Chapter Ten

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I n his shallow half-sleep, half-swoon BrotherHumilis dreamed that he heard someone weeping, very softly,almost without sound but for the break in the breath, thecontrolled but extreme weeping of a strong being brought to adesperation from which there was no escape. It so stirred andtroubled him that he was lifted gradually out of his dream and intoa wakeful reality, but by then there was only silence. He knew thathe was not alone in the room, though he had not heard the secondcot carried in, nor the coming of the one who was to lie besidehim. But even before he turned his head, and saw by the faintglimmer of lamplight the white shape stretched on the pallet, heknew who it was. The presence or absence of this one creature wasthe pulse of his life now. If Fidelis was by, the beat of his bloodwas strong and comforting, without him it flagged and weakened.

And therefore it must be Fidelis who had grieved alone in thenight, enduring what he could not change, whatever burden of sin orsorrow it was that swelled in him speechless and found noremedy.

Humilis put back the single cover from over him, and sat up,swinging his feet to the stone floor between the two beds. He hadno need to stand, only to lift the little lamp carefully and leantowards the sleeper, shielding the light so that it should not falltoo sharply upon the young man’s face.

Seen thus, aloof and impenetrable, it was a daunting face. Underthe ring of curling hair, the colour of ripe chestnuts, theforehead was both lofty and broad, ivory-smooth above level, strongbrows darker than the hair. Large, arched eyelids, faintly veinedlike the petals of a flower, hid the clear grey eyes. An austereface, the jaw sharply outlined and resolute, the mouth fastidious,the cheekbones high and proud. If he had indeed shed tears, theywere gone. There was only a fine dew of sweat on his upper lip.Humilis sat studying him steadily for a long time.

The boy had shed his habit in order to sleep in better comfort.He lay on his side, cheek pressed into the pillow, the loose linenshirt open at his throat, and the chain that he wore had slid itslinks down in a silver coil into the hollow of his neck, and laidbare to view on the pillow the token that hung upon it.

Not a cross studded with semi-precious stones, but a ring, athin gold finger-ring made in the spiral form of a coiled snake,with two splinters of red for eyes. An old ring, very old, for thefiner chasing of head and scales was worn smooth with time, and thecoils were wafer-thin.

Humilis sat gazing at this small, significant thing, and couldnot turn his eyes away. The lamp shook in his hand, and he laid itback on its stand in careful haste, for fear he should spill a dropof hot oil on the naked throat or outflung arm, and startle Fidelisout of what was at least oblivion, if not genuine rest. Now he kneweverything, the best and the worst, all there was to know, excepthow to find a way out of this web. Not for himself—his ownway out opened clear before him, and was no long journey. But forthis sleeper…

Humilis lay back on his bed, trembling with the knowledge of agreat wonder and a great danger, and waited for morning.

Brother Cadfael rose at dawn, long before Prime,and went out into the garden, but even there there was little airto breathe. A leaden stillness hung over the world, under a thinceiling of cloud, through which the rising sun seemed to burnunimpeded. He went down to the Meole Brook, down the bleachedslopes of the pease-fields, from which the haulms had long sincebeen sickled and taken in for stable-bedding, leaving the whitestubble to be ploughed into the ground for the next year’scrop. Cadfael shed his sandals and waded into the slack, shallowwater that was left, and found it warm where he had hoped for alittle coolness. This weather, he thought, cannot continue muchlonger, it must break. Someone will get the brunt of the storm, andif it’s thunder, as by the smell in the air and the pricklingof my skin it surely will be, Shrewsbury will get its share.Thunder, like commerce, followed the river valleys.

Once out of his bed, he had lost the fine art of being idle. Hefilled in the time until Prime with some work among the herbs, andsome early watering while the sun was still climbing, round anddull gold behind its veil of haze. These functions his hands andeyes could take care of, while his mind was free to fret andspeculate over the complicated fortunes of people for whom he hadformed a strong affection. No question but GodfridMarescot—to think of him as an affianced man was to give himhis old name—was busy leaving this world at a steady,unflinching walk, and every day he quickened his pace like a mananxious to be gone, and yet every day looked back over his shoulderin case that lost bride of his might be following on his heelsrather than waiting for him patiently along the road ahead. Andwhat could any man tell him for his reassurance? And what couldafford any comfort to Nicholas Harnage, who had been too slow inprizing her fitly and making his bid for her favour?

