Chapter One. The Summer of the Danes

The Summer of the Danes

Ellis Peters

The Eighteenth Chronicle of Brother Cadfael

Digital Edition v2 HTML – February 6, 2003

Copyright 1991 © by Ellis Peters

All rights reserved

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

^»

T he extraordinary events of that summer of 1144may properly be said to have begun the previous year, in a tangleof threads both ecclesiastical and secular, a net in which anynumber of diverse people became enmeshed, clerics, from thearchbishop down to Bishop Roger de Clinton’s lowliest deacon,and the laity from the princes of North Wales down to the humblestcottager in the trefs of Arfon. And among the commonalty thusentrammelled, more to the point, an elderly Benedictine monk of theAbbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, at Shrewsbury.

Brother Cadfael had approached that April in a mood of slightlyrestless hopefulness, as was usual with him when the birds werenesting, and the meadow flowers just beginning to thrust their budsup through the new grass, and the sun to rise a little higher inthe sky every noon. True, there were troubles in the world, asthere always had been. The vexed affairs of England, torn in two bytwo cousins contending for the throne, had still no visible hope ofa solution. King Stephen still held his own in the south and mostof the east; the Empress Maud, thanks to her loyal half-brother,Robert of Gloucester, was securely established in the southwest andmaintained her own court unmolested in Devizes. But for some monthsnow there had been very little fighting between them, whether fromexhaustion or policy, and a strange calm had settled over thecountry, almost peace. In the Fens the raging outlaw Geoffrey deMandeville, every man’s enemy, was still at liberty, but aliberty constricted by the king’s new encircling fortresses,and increasingly vulnerable. All in all, there was room for somecautious optimism, and the very freshness and luster of the springforbade despondency, even had despondency been amongCadfael’s propensities.

So he came to chapter, on this particular day at the end ofApril, in the most serene and acquiescent of spirits, full of mildgood intentions towards all men, and content that things shouldcontinue as bland and uneventful through the summer and into theautumn. He certainly had no premonition of any immediate change inthis idyllic condition, much less of the agency by which it was tocome.

As though compelled, half fearfully and half gratefully, to thesame precarious but welcome quietude, the business at chapter thatday was modest and aroused no dispute, there was no one in default,not even a small sin among the novices for Brother Jerome todeplore, and the schoolboys, intoxicated with the spring and thesunshine, seemed to be behaving like the angels they certainly werenot. Even the chapter of the Rule, read in the flat, deprecatingtones of Brother Francis, was the 34th, gently explaining that thedoctrine of equal shares for all could not always be maintained,since the needs of one might exceed the needs of another, and hewho received more accordingly must not preen himself on beingsupplied beyond his brothers, and he that received less but enoughmust not grudge the extra bestowed on his brothers. And above all,no grumbling, no envy. Everything was placid, conciliatory,moderate. Perhaps, even, a shade on the dull side?

It is a blessed thing, on the whole, to live in slightly dulltimes, especially after disorder, siege and bitter contention. Butthere was still a morsel somewhere in Cadfael that itched if thehush continued too long. A little excitement, after all, need notbe mischief, and does sound a pleasant counterpoint to the constantorder, however much that may be loved and however faithfullyserved.

They were at the end of routine business, and Cadfael’sattention had wandered away from the details of thecellarer’s accounts, since he himself had no function as anobedientiary, and was content to leave such matters to those whohad. Abbot Radulfus was about to close the chapter, with a sweepingglance around him to make sure that no one else was brooding oversome demur or reservation, when the lay porter who served at thegatehouse during service or chapter put his head in at the door, ina manner which suggested he had been waiting for this very moment,just out of sight.

“Father Abbot, there is a guest here from Lichfield.Bishop de Clinton has sent him on an errand into Wales, and he askslodging here for a night or two.”

Anyone of less importance, thought Cadfael, and he would havelet it wait until we all emerged, but if the bishop is involved itmay well be serious business, and require official considerationbefore we disperse. He had good memories of Roger de Clinton, a manof decision and solid good sense, with an eye for the genuine andthe bogus in other men, and a short way with problems of doctrine.By the spark in the abbot’s eye, though his face remainedimpassive, Radulfus also recalled the bishop’s last visitwith appreciation.

