyde Mead?”

“There’s no knowing from which side came the arrowsthat set us alight. The fighting had spilled outside the city wallsby then, and there was looting, as always,” said BrotherHumilis. “We fought the fire as long as we could, but therewas none besides to help us, and it was too fierce, we could notbring it under. Our prior ordered that we withdraw into thecountryside, and so we did. Somewhat short of our number,” hesaid. “There were deaths.”

Always there were deaths, and usually of the innocent andhelpless. Radulfus stared with locked brows into the chalice of hislinked hands, and thought.

“The prior lived to write letters. Where is henow?”

“Safe, in a manor of a kinsman, some miles from the city.He has ordered our withdrawal, dispersing the brothers whereverthey might best find shelter. I asked if I might come to beg asylumhere in Shrewsbury, and Brother Fidelis with me. And we are come,and are in your hands.”

“Why?” asked the abbot. “Welcome indeed youare, I ask only, why here?”

“Father, some mile or two up-river from here, on a manorcalled Salton, I was born. I had a fancy to see the place again, orat least be near it, before I die.” He smiled, meeting thepenetrating eyes beneath the knotted brows. “It was the onlyproperty my father held in this shire. There I was born, as it sohappened. A man displaced from his last home may well turn back tohis first.”

“You say well. So far as is in us, we will supply thathome. And your young brother?” Fidelis put back the cowl fromhis neck, bent his head reverently, and made a small outward sweepof submissive hands, but no sound.

“Father, he cannot speak for himself, I offer thanks fromus both. I have not been altogether in my best health in Hyde, andBrother Fidelis, out of pure kindness, has become my faithfulfriend and attendant. He has no kinsfolk to whom he can go, heelects to be with me and tend me as before. If you willpermit.” He waited for the acknowledging nod and smile beforehe added: “Brother Fidelis will serve God here with everyfaculty he has. I know him, and I answer for him. But one, hisvoice, he cannot employ. Brother Fidelis is mute.”

“He is no less welcome,” said Radulfus,“because his prayers must be silent. His silence may be moreeloquent than our spoken words.” If he had been taken abackhe had mastered the check so quickly as to give no sign. It wouldnot be so often that Abbot Radulfus would be disconcerted.“After this journey,” he said, “you must both beweary, and still in some distress of mind until you have again abed, a place, and work to do. Go now with Brother Cadfael, he willtake you to Prior Robert, and show you everything within theenclave, dortoir and frater and gardens and herbarium, where herules. He will find you refreshment and rest, your first need. Andat Vespers you shall join us in worship.”

Word of the arrivals from the south brought HughBeringar down hotfoot from the town to confer first with the abbot,and then with Brother Humilis, who repeated freely what he hadalready once related. When he had gleaned all he could, Hugh wentto find Cadfael in the herb-garden, where he was busy watering.There was an hour yet before Vespers, the time of day when all thenecessary work had been done, and even a gardener could relax andsit for a while in the shade. Cadfael put away his watering-can,leaving the open, sunlit beds until the cool of the evening, andsat down beside his friend on the bench against the high southwall.

“Well, you have a breathing-space, at least,” hesaid. “They are at each other’s throats, not reachingfor yours. Great pity, though, that townsmen and monastics and poornuns should be the sufferers. But so it goes in this world. And thequeen and her Flemings must be in the town by now, or very near.What happens next? The besiegers may very well find themselvesbesieged.”

“It has happened before,” agreed Hugh. “Andthe bishop had fair warning he might have need of a well-stockedlarder, but she may have taken her supplies for granted. If I werethe queen’s general, I would take time to cut all the roadsinto Winchester first, and make certain no food can get in. Well,we shall see. And I hear you were the first to have speech withthese two brothers from Hyde.”

“They overtook me in the Foregate. And what do you make ofthem, now you’ve been closeted with them so long?”

“What should I make of them, thus at first sight? A sickman and a dumb man. More to the purpose, what do your brothers makeof them?” Hugh had a sharp eye on his old friend’sface, which was blunt and sleepy and private in the late afternoonheat, but was never quite closed against him. “The elder isnoble, clearly. Also he is ill. I guess at a martial past, for Ithink he has old wounds. Did you see he goes a little sidewise,favouring his left flank? Something has never quite healed. And theyoung one… I well understand he has fallen under the spellof such a man, and idolises him. Lucky for both! He has a powerfulprotector, his lord has a devoted nurse. Well?” said Hugh,challenging judgement with a confident smile.