A mile from Wherwell, and never seen again. And gone with her,temptation enough for harm, the valuables and the money shecarried. And one man only as visible and obvious suspect, AdamHeriet, with everything against him except for Hugh’sscrupulous conviction that he had been in genuine desperation toget news of her. He had asked and asked, and never desisted untilhe reached Shrewsbury. Or had he simply been fishing, not for newsof her so much as for a glimpse, any glimpse, into Hugh’smind, any unwary word that would tell him how much the law alreadyknew, and what chance he still had, by silence or lies or any othermeans, of brazening his way safely through his present peril?

Other inconsequent questions jutted from the obscurity like theuntrimmed overgrowths from the hedges of a neglected maze. Why didthe girl choose Wherwell, in the first place? Certainly she mighthave preferred it as being far from her home, no bad principle whenbeginning a new life. Or because it was one of the chief houses ofBenedictine nuns in all the south country, with scope for a giftedsister to rise to office and power. And why did she give orders tothree of her escort to remain in Andover instead of accompanyingher all the way. True, the one she retained was her confidant andwilling slave from infancy. If that was indeed true of him? It wasreputed of him, yes, but truth and reputation sometimes partcompany. And if true, why did she dismiss even him short of hergoal? Perhaps better phrase that more carefully: Did shedismiss him short of her goal? Then where did he spend the losthours before he returned to Andover? Gaping at the wonders ofWinchester, as he claimed? Or attending to more sinister business?What became of the treasures she carried? No great fortune, exceptto a man who lacked any fortune, but to him wealth enough. Andalways: What became of her?

And through the tangle he was beginning to glimpse a possibleanswer, and that uncertain inkling dismayed and terrified him morethan all the rest. For if he was right, there could be no good endto this that he could see, every way he probed thorns closed thepath. No way out, without worse ruin. Or a miracle.

He went to Prime at last, prompt to the bell, and prayedearnestly for a beckoning light. The need and the deserving mustsurely be known elsewhere even better than here, he thought, who amI to presume to fill a place far too big for me?

Brother Fidelis did not attend Prime, his empty place ached likethe soreness left after a pulled tooth. Rhun shone beside hisfriend’s vacant stall, and never once glanced at BrotherUrien. Such problems must not be allowed to distract his raptattention from the office and the liturgy. There would be a timelater in the day to give some thought to Urien, whose aggressionhad not been absolved, but only temporarily prevented. Rhun had nofear of shouldering the responsibility for another man’ssoul, being still half-child, with a child’s certainty andclarity. To go to his confessor and tell what he suspected and knewof Urien would be to deprive Urien of the whole value of thesacrament of confession, and to tell tales upon a comrade intravail; the former was arrogant in Rhun’s eyes, a kind ofspiritual theft, and the latter was despicable, a schoolboy’streachery. Yet something would have to be done, something more thanmerely removing Fidelis from the sphere of Urien’s tormentand greed. Meantime, Rhun prayed and sang and worshipped with awhole happy heart, and trusted his saint to give him guidance.

Cadfael made short work of breakfast, asked leave, and went tovisit Humilis. Coming armed with clean linen pad and green healingsalve, he found his patient propped up in his bed freshly washedand shaven, already fed, if indeed he had managed to swallowanything, his toilet seen to in devoted privacy, and a cup of wineand water ready to his hand. Fidelis sat on a low stool beside thebed, ready to stir at once in answer even to a guessed-at need, inany look or gesture. When Cadfael entered, Humilis smiled, thoughthe smile was pallidly blue of lip and cheek, translucent as ice.It is true, thought Cadfael, receiving that salutation, he is fastbound out of this world. It cannot be many days. The flesh meltsfrom his bones as you watch, into smoke, into air. His spiritoutgrows his body, soon it must burst out and become visible, thereis no room for it in this fragile parcel of bones.

Fidelis looked up and echoed his master’s smile, andleaned to turn back the single light cover from the shrunkenshanks, then rose from the stool to give place to Cadfael, andstood ready to offer a deft, assisting hand. Those menial serviceshe offered with so much love must be called on frequently now. Itwas marvel this body could function of itself at all, but there wasa will that would not let it surrender its rights—certainlynot to anything less than love.

“Have you slept?” asked Cadfael, smoothing his newdressing into place.

“I have, and well,” said Humilis. The better forhaving Fidelis by me. I have not deserved such privilege, but I ammeek enough to entreat for it to be continued. Will you speak withFather Abbot for me?”