“The bishop’s envoy is very welcome,” he said,“and may lodge here for as long as he wishes. Has he someimmediate request of us, before I close this chapter?”

“Father, he would like to make his reverence to you atonce, and let you know what his errand is. At your will whether itshould be here or in private.”

“Let him come in,” said Radulfus.

The porter vanished, and the small, discreet buzz of curiosityand speculation that went round the chapterhouse like a ripple on apond ebbed into anticipatory silence as the bishop’s envoycame in and stood among them.

A little man, of slender bones and lean but wiry flesh,diminutive as a sixteen-year-old boy, and looking very much likeone, until discerning attention discovered the quality and maturityof the oval, beardless face. A Benedictine like these his brothers,tonsured and habited, he stood erect in the dignity of his officeand the humility and simplicity of his nature, as fragile as achild and as durable as a tree. His straw-coloured ring of croppedhair had an unruly spikiness, recalling the child. His grey eyes,formidably direct and clear, confirmed the man.

A small miracle! Cadfael found himself suddenly presented with agift he had often longed for in the past few years, by its verysuddenness and improbability surely miraculous. Roger de Clintonhad chosen as his accredited envoy into Wales not some portly canonof imposing presence, from the inner hierarchy of his extensivesee, but the youngest and humblest deacon in his household, BrotherMark, sometime of Shrewsbury abbey, and assistant for two fondlyremembered years among the herbs and medicines of Cadfael’sworkshop.

Brother Mark made a deep reverence to the abbot, dipping hisebullient tonsure with a solemnity which still retained, until helifted those clear eyes again, the slight echo and charm ofabsurdity which had always clung about the mute waif Cadfael firstrecalled. When he stood erect he was again the ambassador; he wouldalways be both man and child from this time forth, until the daywhen he became priest, which was his passionate desire. And thatcould not be for some years yet, he was not old enough to beaccepted.

“My lord,” he said, “I am sent by my bishop onan errand of goodwill into Wales. He prays you receive and house mefor a night or two among you.”

“My son,” said the abbot, smiling, “you needhere no credentials but your presence. Did you think we could haveforgotten you so soon? You have here as many friends as there arebrothers, and in only two days you will find it hard to satisfythem all. And as for your errand, or your lord’s errand, wewill do all we can to forward it. Do you wish to speak of it? Here,or in private?”

Brother Mark’s solemn face melted into a delighted smileat being not only remembered, but remembered with obvious pleasure.“It is no long story, Father,” he said, “and Imay well declare it here, though later I would entreat your adviceand counsel, for such an embassage is new to me, and there is noone could better aid me to perform it faithfully than you. You knowthat last year the Church chose to restore the bishopric of SaintAsaph, at Llanelwy.”

Radulfus agreed, with an inclination of his head. The fourthWelsh diocese had been in abeyance for some seventy years, very fewnow living could remember when there had been a bishop on thethrone of Saint Kentigern. The location of the see, with a footeither side the border, and all the power of Gwynedd to westward,had always made it difficult to maintain. The cathedral stood onland held by the earl of Chester, but all the Clwyd valley above itwas in Owain Gwynedd’s territory. Exactly why ArchbishopTheobald had resolved on reviving the diocese at this time was notquite clear to anyone, perhaps not even the archbishop. Mixedmotives of Church politics and secular manoeuvring apparentlyrequired a firmly English hold on this borderland, for theappointed man was a Norman. There was not much tenderness towardsWelsh sensitivities in such a preferment, Cadfael reflectedruefully.

“And after his consecration last year by ArchbishopTheobald, at Lambeth, Bishop Gilbert is finally installed in hissee, and the archbishop wishes him to receive assurance he has thesupport of our own bishop, since the pastoral duties in those partsformerly rested in the diocese of Lichfield. I am the bearer ofletters and gifts to Llanelwy on my lord’s behalf.”

That made sense, if the whole intent of the Church was to gain afirm foothold well into Welsh land, and demonstrate that it wouldbe preserved and defended. A marvel, Cadfael considered, that anybishop had ever contrived to manage so huge a see as the originalbishopric of Mercia, successively shifting its base from Lichfieldto Chester, back again to Lichfield, and now to Coventry, in theeffort to remain in touch with as diverse a flock as ever shepherdtended. And Roger de Clinton might not be sorry to be quit of thoseborder parishes, whether or not he approved the strategy whichdeprived him of them.

