Shropshire stood nearer to the fighting now than it had been for three years, being neighbour to an earl of Chester elated by success and greedy for still more lands. Every one of Hugh’s depleted garrisons stood to arms, ready to defend its threatened security.
They were out from Mass, and Hugh had lingered in speech with the abbot in the great court, when there was sudden bustle in the arch of the gatehouse, and a small procession entered from the Foregate. Four sturdy countrymen in homespun came striding confidently, two with bows strung and slung ready for action, one shouldering a billhook, and the fourth a long, handled pikel. Between them, with two of her escort on either side, rode a plump middle, aged woman on a diminutive mule, and wearing the black habit of a Benedictine nun. The white bands of her wimple framed a rounded rosy face, well, fleshed and well, boned, and lit by a pair of bright brown eyes. She was booted like a man, and her habit kilted for riding, but she swung it loose with one motion of a broad hand as she dismounted, and stood alert and discreet, looking calmly about her in search of someone in authority.
‘We have a visiting sister,’ said the abbot mildly, eyeing her with interest, ‘but one that I do not know.’ Brother Cadfael, crossing the court without haste towards the garden and the herbarium, had also marked the sudden brisk bustle at the gate, and checked at the sight of a well remembered figure. He had encountered this lady once before, and found her well worth remembering. And it seemed that she, also, recalled their meeting with pleasure, for the moment her eyes lit upon him the spark of recognition flashed in them, and she came at once towards him. He went to meet her gladly. Her rustic bodyguard, satisfied at having delivered her successfully where she would be, stood by the gatehouse, straddling the cobbles complacently, and by no means intimidated or impressed by their surroundings.
‘I thought I should know that gait,’ said the lady with satisfaction. ‘You are Brother Cadfael, who came once on business to our cell. I’m glad to have found you to hand, I know no one else here. Will you make me known to your abbot?’ ‘Proudly,’ said Cadfael, ‘and he’s regarding you this minute from the corner of the cloister. It’s two years now… Am I to tell him he’s honoured by a visit from Sister Avice?’ ‘Sister Magdalen,’ she said demurely and faintly smiled; and when she smiled, however briefly and decorously, the sudden dazzling dimple he remembered flashed like a star in her weathered cheek. He had wondered then whether she had not better find some way of exorcising it in her new vocation, or whether it might not still be the most formidable weapon in her armoury. He was aware that he blinked, and that she noted it. There was always something conspiratorial in Avice of Thornbury that made every man feel he was the only one in whom she confided. ‘And my errand,’ she said practically, ‘is really to Hugh Beringar, for I hear Gilbert Prestcote did not come back from Lincoln. They told us in the Foregate we should find him here, or we were bound up to the castle to look for him.’ ‘He is here,’ said Cadfael, ‘fresh from Mass, and talking with Abbot Radulfus. Over my shoulder you’ll see them both.’ She looked, and by the expression of her face she approved. Abbot Radulfus was more than commonly tall, erect as a lance, and sinewy, with a lean hawk, face and a calmly measuring eye; and Hugh, if he stood a whole head shorter and carried but light weight, if he spoke quietly and made no move to call attention to himself, nevertheless seldom went unnoticed. Sister Magdalen studied him from head to heel with one flash of her brown eyes. She was a judge of a man, and knew one when she saw him.
‘Very well so!’ she said, nodding. ‘Come, and I’ll pay my respects.’ Radulfus marked their first move towards him and went to meet them, with Hugh at his shoulder.