“I would, if there was need,” said Cadfael heartily,“but he already knows and approves.”

“Then if I’m to have my indulgence,” saidHumilis, “speak for me now to this nurse and confessor andtyrant of mine, that he use a little kindness also to himself. Atleast he should go now to Mass, since I cannot, and take a turn inthe garden for a little while, before he shuts himself here againwith me.”

Fidelis heard all this smiling, but with a smile ofinexpressible sadness. The boy, thought Cadfael, knows all too wellthe time cannot be long, and numbers every moment, charging it withmeaning. Love in ignorance squanders what love, informed, crowdsand overfills with tokens of eternity.

“He says rightly,” said Cadfael. “You go toMass, and I’ll stay here until you come again. No need tohurry, I fancy you’ll find Brother Rhun waiting foryou.”

Fidelis accepted what he recognised as his purposeful dismissal,and went out silently, leaving them no less silent until his slightshadow had passed from the threshold of the room and out into theopen court.

Humilis lay back in his raised pillows, and drew a great breaththat should have floated his diminished body into the air, likethistledown.

“Will Rhun truly be looking for him?”

“He surely will,” said Cadfael.

“That’s well! Of such a one he has need. Aninnocent, of such native power! Oh, Cadfael, for the simplicity andthe wisdom of the dove! I wish Fidelis were such a one, but he isthe other, the complement, the inward one. I had to send him away,I must talk with you. Cadfael, I am troubled in my mind forFidelis.”

It was not news. Cadfael honestly nodded, and said nothing.

“Cadfael,” said the patient voice, delivered fromstress now that they were alone. “I’ve grown to knowyou a little, in this time you have been tending me. You know aswell as I that I am dying. Why should I grieve for that? I owe adeath that has been all but claimed of me a hundred times already.It is not for myself I’m troubled, it is for Fidelis. I dreadleaving him alone here, trapped in this life without me.”

“He will not be alone,” said Cadfael. “He is abrother of this house. He will have the service and fellowship ofall here,” The sharp, wry smile did not surprise him.“And mine,” he said, “if that means anything moreto you. Rhun’s, certainly. You have said yourself thatRhun’s loyalty is not to be despised.”

“No, truly. The saints of simplicity are made of hismetal. But you are not simple, Brother Cadfael. You are sometimesof frightening subtlety, and that also has its place. Moreover, Ibelieve you understand me. You understand the nature of the need.Will you take care of Fidelis for me, stand his friend, believe inhim, be shield and sword to him if need be, after I amgone?”

“To the best of my power,” said Cadfael, “yes,I will.” He leaned to wipe away a slow trickle of spittlefrom the corner of a mouth wearied with speaking and slack at thelip, and Humilis sighed, and let him serve, docile under the brieftouch. “You know,” said Cadfael gently, “what Ionly guess at. If I have guessed right, there is here a problembeyond my wit or yours to solve. I promise my endeavour. The endingis not mine, it belongs only to God. But what I can do, I willdo.”

“I would happily die,” said Humilis, “if mydeath can serve and save Fidelis. But what I dread is that mydeath, which cannot delay long, may only aggravate his trouble andhis suffering. Could I take them with me into the judgement, howgladly would I embrace them and go. God forbid he should ever bebrought to shame and punishment for what he has done.”

“If God forbids, man cannot touch him,” saidCadfael. “I see what needs to be done, but how to achieve it,God knows, I cannot see. Well, God’s vision is clearer thanmine, he may both see a way out of this tangle and open my eyes toit when the time is ripe. There’s a path through everyforest, and a safe passage somewhere through every marsh, it needsonly the finding.”

A faint grey smile passed slowly over the sick man’s face,and left him grave again. “I am the marsh out of whichFidelis must find safe passage. I should have Englished that nameof mine, it would have been more fitting, with more than half myblood Saxon—Godfrid of the Marsh for Godfrid de Marisco. Myfather and my grandfather thought best to turn fully Norman. Nowit’s all one, we leave here all by the same gate.” Helay still and silent for a while, visibly gathering his thoughtsand such strength as he had. “There is one other longing Ihave, before I die. I should like to see again the manor of Salton,where I was born. I should like to take Fidelis there, just once tobe with him outside the monastery walls, in the place that saw mybeginning. I ought to have asked permission earlier, but there isstill time. It’s only a few miles up-river from us. Will youspeak for me to the lord abbot, and ask this onekindness?”