“The errand that brings you back to us, even for a fewdays, is dearly welcome,” said Radulfus. “If my timeand experience can be of any avail to you, they are yours, though Ithink you are equipped to acquit yourself well without any helpfrom me or any man.”

“It is a weighty honour to be so trusted,” said Markvery gravely.

“If the bishop has no doubts,” said Radulfus,“neither need you. I take him for a man who can judge verywell where to place his trust. If you have ridden from Lichfieldyou must be in need of some rest and refreshment, for it’splain you set out early. Is your mount being cared for?”

“Yes, Father.” The old address came backnaturally.

“Then come with me to my lodging, and take some ease, anduse my time as you may wish. What wisdom I have is at yourdisposal.” He was already acutely aware, as Cadfael was, thatthis apparently simple mission to the newly made and alien bishopat Saint Asaph covered a multitude of other calculated risks andquestionable issues, and might well send this wise innocent feelinghis way foot by foot through a quagmire, with quaking turf on everyhand. All the more impressive, then, that Roger de Clinton hadplaced his faith in the youngest and least of his attendantclerics.

“This chapter is concluded,” said the abbot, and ledthe way out. As he passed the visitor by, Brother Mark’s greyeyes, at liberty at last to sweep the assembly for other oldfriends, met Cadfael’s eyes, and returned his smile, beforethe young man turned and followed his superior. Let Radulfus havehim for a while, savor him, get all his news from him, and all thedetails that might complicate his coming journey, give him thebenefit of long experience and unfailing commonsense. Later on,when that was done, Mark would find his own way back to the herbgarden.

“The bishop has been very good to me,”said Mark, shaking off firmly the idea of any special preferencebeing shown him in his selection for this mission, “but so heis to all those close about him. There’s more to this thanfavor to me. Now that he’s set up Bishop Gilbert in SaintAsaph, the archbishop knows very well how shaky his position mustbe, and wants to make sure his throne is secured by every supportpossible. It was his wish—indeed his command—that ourbishop should pay the new man this complimentary visit, seeingit’s from his diocese most of Gilbert’s new see hasbeen lopped. Let the world see what harmony there is amongbishops—even bishops who have had a third of their territorywhipped from under their feet. Whatever Bishop Roger may bethinking of the wisdom of planting a Norman, with not a word ofWelsh, in a see nine-tenths Welsh, he could hardly refuse thearchbishop. But it was left to him how he carried out the order. Ithink he chose me because he does not wish to make too lavish andflattering a show. His letter is formal and beautifully executed,his gift is more than suitable. But I—I am a judicioushalf-measure!”

They were gathered in conference in one of the carrels of thenorth walk, where the spring sunshine still reached slantingfingers of pale gold even in late afternoon, an hour or so beforeVespers. Hugh Beringar had ridden down from his house in the townas soon as word of Brother Mark’s arrival had reached him,not because the sheriff had any official business in this clericalembassage, but for the pleasure of seeing again a young man he heldin affectionate remembrance, and to whom, in this present instance,he might be able to give some help and advice. Hugh’srelations with North Wales were good. He had a friendly agreementwith Owain Gwynedd, since neither of them trusted their mutualneighbour the earl of Chester, and they could accept eachother’s word without question. With Madog ap Meredith ofPowis the sheriff had a more precarious relationship. TheShropshire border was constantly alert against sporadic and almostplayful raids from beyond the dyke, though at this present time allwas comparatively quiet. What the conditions of travel were likelyto be on this ride to Saint Asaph, Hugh was the most likely man toknow.