“You haven’t yet divined who our new elder brotheris? They may not have told you all,” admitted Cadfaeltolerantly, “for it came out almost by chance. A martialpast, yes, he avowed it, though you could have guessed it no lesssurely. The man is past forty-five, I judge, and has visible scars.He has said, also, that he was born here at Salton, then a manor ofhis father’s. And he has a scar on his head, bared by thetonsure, that was made by a Seljuk scimitar, some years back. Amere slice, readily healed, but left its mark. Salton was heldformerly by the Bishop of Chester, and granted to the church ofSaint Chad, here within the walls. They let it go many years sinceto a noble family, the Marescots. There’s a local tenantholds it under them.” He opened a levelled brown eye, beneatha bushy brow russet as autumn. “Brother Humilis is aMarescot. I know of only one Marescot of this man’s age whowent to the Crusade. Sixteen or seventeen years ago it must be. Iwas newly monk, then, part of me still hankered, and I had one eyealways on the tale of those who took the Cross. As raw and eager asI was, surely, and bound for as bitter a fall, but pure enough intheir going. There was a certain Godfrid Marescot who took threescore with him from his own lands. He made a notable name forvalour.”

“And you think this is he? Thus fallen?”

“Why not? The great ones are open to wounds no less thanthe simple. All the more,” said Cadfael, “if they leadfrom before, and not from behind. They say this one was never laterthan first.”

He had still the crusader blood quick within him, he could notchoose but awake and respond, however the truth had sunk below hisdreams and hopes, all those years ago. Others, no less, hadbelieved and trusted, no less to shudder and turn aside from muchof what was done in the name of the Faith.

“Prior Robert will be running through the tale of thelords of Salton this moment,” said Cadfael, “and willnot fail to find his man. He knows the pedigree of every lord of amanor in this shire and beyond, for thirty years back and more.Brother Humilis will have no trouble in establishing himself, hesheds lustre upon us by being here, he need do nothingmore.”

“As well,” said Hugh wryly, “for I think thereis no more he can do, unless it be to die here, and here be buried.Come, you have a better eye than mine for mortal sickness. The manis on his way out of this world. No haste, but the end isassured.”

“So it is for you and for me,” said Cadfael sharply.“And as for haste, it’s neither you nor I that hold themeasure. It will come when it will come. Until then, every day isof consequence, the last no less than the first.”

“So be it!” said Hugh, and smiled, unchidden.“But he’ll come into your hands before many days areout. And what of his youngling—the dumb boy?”

“Nothing of him! Nothing but silence and shrinking intothe shadows. Give us time,” said Cadfael, “and we shalllearn to know him better.”

A man who has renounced possessions may movefreely from one asylum to another, and be no less at home, make dowith nothing as well in Shrewsbury as in Hyde Mead. A man who wearswhat every other man under the same discipline wears need not benoticeable for more than a day. Brother Humilis and Brother Fidelisresumed here in the midlands the same routine they had kept in thesouth, and the hours of the day enfolded them no less firmly andserenely. Yet Prior Robert had made a satisfactory end of hiscogitations concerning the feudal holdings and family genealogiesin the shire, and it was very soon made known to all, through hisreliable echo, Brother Jerome, that the abbey had acquired a mostdistinguished son, a crusader of acknowledged valour, who had madea name for himself in the recent contention against the risingAtabeg Zenghi of Mosul, the latest threat to the Kingdom ofJerusalem. Prior Robert’s personal ambitions lay all withinthe cloister, but for all that he missed never a turn of thefortunes of the world without. Four years since, Jerusalem had beenshaken to its foundations by the king’s defeat at thisZenghi’s hands, but the kingdom had survived through itsalliance with the emirate of Damascus. In that unhappy battle, soRobert made known discreetly, Godfrid Marescot had played a heroicpart.