Cadfael eyed him in doubt and consternation. “You cannotride, that’s certain. Whatever means we might take to get youthere, it would be asking too much of such strength as you haveleft.”

“No effort on my part can now alter by more than hourswhat is left of my life, but it would be a happiness to exchangesome part of my time remaining for a glimpse of the place where Iwas a child. Ask it for me, Cadfael.”

“There is the river,” said Cadfael dubiously,“but such twists and turns, it adds double to the journey.And such low water, you’d need a boatman who knows everyshoal and current.”

“You must know of such a one. I remember how we used toswim and fish off our own shore. Shrewsbury lads were watermen frombirth, I could swim before I could walk. There must be many suchadepts along this riverside.”

And so there were, and Cadfael knew the best of them, whoseknowledge of the Severn spanned every islet, every bend andshallow, and who at any season could judge accurately whereanything cast into the water would again be cast ashore. Madog ofthe Dead Boat had earned his title through the many sad services hehad rendered in his time to distracted families who had lost sonsor brothers into the flood after the melting of the Welsh snows farup-river, or too venturesome infants left unguarded for a momentwhile their mothers spread the washing on the bushes of the shore,or fishermen fathers putting out in their coracles with too muchale already under their belts. He did not resent his title, thoughhis preferred trade was fishing and ferrying. What he did for thedead someone had to do, in grace, and since he could do it betterthan any other, why should he not take pride in it? Cadfael hadknown him many years, an elderly Welshman like himself, and hadseveral times had occasion to seek his help, which was nevergrudged.

“Even in this low water,” said Cadfael thoughtfully,“Madog could get a coracle up the brook from the river, but acoracle wouldn’t carry you and Fidelis besides. But his lightskiff draws very little water, I daresay he could bring it into themill pond, there’s still depth enough that far up the brook,with the mill race fed back into it. We could carry you out by thewicket to the mill, and see you bestowed…”

“That far I could walk,” said Humilisresolutely.

“You’d be wise to save your energy for Salton. Whoknows?” marvelled Cadfael, noting the slight flush of bloodthat warmed the thin grey face at the very prospect of returning tothe first remembered home of his childhood—perhaps to endwhere he began. “Who knows, it may yet do you a world ofgood!”

“And you will ask the lord abbot?”

“I will,” said Cadfael. “When Fidelis returns,I’ll go to him.”

“Tell him there may be need for haste,” saidHumilis, and smiled.

Abbot Radulfus listened with his usual shrewdgravity, and considered for a while in silence before making anycomment. Outside the dim, wood-panelled parlour in his lodging thehot sun climbed, still veiled with a thin haze that turned itcopper-colour, and made it seem to burn even more fiercely. Theroses budded, flowered and fell all in one day.

“Is he strong enough to bear it?” asked the abbot atlength. “And is it not too great a load to lay upon BrotherFidelis, to bear responsibility for him all that time.”

“It’s the passing of his strength that makes him askso urgently,” said Cadfael. “If his wish is to begranted at all, it must be now, quickly. And he says rightly, itcan make very little difference to the tale of his remaining days,whether they end tomorrow or after another week. But to his peaceof mind this visit might make all the difference. As for BrotherFidelis, he has never yet shrunk from any burden laid upon him forlove, and will not now. And if Madog takes them, they’ll bein the best of hands. No one knows the river as he does. And he isto be trusted utterly.”

“For that I take your word,” said Radulfus equably.“But it is a desperate enterprise for so frail a man. Grantedit is his heart’s wish, and he has every right to advance it.But how will you get him to the boat? And at the other end, is hesure of his welcome at Salton? Will there be willing attendantsthere to care for him?”

“Salton is a part of the honour he has relinquished now toa cousin he hardly knows, Father, but tenant and servants therewill remember him. We can make a sling chair for him and carry himdown to the mill. The infirmary lies close to the wall there,it’s no distance to the mill wicket.”

“Very well,” said the abbot. “It had better bevery soon. If you know where to find this Madog, I give you leave,seek him out today, and if he’s willing this journey hadbetter be made tomorrow.”

Cadfael thanked him and departed, well pleased on his ownaccount. He was no longer quite as ready as he would once have beento take leave of absence without asking, unless for a life-or-deathreason, but he had no objection to making the very most of officialleave when it was given. The prospect of a meal with Hugh and Alinein the town, instead of the hushed austerity of the refectory, andthen a leisurely hunt along the waterside for Madog or news of him,and a comradely gossip when he was found, had all the attractionsof a feast-day. But he looked in again on Humilis before he leftthe enclave, and told him how he had fared. Fidelis was again incareful attendance at the bedside, withdrawn and unobtrusive asever.