“I think you are too modest,” he said seriously.“I fancy the bishop knows you well enough by now, ifhe’s had you constantly about him, to have a very goodopinion of your wit, and trusts you to step gently where aweightier ambassador might talk too much and listen too little.Cadfael here will tell you more than I can about Welsh feeling inChurch matters, but I know where politics enter into it. You can besure that Owain Gwynedd has a sharp eye on the doings of ArchbishopTheobald in his domain, and Owain is always to be reckoned with.And only four years ago there was a new bishop consecrated in hisown home diocese of Bangor, which is totally Welsh. There at leastthey did sanction a Welshman, one who at first refused to swearfealty to King Stephen or acknowledge the dominance of Canterbury.Meurig was no hero, and did finally give way and do both, and itcost him Owain’s countenance and favour at the time. Therewas strong resistance to allowing him to take his seat. Butthey’ve come to terms and made up their differences sincethen, which means they’ll certainly work together to keepGwynedd from being wholly subservient to Theobald’sinfluence. To consecrate a Norman now to Saint Asaph is a challengeto princes as well as prelates, and whoever undertakes a diplomaticmission there will have to keep a sharp eye on both.”

“And Owain at least,” Cadfael added shrewdly,“will be keeping a sharp eye on what his people are feeling,and an ear open to what they are saying. It behoves Gilbert to dothe same. Gwynedd has no mind to give way to Canterbury, they havesaints and customs and rites of their own.”

“I have heard,” said Mark, “that formerly, along time ago, St David’s was the metropolitan see of Wales,with its own archbishop not subject to Canterbury. There are someWelsh churchmen now who want that rule restored.”

Cadfael shook his head rather dubiously at that. “Betternot to look too closely into the past, we’re hearing more ofthat claim the more the writ of Canterbury is urged on us. Butcertainly Owain will be casting his shadow over his new bishop, byway of a reminder he’s in alien territory, and had bettermind his manners. I hope he may be a wise man, and go gently withhis flock.”

“Our bishop is very much in agreement with you,”said Mark, “and I’m well briefed. I did not tell thewhole of my errand in chapter, though I have told it to FatherAbbot since. I have yet another letter and gift to deliver. I am togo on to Bangor—oh, no, this is certainly not at ArchbishopTheobald’s orders!—and pay the same courtesy to BishopMeurig as to Bishop Gilbert. If Theobald holds that bishops shouldstand together, then Roger de Clinton’s text is that theprinciple applies to Norman and Welsh alike. And we propose totreat them alike.”

The “we”, as applying to Mark in common with hisillustrious superior, sounded an echoing chord in Cadfael’sears. He recalled just as innocent a presumption of partnershipsome years back, when this boy had been gradually emerging from hiswell-founded wariness of all men into warmth and affection, andthis impulsive loyalty to those he admired and served. His“we”, then, had signified himself and Cadfael, as ifthey were two venturers keeping each the other’s back againstthe world.

“More and more,” said Hugh appreciatively, “Iwarm to this bishop of ours. But he’s sending you even onthis longer journey alone?”

“Not quite alone.” Brother Mark’s thin, brightface flashed for an instant into a slightly mischievous smile, asthough he had still some mysterious surprise up his sleeve.“But he would not hesitate to ride across Walesalone, and neither would I. He takes it for granted the Church andthe cloth will be respected. But of course I shall be glad of anyadvice you can give me about the best way. You know far better thanI or my bishop what conditions hold good in Wales. I thought to godirectly by Oswestry and Chirk. What do you think?”

“Things are quiet enough up there,” Hugh agreed.“In any event, Madog, whatever else he may be, is a pioussoul where churchmen are concerned, however he may treat theEnglish laity. And for the moment he has all the lesser lads ofPowys Fadog on a tight rein. Yes, you’ll be safe enough thatway, and it’s your quickest way, though you’ll findsome rough upland riding between Dee and Clwyd.”

By the brightness and speculation of Mark’s grey eyes hewas looking forward to his adventure. It is a great thing to betrusted with an important errand when you are the latest and leastof your lord’s servants, and for all his awareness that hishumble status was meant to temper the compliment, he was also awarehow much depended on the address with which he discharged his task.He was meant not to flatter, not to exalt, but nevertheless topresent in his person the real and formidable solidarity of bishopwith bishop.

“Are there things I should know,” he asked,“about affairs in Gwynedd? The politics of the Church mustreckon with the politics of state, and I am ignorant about thingsWelsh. I need to know on what subjects to keep my mouth shut, andwhen to speak, and what it would be wise to say. All the more as Iam to go on to Bangor. What if the court should be there? I mayhave to account for myself to Owain’s officers. Even to Owainhimself!”

