you have always been a monk, Cadfael, you know too much.'
'I have known monks, children of the cloister from eight years old,' said Cadfael seriously, 'who knew more than I shall ever know, though only God knows how, who made it possible. But no, I have lived forty years in the world before I came to it. My knowledge is limited. But what I know you may ask of me. You want, I think, to hear of Meriet.'
'Not "Brother Meriet"?' she said, pouncing, light as a cat, and glad.
'Not yet. Not for some time yet.'
'Never!' she said firmly and confidently. 'It will not come to that. It must not.' She turned her head and looked him in the face with a high, imperious stare. 'He is mine,' she said simply. 'Meriet is mine, whether he knows it yet or no. And no one else will have him.'
Chapter Six.
'Ask me whatever you wish,' said Cadfael, shifting to find the least spiky position on the stones of the wall. 'And then there are things I have to ask of you.'
'And you'll tell me honestly what I need to know? Every part of it?' she challenged. Her voice had a child's directness and high, clear pitch, but a lord's authority.
'I will.' For she was equal to it, even prepared for it. Who knew this vexing Meriet better?
'How far has he got towards taking vows? What enemies has he made? What sort of fool has he made of himself, with his martyr's wish? Tell me everything that has happened to him since he went from me.' "From me" was what she said, not "from us".
Cadfael told her. If he chose his words carefully, yet he made them tell her the truth. She listened with so contained and armed a silence, nodding her head occasionally where she recognised necessity, shaking it where she deprecated folly, smiling suddenly and briefly where she understood, as Cadfael could not yet fully understand, the proceedings of her chosen man. He ended telling her bluntly of the penalty Meriet had brought upon himself, and even, which was a greater temptation to discretion, about the burned tress that was the occasion of his fall. It did not surprise or greatly dismay her, he noted. She thought about it no more than a moment.
'If you but knew the whippings he has brought on himself before! No one will ever break him that way. And your Brother Jerome has burned her lure - that was well done. He won't be able to fool himself for long, with no bait left him.' She caught, Cadfael thought, his momentary suspicion that he had nothing more to deal with here than women's jealousy. She turned and grinned at him with open amusement. 'Oh, but I saw you meet them! I was watching, though they didn't know it, and neither did you. Did you find her handsome? Surely you did, so she is. And did she not make herself graceful and pleasing for you? Oh, it was for you, be sure - why should she fish for Nigel, she has him landed, the only fish she truly wants. But she cannot help casting her line. She gave Meriet that lock of hair, of course! She can never quite let go of any man.' It was so exactly what Cadfael had suspected, since casting eyes on Roswitha, that he was silenced.
'I'm not afraid of her,' said Isouda tolerantly. 'I know her too well. He only began to imagine himself loving her because she belonged to Nigel. He must desire whatever Nigel desires, and he must be jealous of whatever Nigel possesses and he has not. And yet, if you'll trust me, there is no one he loves as he loves Nigel. No one. Not yet!'
'I think,' said Cadfael, 'you know far more than I about this boy who troubles my mind and engages my liking. And I wish you would tell me what he does not, everything about this home of his and how he has grown up in it. For he's in need of your help and mine, and I am willing to be your dealer in this, if you wish him well, for so do I.'
She drew up her knees and wrapped her slender arms around them, and told him. 'I am the lady of a manor, left young, and left to my father's neighbour as his ward, my Uncle Leoric, though he is not my uncle. He is a good man. I know
'I have known monks, children of the cloister from eight years old,' said Cadfael seriously, 'who knew more than I shall ever know, though only God knows how, who made it possible. But no, I have lived forty years in the world before I came to it. My knowledge is limited. But what I know you may ask of me. You want, I think, to hear of Meriet.'
'Not "Brother Meriet"?' she said, pouncing, light as a cat, and glad.
'Not yet. Not for some time yet.'
'Never!' she said firmly and confidently. 'It will not come to that. It must not.' She turned her head and looked him in the face with a high, imperious stare. 'He is mine,' she said simply. 'Meriet is mine, whether he knows it yet or no. And no one else will have him.'
Chapter Six.
'Ask me whatever you wish,' said Cadfael, shifting to find the least spiky position on the stones of the wall. 'And then there are things I have to ask of you.'
'And you'll tell me honestly what I need to know? Every part of it?' she challenged. Her voice had a child's directness and high, clear pitch, but a lord's authority.
'I will.' For she was equal to it, even prepared for it. Who knew this vexing Meriet better?
'How far has he got towards taking vows? What enemies has he made? What sort of fool has he made of himself, with his martyr's wish? Tell me everything that has happened to him since he went from me.' "From me" was what she said, not "from us".
Cadfael told her. If he chose his words carefully, yet he made them tell her the truth. She listened with so contained and armed a silence, nodding her head occasionally where she recognised necessity, shaking it where she deprecated folly, smiling suddenly and briefly where she understood, as Cadfael could not yet fully understand, the proceedings of her chosen man. He ended telling her bluntly of the penalty Meriet had brought upon himself, and even, which was a greater temptation to discretion, about the burned tress that was the occasion of his fall. It did not surprise or greatly dismay her, he noted. She thought about it no more than a moment.
'If you but knew the whippings he has brought on himself before! No one will ever break him that way. And your Brother Jerome has burned her lure - that was well done. He won't be able to fool himself for long, with no bait left him.' She caught, Cadfael thought, his momentary suspicion that he had nothing more to deal with here than women's jealousy. She turned and grinned at him with open amusement. 'Oh, but I saw you meet them! I was watching, though they didn't know it, and neither did you. Did you find her handsome? Surely you did, so she is. And did she not make herself graceful and pleasing for you? Oh, it was for you, be sure - why should she fish for Nigel, she has him landed, the only fish she truly wants. But she cannot help casting her line. She gave Meriet that lock of hair, of course! She can never quite let go of any man.' It was so exactly what Cadfael had suspected, since casting eyes on Roswitha, that he was silenced.
'I'm not afraid of her,' said Isouda tolerantly. 'I know her too well. He only began to imagine himself loving her because she belonged to Nigel. He must desire whatever Nigel desires, and he must be jealous of whatever Nigel possesses and he has not. And yet, if you'll trust me, there is no one he loves as he loves Nigel. No one. Not yet!'
'I think,' said Cadfael, 'you know far more than I about this boy who troubles my mind and engages my liking. And I wish you would tell me what he does not, everything about this home of his and how he has grown up in it. For he's in need of your help and mine, and I am willing to be your dealer in this, if you wish him well, for so do I.'
She drew up her knees and wrapped her slender arms around them, and told him. 'I am the lady of a manor, left young, and left to my father's neighbour as his ward, my Uncle Leoric, though he is not my uncle. He is a good man. I know
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