“Abbot Radulfus grants your wish,” said Cadfael,“and gives me leave to go and find Madog for you this veryday. If he’s agreeable, you can go to Saltontomorrow.”

Hugh’s house by Saint Mary’s churchhad an enclosed garden behind it, a small central herber withgrassed benches round it, and fruit trees to give shade. ThereAline Beringar was sitting on the clipped seat sown withclose-growing, fragrant herbs, with her son playing beside her. Nottwo years old until Christmas, Giles stood tall and sturdy and firmon his feet, made on a bigger scale than either his dark, trimfather or his slender, fair mother. He had a rich colouringsomewhere between the two, light bronze hair and round brown eyes,and a will of steel inherited, perhaps, from both, but not yetdisciplined. He was wearing, in this hot summer, nothing at all,and was brown as a hazel-nut from brow to toes.

He had a pair of cut-out wooden knights, garishly painted andstrung by two strings through their middles, their feet weightedwith little blobs of lead, their legs and sword-arms jointed sothat when the cords were tweaked from both ends they flourishedtheir weapons and danced and slashed at each other in a verybloodthirsty manner. Constance, his willing slave, had forsaken himto go and supervise the preparations for dinner, and he clamouredimperiously for his godfather to supply the vacated place. Cadfaelkneeled in the turf, only mildly complaining of the creaks in hisjoints, and manned the cords doughtily. In these arts he was wellpractised since the birth of Giles. Moreover, he must be carefulnot to be seen to give his opponent the better of the exchange bydesign, or there would be a shriek of knightly outrage. The heirand pride of the Beringars knew when he was being condescended to,and wholeheartedly resented it, convinced he was any man’sequal. But he was none too pleased when he was defeated, either. Itwas necessary to walk a mountebank’s tightrope to avoid hisdispleasure.

“You’ll be wanting Hugh,” said Aline serenelythrough her son’s squeals of delight, and drew in her feet togive them full play for their strings. “He’ll be homefor dinner in a little while. There’svenison—they’ve started the cull.”

“So have a few other law-abiding citizens of the town, Idaresay,” said Cadfael, energetically manipulating the cordsto make the twin wooden swords flail like windmills.

“One here and there, what does it matter? Hugh knows howlong to turn a blind eye. Good meat, and enough of it—and theking with little use for it, as things are! But it may not be longnow,” said Aline, and smiled over her needlework, incliningher pale gold head and fair face above her naked son, sprawled onthe grass tugging his strings in two plump brown fists. “Hisown friends are beginning to work upon Robert of Gloucester, urginghim to agree to the exchange. He knows she can do nothing withouthim. He must give way.”

Cadfael sat back on his heels, letting the cords fall slack. Thetwo wooden warriors fell flat in one embrace, both slain, and Gilestugged indignantly to bring them to life again, and was left tostruggle in vain for a while.

“Aline,” said Cadfael earnestly, looking up into hergentle face, “if ever I should have need of you suddenly, andcome to fetch you, or send you word to come—would you come?Wherever it was? And bring whatever I asked you tobring?”

“Short of the sun or the moon,” said Aline, smiling,“whatever you asked, I would bring, and wherever you wantedme, I would come. Why? What’s in your mind? Is itsecret?”

“As yet,” said Cadfael ruefully, “it is. ForI’m almost as blind as I must leave you, girl dear, until Isee my way, if ever I do. But indeed, some day soon I might needyou.”

The imp Giles, distracted from his game and losing interest inthe inexplicable conversation of his elders, hoisted his fallenknights, and went off hopefully after the floating savour of hisdinner.

Hugh came hungry and in haste from the castle, andlistened to Cadfael’s account of developments at the abbeywith meditative interest, over the venison Aline brought to theboard.

“I remember it was said when they came here—was ityou who told me so? It might well be!—that Marescot was bornat Salton, and had a hankering to see it again. A pity he’sbrought so low. It seems this matter of the girl may not be solvedfor him this side of death. Why should he not have what can bestmake his going pleasant and endurable? It can cost him nothing buta few hours or days of surely burdensome living. But I wish wecould have done better for him over the girl.”