“He has observed every office, and worked steadily everyhour set aside for work,” said Brother Edmund the infirmarer,eyeing the new brother across the court as he trod slowly towardsthe church for Compline, in the radiant stillness and lingeringwarmth of evening. “And he has not asked for any help ofyours or mine. But I wish he had a better colour, and a morsel offlesh more on those long bones. That bronze gone dull, with noblood behind it…”

And there went the faithful shadow after him, young, lissome,with strong, flowing pace, and hand ever advanced a little to propan elbow, should it flag, or encircle a lean body, should itstagger or fall.

“There goes one who knows it all,” said Cadfael,“and cannot speak. Nor would if he could, without hislord’s permission. A son of one of his tenants, would yousay? Something of that kind, surely. The boy is well born andtaught. He knows Latin, almost as well as his master.”

On reflection it seemed a liberty to speak of a man asanyone’s master who called himself Humilis, and had renouncedthe world.

“I had in mind,” said Edmund, but hesitantly, andwith reverence, “a natural son. I may be far astray, but itis what came to mind. I take him for a man who would love andprotect his seed, and the young one might well love and admire him,for that as for all else.”

And it could well be true. The tall man and the tall youth, acertain likeness, even, in the clear features—insofar,thought Cadfael, as anyone had yet looked directly at the featuresof young Brother Fidelis, who passed so silently and unobtrusivelyabout the enclave, patiently finding his way in this unfamiliarplace. He suffered, perhaps, more than his elder companion in thechange, having less confidence and experience, and all the anxietyof youth. He clung to his lodestar, and every motion he made wasoriented by its light. They had a shared carrel in the scriptorium,for Brother Humilis had need, only too clearly, of a sedentaryoccupation, and had proved to have a delicate hand with copying,and artistry in illumination. And since he had limited controlafter a period of work, and his hand was liable to shake in finedetail, Abbot Radulfus had decreed that Brother Fidelis should bepresent with him to assist whenever he needed relief. The one handmatched the other as if the one had taught the other, though itmight have been only emulation and love. Together, they did slowbut admirable work.

“I had never considered,” said Edmund, musing aloud,“how remote and strange a man could be who has no voice, andhow hard it is to reach and touch him. I have caught myself talkingof him to Brother Humilis, over the lad’s head, and beenashamed—as if he had neither hearing nor wits. I blushedbefore him. Yet how do you touch hands with such a one? I never hadpractice in it till now, and I am altogether astray.”

“Who is not?” said Cadfael.

It was truth, he had noted it. The silence, or rather themoderation of speech enjoined by the Rule had one quality, the hushthat hung about Brother Fidelis quite another. Those who mustcommunicate with him tended to use much gesture and few words, ornone, reflecting his silence. As though, truly, he had neitherhearing nor wits. But manifestly he had both, quick and delicatesenses and sharp hearing, tuned to the least sound. And that wasalso strange. So often the dumb were dumb because they had neverlearned of sounds, and therefore made none. And this young man hadbeen well taught in his letters, and knew some Latin, which argueda mind far more agile than most.

Unless, thought Cadfael doubtfully, his muteness was a new-comething in recent years, from some constriction of the cords of thetongue or the sinews of the throat? Or even if he had it frombirth, might it not be caused by some strings too tightly drawnunder his tongue, that could be eased by exercise or loosed by theknife?

“I meddle too much,” said Cadfael to himselfcrossly, shaking off the speculation that could lead nowhere. Andhe went to Compline in an unwontedly penitent mood, and by way ofdiscipline observed silence himself for the rest of theevening.

They gathered the purple-black Lammas plums next day, for theywere just on the right edge of ripeness. Some would be eaten atonce, fresh as they were, some Brother Petrus would boil down intoa preserve thick and dark as cakes of poppy-seed, and some would belaid out on racks in the drying house to wrinkle and crystalliseinto gummy sweetness. Cadfael had a few trees in a small orchardwithin the enclave, though most of the fruit-trees were in the maingarden of the Gaye, the lush meadow-land along the riverside. Thenovices and younger brothers picked the fruit, and the oblates andschoolboys were allowed to help; and if everyone knew that a fewhandfuls went into the breasts of tunics rather than into thebaskets, provided the depredations were reasonable Cadfael turned ablind eye.

