took their profits, made their shrewd purchases, and scattered again in peace to return to their own homes, as though neither king nor empress existed, or had any power to hamper the movements or threaten the lives of ordinary, sensible men.
“You’ll have heard nothing new since the merchants left?” Cadfael asked, scanning the blanched traces their stalls had left behind.
“Nothing yet. It seems they’re eyeing each other across the city, each waiting for the other to make a move. Winchester must be holding its breath. The last word is that the empress sent for Bishop Henry to come to her at the castle, and he has sent a soft answer that he is preparing himself for the meeting. But stirred not a foot, so far, to move within reach of her. But for all that,” said Hugh thoughtfully, “I dare wager he’s preparing, sure enough. She has mustered her forces, he’ll be calling up his before ever he goes near her, if he does!”
“And while they hold their breath, you may breathe more freely,” said Cadfael shrewdly.
Hugh laughed. “While my enemies fall out, at least it keeps their minds off me and mine. Even if they come to terms again, and she wins him back, there’s at least a few weeks’ delay gained for the king’s party. If not, why, better they should tear each other than save their arrows for us.”
“Do you think he’ll stand out against her?”
“She has treated him as haughtily as she does every man, when he did her good menial service. Now he has half-defied her he may well be reflecting that she takes very unkindly to being thwarted, and that a bishop can be clapped in chains as easily as a king, once she lays hands on him. No, I fancy his lordship is stocking his own castle of Wolvesey to withstand a siege, if it comes to that, and calling up his men in haste. Who bargains with the empress had better bargain from behind an army.”
The queen’s army?” demanded Cadfael, sharp-eyed.
Hugh had begun to wheel his horse back towards the town, but he looked round over a bare brown shoulder with a flashing glint of black eyes. “That we shall see! I would guess the first courier ever he sent out for aid went to Queen Matilda.”
“Brother Cadfael…” began Oswin, trotting jauntily beside him as they walked on towards the rim of the town, where the hospital and its chapel rose plain and grey within their long wattle fence.
“Yes, son?”
“Would even the empress really dare lay hands on the Bishop of Winchester? The Holy Father’s legate here?”
“Who can tell? But there’s not much she will not dare.”
“But… That there could be fighting between them…”
Oswin puffed out his round young cheeks in a great breath of wonder and deprecation. Such a thing seemed to him unimaginable. “Brother, you have been in the world and have experience of wars and battles. And I know that there were bishops and great churchmen went to do battle for the Holy Sepulchre, as you did, but should they be found in arms for any lesser cause?”
Whether they should, thought Cadfael, is for them to take up with their judge in the judgement, but that they are so found, have been aforetime and will be hereafter, is beyond doubt. To be charitable,” he said cautiously, “in this case his lordship may consider his own freedom, safety and life to be a very worthy cause. Some have been called to accept martyrdom meekly, but that should surely be for nothing less than their faith. And a dead bishop could be of little service to his church, and a legate mouldering in prison little profit to the Holy Father.”
Brother Oswin strode beside for some moments judicially mute, digesting that plea and apparently finding it somewhat dubious, or else suspecting that he had not fully comprehended the argument. Then he asked ingenuously: ‘Brother, would you take arms again? Once having renounced them? For any cause?”
“Son,” said Cadfael, “you have the knack of asking questions which cannot be answered. How do I know what I would do, in extreme need? As a brother of the Order I would wish to keep my hands from violence against any, but for all that, I hope I would not turn my back if I saw innocence or helplessness being abused. Bear in mind even the bishops carry a crook, meant to protect the flock as well as guide it. Let princes and empresses and warriors mind their own duties, you give all your mind to yours, and you’ll do well.”
They were nearing the trodden path that led up a grassy slope to the open gate in the wattle fence. The modest turret of the chapel eyed them over the roof of the hospice. Brother Oswin bounded up the slope eagerly, his cherubic face bright with confidence, bound for a new field of endeavour, and certain of mastering it. There was probably no pitfall here he would evade, but none of them would hold him for long, or damp his unquenchable ardour.
“Now remember all I’ve taught you,” said Cadfael. “Be obedient to Brother Simon. You will work for a time under him, as he did under Brother Mark. The superior is a layman from the Foregate, but you’ll see little of him between his occasional visitations and inspections, and he’s a good soul and listens to counsel. And I shall be in attendance every now and again, should you ever need me. Come, and I’ll show you where everything is.”
Brother Simon was a comfortable, round man in his forties. He came out to meet them at the porch, with a gangling boy of about twelve by the hand. The child’s eyes were white with the caul of blindness, but otherwise he was whole and comely, by no means the saddest sight to be found here, where the infected and diseased might find at once a refuge and a prison for their contagion, since they were not permitted to carry it into the streets of the town, among the uncorrupted. There were cripples sunning themselves in the little orchard behind the hospice, old, pox-riddled men, and faded women in the barn plaiting bands for the straw stooks as they were stacked. Those who could work a little were glad to do so for their keep, those who could not were passive in the sun, unless they had skin rashes which the heat only aggravated. These kept under the shade of the fruit-trees, or those most fevered in the chill of the chapel.
“As at present,” said Brother Simon, “we have eighteen, which is not so ill, for so hot a season. Three are able-bodied, and mending of their sickness, which was not contagious, and they’ll be on their way within days now. But there’ll be others, young man, there’ll always be others. They come and go. Some by the roads, some out of this world’s bane. None the worse, I hope, for passing through that door in this place.”
He had a slightly preaching style which caused Cadfael to smile inwardly, remembering Mark’s lovely simplicity, but he was a good man, hard-working, compassionate, and very deft with those big hands of his. Oswin would drink in his solemn homilies with reverence and wonder, and go about his work refreshed and unquestioning.
I’ll see the lad round myself, if you’ll let me,” said Cadfael, hitching forward the laden scrip at his girdle. “I’ve brought you all the medicaments you asked for, and some I thought might be needed, besides. We’ll find you when we’re done.”