“We may yet,” said Cadfael, “if God wills.You’ve had no further word from Nicholas inWinchester?”

“Nothing as yet. And small wonder, in a town and acountryside torn to pieces by fire and war. Hard to find anythingamong the ashes.”

“And how is it with your prisoner? He has not convenientlyremembered anything more from his journey to Winchester?”

Hugh laughed. “Heriet has the good sense to know wherehe’s safe, and sits very contentedly in his cell, well fed,well housed and well bedded. Solitude is no hardship to him.Question him, and he says again what he has already said, and neverfalls foul of a detail, either, no matter how you try to trip him.Not all the king’s lawyers would get anything more out ofhim. Besides, I took care to let him know that Cruce has been heretwice, thirsty for his blood. It may be necessary to put a guard onhis prison to keep Cruce out, but certainly not to keep Heriet in.He sits quietly and bides his time, sure we must loose him at lastfor want of proof.”

“Do you believe he ever harmed the girl?” saidCadfael.

“Do you?”

“No. But he is the one man who knows what did happen toher, and if he but knew it, he would be wise to speak, but to youonly. No need for any witness besides. Do you think you could bringhim to speak, by giving him to understand it was between you twoonly?”

“No,” said Hugh simply. “What cause has he totrust me so far, if he has gone three years without trusting anyother, and keeps his mouth shut still, even to his own peril? No, Ithink I know his mettle. He’ll continue secret as thegrave.”

And indeed, thought Cadfael, there are secrets which should beburied beyond discovery, things, even people, lost beyond finding,for their own sake, for all our sakes.

He took his leave, and went on through the town,and down to the waterside under the western bridge that led outtowards Wales, and there was Madog of the Dead Boat working at hisusual small enclosure, weaving the rim of a new coracle withintertwined hazel withies, peeled and soaked in the shallows underthe bridge. A squat, square, hairy, bandy-legged Welshman ofunknown age, though apparently made to last for ever, since no onecould remember a time when he had looked any younger, and theturning of the years did not seem to make him look any older. Hesquinted up at Cadfael from under thick, jutting eyebrows that hadturned grey while his hair was still black, and gave leisurelygreeting, his brown hands still plaiting at the wands withpractised dexterity.

“Well, old friend, you’ve become almost a strangerthis summer. What’s the word with you, to bring you herelooking for me—for I take it that was your purpose, this sidethe town? Sit down and be neighbourly for a while.”

Cadfael sat down beside him in the bleached grass, and measuredthe diminished level of the Severn with a considering eye.

“You’ll be saying I never come near but when I wantsomething of you. But indeed we’ve had a crowded year, whatwith one thing and another. How do you find working the water now,in this drought? There must be a deal of tricky shallows upstream,after so long without rain.”

“None that I don’t know,” said Madogcomfortably. “True, the fishing’s profitless, and Iwouldn’t say you could get a loaded barge up as far as Pool,but I can get where I want to go. Why? Have you work for me? Icould do with a day’s pay, easy come by.”

“Easy enough, if you can get yourself and two more up asfar as Salton. Lightweights both, for the one’s skin andbone, and the other young and slender.”

Madog leaned back from his work, interested, and asked simply:“When?”

“Tomorrow, if nothing prevents.”

“It would be far shorter to ride,” Madog observed,studying his friend with kindling curiosity.

“Too late for one of these ever to ride again. He’sa dying man, and wants to see again the place where he wasborn.”

“Salton?” Shrewd dark eyes blinked through theirthick silver brows. “That should be a de Marisco. We heardyou had the last of them in your house.”

“Marescot, they’re calling it now. Of the Marsh,Godfrid says it should better have been, his line being Saxon. Yes,the same. His time is not long. He wants to complete the circle ofbirth to death before he goes.”

“Tell me,” said Madog simply, and listened withstill and serene attention as Cadfael told him the nature of hiscargo, and all that was required of him.

“Now,” he said, when all was told, “I’lltell what I think. This weather will not hold much longer, but forall that, it may still tarry a week or so. If your paladin is asset on his pilgrimage as you say, if he’s willing to venturewhatever comes, then I’ll bring my boat into the mill-pooltomorrow after Prime. I’ll have something aboard to shelterhim if the rain does come. I keep a waxed sheet to cover goods thatwill as well cover a knight or a brother of the Benedictines atneed.”

“Such a cerecloth,” said Brother Cadfael verysoberly, “may be only too fitting for Brother Humilis. And hewill not despise it.”