“True enough,” said Hugh, “for he usuallycontrives to know of every stranger who enters his territory.You’ll find him approachable enough if you do encounter him.For that matter, you may give him my greetings and compliments. AndCadfael has met him, twice at least. A large man, every way! Justsay no word of brothers! It may still be a sore point withhim.”

“Brothers have been the ruin of Welsh princedoms throughall ages,” Cadfael observed ruefully. “Welsh princesshould have only one son apiece. The father builds up a soundprincipality and a strong rule, and after his death his three orfour or five sons, in and out of wedlock, all demand by right equalshares, and the law says they should have them. Then one picks offanother, to enlarge his portion, and it would take more than law tostop the killing. I wonder, sometimes, what will happen whenOwain’s gone. He has sons already, and time enough before himto get more. Are they, I wonder, going to undo everythinghe’s done?”

“Please God,” said Hugh fervently,“Owain’s going may not be for thirty years or more.He’s barely past forty. I can deal with Owain, he keeps hisword and he keeps his balance. If Cadwaladr had been the elder andgot the dominance we should have had border war along this frontieryear in, year out.”

“This Cadwaladr is the brother it’s best not tomention?’ Mark asked. “What has he done that makes himanathema?”

“A number of things over the years. Owain must love him,or he would have let someone rid him of the pest long ago. But thistime, murder. Some months ago, in the autumn of last year, a partyof his closest men ambushed the prince of Deheubarth and killedhim. God knows for what mad reason! The young fellow was in closealliance with him, and betrothed to Owain’s daughter, therewas no manner of sense in such an act. And for all Cadwaladr didnot appear himself in the deed, Owain for one was in no doubt itwas done on his orders. None of them would have dared, not of theirown doing.”

Cadfael recalled the shock of the murder, and the swift andthorough retribution. Owain Gwynedd in outraged justice had senthis son Hywel to drive Cadwaladr bodily out of every furlong ofland he held in Ceredigion, and burn his castle of Llanbadarn, andthe young man, barely past twenty, had accomplished his task withrelish and efficiency. Doubtless Cadwaladr had friends andadherents who would give him at least the shelter of aroof, but he remained landless and outcast. Cadfael could not butwonder, not only where the offender was lurking now, but whether hemight not end, like Geoffrey of Mandeville in the Fens, gatheringthe scum of North Wales about him, criminals, malcontents, naturaloutlaws, and preying on all law-abiding people.

“What became of this Cadwaladr?” asked Mark withunderstandable curiosity.

“Dispossession. Owain drove him out of every piece of landhe had to his name. Not a toehold left to him in Wales.”

“But he’s still at large, somewhere,” Cadfaelobserved, with some concern, “and by no means the man to takehis penalty tamely. There could be mischief yet to pay. I seeyou’re bound into a perilous labyrinth. I think you shouldnot be going alone.”

Hugh was studying Mark’s face, outwardly impassive, butwith a secretive sparkle of fun in the eyes that watched Cadfael soassiduously. “As I recall,” said Hugh mildly, “hesaid: ‘Not quite alone!’ ”

“So he did!” Cadfael stared into the young face thatconfronted him so solemnly, but for that betraying gleam in theeyes. “What is it, boy, that you have not told us? Out withit! Who goes with you?”

“But I did tell you,” said Mark, “that I amgoing on to Bangor. Bishop Gilbert is Norman, and speaks bothFrench and English, but Bishop Meurig is Welsh, and he and many ofhis people speak no English, and my Latin would serve me only amongthe clerics. So I am allowed an interpreter. Bishop Roger has nocompetent Welsh speaker close to him or in his confidence. Ioffered a name, one he had not forgotten.” The sparkle hadgrown into a radiance that lit his face, and reflected not onlylight but enlightenment back into Cadfael’s dazzled eyes.“I have been keeping the best till last,” said Mark,glowing. “I got leave to win my man, if Abbot Radulfus wouldsanction his absence. I have as good as promised him the loan willbe for only ten days or so at the most. So how can I possiblymiscarry,” asked Mark reasonably, “if you are comingwith me?”