‘Father Abbot,’ said Cadfael, ‘here is come Sister Magdalen of our order, from the cell of Polesworth which lies some miles to the southwest, in the forest at Godric’s Ford. And her business is also with Hugh Beringar as sheriff of this shire.’ She made a very graceful reverence and stooped to the abbot’s hand. ‘Truly, what I have to tell concerns all here who have to do with order and peace, Father. Brother Cadfael here has visited our cell, and knows how we stand in these troublous times, solitary and so close to Wales. He can advise and explain, if I fall short.’ ‘You are welcome, sister,’ said Radulfus, measuring her as shrewdly as she had measured him. ‘Brother Cadfael shall be of our counsel. I trust you will be my guest for dinner. And for your guards, for I see they are devoted in attendance on you, I will give orders for their entertainment. And if you are not so far acquainted, here at my side is Hugh Beringar, whom you seek.’ Though that cheek was turned away from him, Cadfael was certain that her dimple sparkled as she turned to Hugh and made her formal acknowledgement. ‘My lord, I was never so happy,’ she said, and whether that was high courtesy or mischief might still be questioned, ‘as to meet with you before, it was with your sheriff I once had some speech. As I have heard he did not return with you and may be prisoner, and for that I am sorry.’ ‘I, too,’ said Hugh. ‘As I hope to redeem him, if chance offers. I see from your escort, sister, that you have had cause to move with caution through the forest. I think that is also my business, now I am back.’ ‘Let us go into my parlour,’ said the abbot, ‘and hear what Sister Magdalen has to tell us. And, Brother Cadfael, will you bear word to Brother Denis that the best of our house is at the disposal of our sister’s guards? And then come to join us, for your knowledge may be needed.’ She was seated a little withdrawn from the fire when Cadfael entered the abbot’s parlour some minutes later, her feet drawn trimly under the hem of her habit, her back erect against the panelled wall. The more closely and the longer he viewed her, the more warmly did he remember her. She had been for many years, from her beautiful youth, a baron’s mistress, accepting that situation as an honest business agreement, a fair return for her body to give her escape from her poverty and cultivation for her mind. And she had held to her bargain loyally, even affectionately, as long as her lord remained alive. The loss of one profession offering scope for her considerable talents had set her looking about, with her customary resolution, for another as rewarding, at an age when such openings may be few indeed. The superior at Godric’s Ford, first, and the prioress of Polesworth after, however astonished they might have been at being confronted with such a postulant, must have seen something in Avice of Thornbury well worth acquiring for the order. A woman of her word, ungrudging, to her first allegiance, she would be as good as her word now to this new attachment. Whether it could have been called a vocation in the first place might seem very doubtful, but with application and patience she would make it so.
‘When this matter of Lincoln blazed up as it did in January,’ she said, ‘we got rumour that certain of the Welsh were ready to rise in arms. Not, I suppose, for any partisan loyalty, but for plunder to be had when these two powers collided. Prince Cadwaladr of Gwynedd was mustering a war, band, and the Welsh of Powys rose to join him, and it was said they would march to aid the earl of Chester. So before the battle we had our warning.’ It was she who had heeded it. Who else, in that small nest of holy women, could have sensed how the winds blew between claimants for the crown, between Welsh and English, between ambitious earl and greedy tribesman?
‘Therefore, Father, it was no great surprise to us, some four days ago, when a lad from an assart west of us came running in haste to tell us how his father’s cot and holding was laid waste, his family fled eastward, and how a Welsh raiding party was drinking its fill in what remained of his home, and boasting how it would disembowel the nunnery of Godric’s Ford. Huntsmen on their way home will not despise a few stray head of game to add to their booty. We had not the news of the defeat of Lincoln then,’ she said, meeting Hugh’s attentive gaze, ‘but we made our judgements accordingly and took heed. Cadwaladr’s shortest way home with his plunder to his castle at Aberystwyth skirts Shrewsbury close. Seemingly he still feared to come too near the town, even with the garrison thinned as he knew it must be. But he felt safer with us in the forest. And with only a handful of women to deal with, it was worth his while to spend a day in sport, and strip us bare.’ ‘And this was four days ago?’ asked Hugh, sharply intent.
‘Four when the boy came. He’s safe enough, and so is his sire, but their cattle are gone, driven off westward. Three days, when they reached us. We had a day to prepare.’ ‘This was a despicable undertaking,’ said Radulfus with anger and disgust,’to fasten like cowards upon a household of defenceless women. Great shame to the Welsh or any others who attempt such infamies. And we here knowing nothing of your need!’ ‘Never fear, Father, we have weathered this storm well enough. Our house yet stands, and has not been plundered, nor harm come to any of our women, and barely a scratch or two among the forest menfolk. And we were not quite defenceless. They came on the western side, and our brook runs between. Brother Cadfael knows the lie of the land there.’ ‘The brook would be