It was too much to expect silence in such fine weather and sucha holiday occupation. The voices of the boys rang merrily inCadfael’s ears as he decanted wine in his workshop, and wentback and forth among his plants along the shadowed wall, weedingand watering. A pleasant sound! He could pick out known voices, thechildren’s shrill and light, their elders in a whole range oftones. That warm, clear call, that was Brother Rhun, the youngestof the novices, sixteen years old, only two months since receivedinto probation, and not yet tonsured, lest he should think betterof his impulsive resolve to quit a world he had scarcely seen. ButRhun would not repent of his choice. He had come to the abbey forSaint Winifred’s festival, a cripple and in pain, and by hergrace now he went straight and tall and agile, radiating delightupon everyone who came near him. As now, surely, on whoever was hispartner at the nearest of the plum-trees. Cadfael went to the edgeof the orchard to see, and there was the sometime lame boy up amongthe branches, secure and joyous, his slim, deft hands nursing thefruit so lightly his fingers scarcely blurred the bloom, andleaning down to lay them in the basket held up to him by a tallbrother whose back was turned, and whose figure was not immediatelyrecognisable, until he moved round, the better to followRhun’s movements, and showed the face of Brother Fidelis.

It was the first time Cadfael had seen that face so clearly, insunlight, the cowl slung back. Rhun, it seemed, was one creature atleast who found no difficulty in drawing near to the mute brother,but spoke out to him merrily and found no strangeness in hissilence. Rhun leaned down laughing, and Fidelis looked up, smiling,one face reflecting the other. Their hands touched on the handle ofthe basket as Rhun dangled it at the full stretch of his arm whileFidelis plucked a cluster of low-growing fruit pointed out to himfrom above.

After all, thought Cadfael, it was to be expected that valiantinnocence would stride in boldly where most of us hesitate to setfoot. And besides, Rhun has gone most of his life with a cruel flawthat set him apart, and taken no bitterness from it, naturally hewould advance without fear into another man’s isolation. Andthank God for him, and for the valour of the children!

He went back to his weeding very thoughtfully, recalling thateased and sunlit glimpse of one who habitually withdrew intoshadow. An oval face, firm-featured and by nature grave, with alofty forehead and strong cheekbones, and clear ivory skin, smoothand youthful. There in the orchard he looked scarcely older thanRhun, though there must surely be a few years between them. Thehalo of curling hair round his tonsure was an autumn brown, almostfiery-bright, yet not red, and his wide-set eyes, under strong,level brows, were of a luminous grey, at least in that full light.A very comely young man, like a veiled reflection of Rhun’ssunlit beauty. Noonday and twilight met together.

The fruit-pickers were still at work, though with most of theirharvest already gleaned, when Cadfael put away his hoe andwatering-can and went to prepare for Vespers. In the great courtthere was the usual late-afternoon bustle, brothers returning fromtheir work along the Gaye, the stir of arrival in guest-hall andstable-yard, and in the cloister the sound of BrotherAnselm’s little portative organ testing out a new chant. Theilluminators and copiers would be putting the finishing touches totheir afternoon’s work, and cleaning their pens and brushes.Brother Humilis must be alone in his carrel, having sent Fidelisout to the joyous labour in the garden, for nothing less would haveinduced the boy to leave him. Cadfael had intended crossing theopen garth to the precentor’s workshop, to sit downcomfortably with Anselm for a quarter of an hour, until the Vesperbell, and talk and perhaps argue about music. But the memory of thedumb youth, so kindly sent out to his brief pleasure in the orchardamong his peers, stirred in him as he entered the cloister, and thegaunt visage of Brother Humilis rose before him, self-contained,uncomplaining, proudly solitary. Or should it be, rather, humblysolitary? That was the quality he had claimed for himself and bywhich he desired to be accepted. A large claim, for one socelebrated. There was not a soul within here now who did not knowhis reputation. If he longed to escape it, and be as mute as hisservitor, he had been cruelly thwarted.

Cadfael veered from his intent, and turned instead along thenorth walk of the cloister, where the carrels of the scripscriptorium basked in the sun, even at this hour. Humilis had beengiven a study midway, where the light would fall earliest andlinger longest. It was quiet there, the soft tones ofAnselm’s organetto seemed very distant and hushed. The grassof the open garth was blanched and dry, in spite of dailywatering.