It was a matter of principle, or perhaps of honor,with Brother Cadfael, when a door opened before him suddenly andunexpectedly, to accept the offer and walk through it. He did sowith even more alacrity if the door opened on a prospect of Wales;it might even be said that he broke into a trot, in case the doorslammed again on that enchanting view. Not merely a brief sallyover the border into Powis, this time, but several days of riding,in the very fellowship he would have chosen, right across thecoastal regions of Gwynedd, from Saint Asaph to Carnarvon, pastAber of the princes, under the tremendous shoulders of Moel Wnion.Time to talk over every day of the time they had been apart, timeto reach the companionable silences when all that needed to be saidwas said. And all this the gift of Brother Mark. Wonderful whatriches a man can bestow who by choice and vocation possessesnothing! The world is full of small, beneficent miracles.

“Son,” said Cadfael heartily, “for suchrefreshment I’ll be your groom along the way, as well as yourinterpreter. There’s no way you or any man could have givenme more pleasure. And did Radulfus really say I’m free togo?”

“He did,” Mark assured him, “and the choice ofa horse from the stables is yours. And you have today and tomorrowto make your preparations with Edmund and Winfrid for the daysyou’re absent, and to keep the hours of the Office sostrictly that even your errant soul shall go protected to Bangorand back.”

“I am wholly virtuous and regenerate,” said Cadfaelwith immense content. “Has not heaven just shown it byletting me loose into Wales? Do you think I am going to riskdisapprobation now?”

Since at least the first part of Mark’smission was meant to be public and demonstrative, there was noreason why every soul in the enclave should not take an avidinterest in it, and there was no lack of gratuitous adviceavailable from all sides as to how it could best be performed,especially from old Brother Dafydd in the infirmary, who had notseen his native cantref of Duffryn Clwyd for forty years, but wasstill convinced he knew it like the palm of his ancient hand. Hispleasure in the revival of the diocese was somewhat soured by theappointment of a Norman, but the mild excitement had given him anew interest in life, and he reverted happily to his own language,and was voluble in counsel when Cadfael visited him. AbbotRadulfus, by contrast, contributed nothing but his blessing. Themission belonged to Mark, and must be left scrupulously in hishands. Prior Robert forebore from comment, though his silence borea certain overtone of disapproval. An envoy of his dignity andpresence would have been more appropriate in the courts ofbishops.

Brother Cadfael reviewed his medical supplies, committed hisgarden confidently to Brother Winfrid, and paid a precautionaryvisit to Saint Giles to ensure that the hospital cupboards wereproperly provided, and Brother Oswin in serene command of hisflock, before he repaired to the stables to indulge in the pleasureof selecting his mount for the journey. It was there that Hughfound him early in the afternoon, contemplating with pleasure anelegant light roan with a cream-coloured mane, that leanedcomplacently to his caressing hand.

“Too tall for you,” said Hugh over his shoulder.“You’d need a lift into the saddle, and Mark couldnever hoist you.”

“I am not yet grown so heavy nor so shrunken with age thatI cannot scramble on to a horse,” said Cadfael with dignity.“What brings you here again and looking for me?”

“Why, a good notion Aline had, when I told her what youand Mark are up to. May is on the doorstep already, and in a weekor two at the most I should be packing her and Giles off toMaesbury for the summer. He has the run of the manor there, andit’s better for him out of the town.” It was his usualcustom to leave his family there until after the wool clip had beentaken and the fields gleaned, while he divided his time betweenhome and the business of the shire. Cadfael was familiar with theroutine. “She says, why should we not hasten the move by aweek, and ride with you tomorrow, to set you on your way as far asOswestry? The rest of the household can follow later, and we couldhave one day, at least, of your company, and you could bide thenight over with us at Maesbury if you choose. What do yousay?”

Cadfael said yes, very heartily, and so, when it was put to him,did Mark, though he declined, with regret, the offer of anight’s lodging. He was bent on reaching Llanelwy in twodays, and arriving at a civilised time, at the latest bymidafternoon, to allow time for the niceties of hospitality beforethe evening meal, so he preferred to go beyond Oswestry and wellinto Wales before halting for the night, to leave an easy stage forthe second day. If they could reach the valley of the Dee, theycould find lodging with one of the churches there, and cross theriver in the early morning.

