was, or was not, the same as his own “dittany”. He gave no more thought then to Meriet Aspley, who was so immovably bent on becoming a monk.
The young man was introduced at chapter next day, to make his formal profession and be made welcome by those who were to be his brothers. During their probation novices took no part in the discussions in chapter, but might be admitted to listen and learn on occasions, and Abbot Radulfus held that they were entitled to be received with brotherly courtesy from their entry.
In the habit, newly donned, Meriet moved a little awkwardly, and looked strangely smaller than in his own secular clothes, Cadfael reflected, watching him thoughtfully. There was no father beside him now to freeze him into hostility, and no need to be wary of those who were glad to accept him among them; but still there was a rigidity about him, and he stood with eyes cast down and hands tightly clasped, perhaps over-awed by the step he was taking. He answered questions in a low, level voice, quickly and submissively. A face naturally ivory-pale, but tanned deep gold by the summer sun, the flush of blood beneath his smooth skin quick to mantle on high cheekbones. A thin, straight nose, with fastidious nostrils that quivered nervously, and that full, proud mouth that had so rigorous a set to it in repose, and looked so vulnerable in speech. And the eyes he hid in humility, large- lidded under clear, arched brows blacker than his hair.
‘You have considered well,’ said the abbot, ‘and now have time to consider yet again, without blame from any. Is it your wish to enter the cloistered life here among us? A wish truly conceived and firmly maintained? You may speak out whatever is in your heart.’ The low voice said, rather fiercely than firmly: ‘It is my wish, Father.’ He seemed almost to start at his own vehemence, and added more warily: ‘I beg that you will let me in, and I promise obedience.’ ‘That vow comes later,’ said Radulfus with a faint smile. ‘For this while, Brother Paul will be your instructor, and you will submit yourself to him. For those who come into the Order in mature years a full year’s probation is customary. You have time both to promise and to fulfil.’ The submissively bowed head reared suddenly at hearing this, the large eyelids rolled back from wide, clear eyes of a dark hazel flecked with green. So seldom had he looked up full into the light that their brightness was startling and disquieting. And his voice was higher and sharper, almost dismayed, as he asked: ‘Father, is that needful? Cannot the time be cut short, if I study to deserve? The waiting is hard to bear.’ The abbot regarded him steadily, and drew his level brows together in a frown, rather of speculation and wonder than of displeasure. ‘The period can be shortened, if such a move seems good to us. But impatience is not the best counsellor, nor haste the best advocate. It will be made plain if you are ready earlier. Do not strain after perfection.’ It was clear that the young man Meriet was sensitive to all the implications of both words and tone. He lowered his lids again like shutters over the brightness, and regarded his folded hands. ‘Father, I will be guided. But I do desire with all my heart to have the fullness of my commitment, and be at peace.’ Cadfael thought that the guarded voice shook for an instant. In all probability that did the boy no harm with Radulfus, who had experience both of passionate enthusiasts and those gradually drawn like lambs to the slaughter of dedication.
‘That can be earned,’ said the abbot gently.
‘Father, it shall!’ Yes, the level utterance did quiver, however briefly. He kept the startling eyes veiled.
Radulfus dismissed him with somewhat careful kindness, and closed the chapter after his departure. A model entry? Or was it a shade too close to the feverish fervour an abbot as shrewd as Radulfus must suspect and deplore, and watch very warily hereafter? Yet a high-mettled, earnest youth, coming to his desired haven, might well be over-eager and in too much of a hurry. Cadfael, whose two broad feet had always been solidly planted on earth, even when he took his convinced decision to come into harbour for the rest of a long life, had considerable sympathy with the ardent young, who overdo everything, and take wing at a line of verse or a snatch of music. Some who thus take fire burn to the day of their death, and set light to many others, leaving a trail of radiance to generations to come. Other fires sink for want of fuel, but do no harm to any. Time would discover what young Meriet’s small, desperate flame portended.
Hugh Beringar, deputy-sheriff of Shropshire, came down from his manor of Maesbury to take charge in Shrewsbury, for his superior, Gilbert Prestcote, had departed to join King Stephen at Westminster for his half-yearly visit at Michaelmas, to render account of his shire and its revenues. Between the two of them they had held the county staunch and well-defended, reasonably free from the disorders that racked most of the country, and the abbey had good cause to be grateful to them, for many of its sister houses along the Welsh marches had been sacked, pillaged, evacuated, turned into fortresses for war, some more than once, and no remedy offered. Worse than the armies of King Stephen on the one hand and his cousin the empress on the other-and in all conscience they were bad enough-the land was crawling with private armies, predators large and small, devouring everything, wherever they were safe from any force of law strong enough to contain them. In Shropshire the law had been strong enough, thus far, and loyal enough to care for its own.
When he had seen his wife and baby son installed comfortably in his town house near St Mary’s church, and satisfied himself of the good order kept in the castle garrison, Hugh’s first visit was always to pay his respects to the abbot. By the same token, he never left the enclave without seeking out Brother Cadfael in his workshop in the garden. They were old friends, closer than father and son, having not only that easy and tolerant relationship of two generations, but shared experiences that made of them contemporaries. They sharpened minds, one upon the other, for the better protection of values and institutions that needed defence with every passing day in a land so shaken and disrupted.
Cadfael asked after Aline, and smiled with pleasure even in speaking her name. He had seen her won by combat, along with high office for so young a man as his friend, and he felt almost a grandsire’s fond pride in their firstborn son, to whom he had stood godfather at his baptism in the first days of this same year.
‘Radiant,’ said Hugh with high content, ‘and asking after you. When times serves I’ll make occasion to carry you off, and you shall see for yourself how she’s blossomed.’ ‘The bud was rare enough,’ said Cadfael. ‘And the imp Giles? Dear life, nine months old, he’ll be quartering your floors like a hound-pup! They’re on their feet almost before they’re out of your arms.’ ‘He’s as fast on four legs,’ said Hugh proudly, ‘as his slave Constance is on two. And has a grip on him like a swordsman born. But God keep that time well away from him many years yet, his childhood will be all too short for me. And God willing, we shall be clear of this shattered time before ever he comes to manhood. There was a time when England enjoyed a settled rule, there must be another such to come.’ He was a balanced and resilient creature, but the times cast their shadow on him when he thought on his office and his allegiance.
‘What’s the word from the south?’ asked Cadfael, observing the momentary cloud. ‘It seems Bishop Henry’s conference came to precious little in the end.’ Henry of Blois, bishop of Winchester and papal legate, was the king’s younger brother, and had been his staunch adherent until Stephen had affronted, attacked and gravely offended the church in the persons of certain of its bishops. Where Bishop Henry’s personal allegiance now rested was matter for some speculation, since his cousin the Empress Maud had actually arrived in England and ensconced herself securely with her faction in the west, based upon the city of Gloucester. An exceedingly able, ambitious and practical cleric might well feel some sympathy upon both sides, and a great deal more exasperation with both sides; and it was consistent with his situation, torn between kin, that he should have spent all the spring and summer months of this year trying his best to get them to come together sensibly, and make some arrangement for the future that should appease, if not satisfy, both claims, and give England a credible government and some prospect of the restoration of law. He had done his best, and even managed to bring representatives of both parties to meet near Bath only a month or so ago. But nothing had come of it.
‘Though it stopped the fighting,’ said Hugh wryly, ‘at least for a while. But no, there’s no fruit to gather.’ ‘As we