“Brother Humilis…” said Cadfael softly, atthe opening of the carrel.

The leaf of parchment was pushed askew on the desk, a small potof gold had spilled drops along the paving as it rolled. BrotherHumilis lay forward over his desk with his right arm flung up tohold by the wood, and his left hand gripped hard into his groin,the wrist braced to press hard into his side. His head lay with theleft cheek on his work, smeared with the blue and the scarlet, andhis eyes were shut, but clenched shut, upon the controlledawareness of pain. He had not uttered a sound. If he had, thoseclose by would have heard him. What he had, he had contained. So hewould still.

Cadfael took him gently about the body, pinning the sustainingarm where it rested. The blue-veined eyelids lifted in their highvaults, and eyes brilliant and intelligent behind their veils ofpain peered up into his face. “BrotherCadfael…?”

“Lie still a moment yet,” said Cadfael. I’llfetch Edmund—Brother Infirmarer…”

“No! Brother, get me hence… to my bed… Thiswill pass… it is not new. Only softly, softly help me away!I would not be a show…”

It was quicker and more private to help him up thenight stairs from the church to his own cell in the dortoir, ratherthan across the great court to the infimary, and that was what heearnestly desired, that there might be no general alarm and fussabout him. He rose more by strength of will than any physicalforce, and with Cadfael’s sturdy arm about him, and his ownarm leaning heavily round Cadfael’s shoulders, they passedunnoticed into the cool gloom of the church and slowly climbed thestaircase. Stretched on his own bed, Humilis submitted himself witha bleakly patient smile to Cadfael’s care, and made no adowhen Cadfael stripped him of his habit, and uncovered the obliquestain of mingled blood and pus that slanted across the left hip ofhis linen drawers and down into the groin.

“It breaks,” said the calm thread of a voice fromthe pillow. “Now and then it suppurates—I know. Thelong ride… Pardon brother! I know the stenchoffends…”

“I must bring Edmund,” said Cadfael, unloosing thedrawstring and freeing the shirt. He did not yet uncover what laybeneath. “Brother Infirmarer must know.”

“Yes… But no other! What need for more?”

“Except Brother Fidelis? Does he know all?”

“Yes, all!” said Humilis, and faintly and fondlysmiled. “We need not fear him, even if he could speak hewould not, but there’s nothing of what ails me he does notknow. Let him rest until Vespers is over.”

Cadfael left him lying with closed eyes, a little eased, for thelines of his face had relaxed from their tight grimace of pain, andwent down to find Brother Edmund, just in time to draw him awayfrom Vespers. The filled baskets of plums lay by the garden hedge,awaiting disposal after the office, and the gatherers were surelyalready within the church, after hasty ablutions. Just as well!Brother Fidelis might at first be disposed to resent any otherundertaking the care of his master. Let him find him recovered andwell doctored, and he would accept what had been done. As good away to his confidence as any.

“I knew we should be needed before long,” saidEdmund, leading the way vigorously up the day stairs. “Oldwounds, you think? Your skills will avail more than mine, you haveploughed that field yourself.”

The bell had fallen silent. They heard the first notes of theevening office raised faintly from within the church as theyentered the sick man’s cell. He opened slow, heavy lids andsmiled at them.

“Brothers, I grieve to be a trouble toyou…”

The deep eyes were hooded again, but he was aware of all, andsubmitted meekly to all.

They drew down the linen that hid him from the waist, anduncovered the ruin of his body. A great misshapen map of scartissue stretched from the left hip, where the bone had survived bymiracle, slantwise across his belly and deep, deep into the groin.Its colouration was of limestone pallor and striation below, wherehe was half disembowelled but stonily healed. But towards the upperpart it was reddened and empurpled, the inflamed belly burst into awet-lipped wound that oozed a foul jelly and a faint smear ofblood.

Godfrid Marsecot’s crusade had left him maimed beyondrepair, yet not beyond survival. The faceless, fingerless leperswho crawl into Saint Giles, thought Cadfael, have not worse tobear. Here ends his line, in a noble plant incapable of seed. Butwhat worth is manhood, if this is not a man?