So it seemed that everything was already accounted for, andthere remained nothing to be done but go reverently to Vespers andCompline, and commit this enterprise like all others to the will ofGod, but perhaps also with a gentle reminder to Saint Winifred thatthey were bound into her country, and if she felt inclined to lether delicate hand cover them along the way, the gesture would bevery much appreciated.

The morning of departure found a little cavalcade of six horsesand a pack-pony winding its way over the westward bridge and out ofthe town, on the road to Oswestry. There was Hugh, on his favoriteself-willed grey, with his son on his saddle-bow, Aline, unruffledby the haste of her preparations for leaving town, on her whitejennet, her maid and friend Constance pillion behind a groom, asecond groom following with the pack-pony on a leading rein, andthe two pilgrims to Saint Asaph merrily escorted by this familyparty. It was the last of April, a morning all green and silver.Cadfael and Mark had left before Prime, to join Hugh and his partyin the town. A shower, so fine as to be almost imperceptible in theair, had followed them over the bridge, where the Severn ran fullbut peaceful, and before they had assembled in Hugh’scourtyard the sun had come out fully, sparkling on the leaves andgrasses. The river was gilded in every ripple with capricious,scintillating light. A good day to be setting out, and no greatmatter why or where.

The sun was high, and the pearly mist of morning all dissolvedwhen they crossed the river at Mont ford. The road was good, somestretches of it with wide grass verges where the going wascomfortable and fast, and Giles demanded an occasional canter. Hewas much too proud to share a mount with anyone but his father.Once established at Maesbury the little pack-pony, sedate andgood-humored, would become his riding pony for the summer, and thegroom who led it his discreet guardian on his forays, for like mostchildren who have never seen cause to be afraid, he was fearless onhorseback—Aline said foolhardy, but hesitated to issuewarnings, perhaps for fear of shaking his confidence, or perhapsout of the certainty that they would not be heeded.

They halted at noon under the hill at Ness, where there was atenant of Hugh’s installed, to rest the horses and takerefreshment. Before mid-afternoon they reached Felton, and thereAline and the escort turned aside to take the nearest way home, butHugh elected to ride on with his friends to the outskirts ofOswestry. Giles was transferred, protesting but obedient, to hismother’s arms.

“Go safely, and return safely!” said Aline, herprimrose head pale and bright as the child’s, the gloss ofspring on her face and the burnish of sunlight in her smile. Andshe signed a little cross on the air between them before shewheeled her jennet into the lefthand track.

Delivered of the baggage and the womenfolk, they rode on at abrisker pace the few miles to Whittington, where they halted underthe walls of the small timber keep. Oswestry itself lay to theirleft, on Hugh’s route homeward. Mark and Cadfael must go onnorthward still, but here they were on the very borderland, countrywhich had been alternately Welsh and English for centuries beforeever the Normans came, where the names of hamlets and of men weremore likely to be Welsh than English. Hugh lived between the twogreat dykes the princes of Mercia had constructed long ago, to markwhere their holding and writ began, so that no force should easilyencroach, and no man who crossed from one side to the other shouldbe in any doubt under which law he stood. The lower barrier layjust to the east of the manor, much battered and leveled now; thegreater one had been raised to the west, when Mercian power hadbeen able to thrust further into Wales.

“Here I must leave you,” said Hugh, looking backalong the way they had come, and westward towards the town and thecastle. “A pity! I could gladly have ridden as far as SaintAsaph with you in such weather, but the king’s officers hadbest stay out of Church business and avoid the crossfire. I shouldbe loth to tread on Owain’s toes.”

“You have brought us as far as Bishop Gilbert’swrit, at any rate,” said Brother Mark, smiling. “Boththis church and yours of Saint Oswald are now in the see of SaintAsaph. Did you realise that? Lichfield has lost a great swathe ofparishes here in the northwest. I think it must be Canterburypolicy to spread the diocese both sides the border, so that theline between Welsh and English can count for nothing.”

“Owain will have something to say to that, too.”Hugh saluted them with a raised hand, and began to wheel his horsetowards the road home. “Go with God, and a good journey!We’ll look to see you again in ten days or so.” And hewas some yards distant when he looked back over his shoulder andcalled after them: “Keep him out of mischief! If youcan!” But there was no indication to which of them the pleawas addressed, or to which of them the misgiving applied. Theycould share it between them.

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