is where you spend your more peaceful hours. A far cry and a pleasant change from harvesting dead men.”
Brother Cadfael finished the last corner of the bed of mint before he turned to acknowledge the presence of Hugh Beringar. “A pleasant change, right enough. Let’s hope we’ve finished with that kind of crop, here in Shrewsbury.”
“And you found a name for your stranger in the end. How was that? No one in the town seemed to know him.”
“All questions get their answers,” said Brother Cadfael sententiously, “if you wait long enough.”
“And all searchers are bound to find? But of course,” said Beringar, smiling, “you did not say how long is long enough. If a man found at eighty what he was searching for at twenty, he might prove a shade ungrateful.”
“He might well have stopped wanting it long before that,” said Brother Cadfael drily, “which is in itself an answer to any want. Is there anything you are looking for here in the herbarium, that I can help you to, or are you curious to learn about these simples of mine?”
“No,” owned Beringar, his smile deepening, “I would hardly say it was any simplicity I came to study.” He pinched off a sprig of mint, crushed it between his fingers, and set it first to his nose and then closed fine white teeth upon its savour. “And what should such as I be looking for here? I may have caused a few ills in my time, I’m no hand at healing them. They tell me, Brother Cadfael, you have had a wide-ranging career before you came into the cloister. Don’t you find it unbearably dull here, after such battles, with no enemy left to fight?”
“I am not finding it at all dull, these days,” said Cadfael, plucking out willowherb from among the thyme. “And as for enemies, the devil makes his way in everywhere, even into cloister, and church, and herbarium.”
Beringar threw his head back and laughed aloud, until the short black hair danced on his forehead. “Vainly, if he comes looking for mischief where you are! But he’d hardly expect to blunt his horns against an old crusader here! I take the hint!”
But all the time, though he scarcely seemed to turn his head or pay much attention to anything round him, his black eyes were missing nothing, and his ears were at stretch while he laughed and jested. By this time he knew that the well-spoken and well-favoured boy of whom Aline had innocently spoken was not going to make his appearance, and more, that Brother Cadfael did not care if he poked his nose into every corner of the garden, sniffed at every drying herb and peered at every potion in the hut, for they would tell him nothing. The benchbed was stripped of its blanket, and laden with a large mortar and a gently bubbling jar of wine. There was no trace of Godith anywhere to be found. The boy was simply a boy like the rest, and no doubt slept in the dortoir with the rest.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your cleansing labours,” said Beringar, “and stop hampering your meditations with my prattle. Or have you work for me to do?”
“The king has none?” said Cadfael solicitously.
Another ungrudging laugh acknowledged the thrust. “Not yet, not yet, but that will come. Such talent he cannot afford to hold off suspiciously for ever. Though to be sure, he did lay one testing task upon me, and I seem to be making very little progress in that.” He plucked another tip of mint, and bruised and bit it with pleasure. “Brother Cadfael, it seems to me that you are the most practical man of hand and brain here. Supposing I should have need of your help, you would not refuse it without due thought—would you?”
Brother Cadfael straightened up, with some creaking of back muscles, to give him a long, considering look. “I hope,” he said cautiously, “I never do anything without due thought—even if the thought sometimes has to shift its feet pretty briskly to keep up with the deed.”
“So I supposed,” said Beringar, sweet-voiced and
Brother Cadfael finished the last corner of the bed of mint before he turned to acknowledge the presence of Hugh Beringar. “A pleasant change, right enough. Let’s hope we’ve finished with that kind of crop, here in Shrewsbury.”
“And you found a name for your stranger in the end. How was that? No one in the town seemed to know him.”
“All questions get their answers,” said Brother Cadfael sententiously, “if you wait long enough.”
“And all searchers are bound to find? But of course,” said Beringar, smiling, “you did not say how long is long enough. If a man found at eighty what he was searching for at twenty, he might prove a shade ungrateful.”
“He might well have stopped wanting it long before that,” said Brother Cadfael drily, “which is in itself an answer to any want. Is there anything you are looking for here in the herbarium, that I can help you to, or are you curious to learn about these simples of mine?”
“No,” owned Beringar, his smile deepening, “I would hardly say it was any simplicity I came to study.” He pinched off a sprig of mint, crushed it between his fingers, and set it first to his nose and then closed fine white teeth upon its savour. “And what should such as I be looking for here? I may have caused a few ills in my time, I’m no hand at healing them. They tell me, Brother Cadfael, you have had a wide-ranging career before you came into the cloister. Don’t you find it unbearably dull here, after such battles, with no enemy left to fight?”
“I am not finding it at all dull, these days,” said Cadfael, plucking out willowherb from among the thyme. “And as for enemies, the devil makes his way in everywhere, even into cloister, and church, and herbarium.”
Beringar threw his head back and laughed aloud, until the short black hair danced on his forehead. “Vainly, if he comes looking for mischief where you are! But he’d hardly expect to blunt his horns against an old crusader here! I take the hint!”
But all the time, though he scarcely seemed to turn his head or pay much attention to anything round him, his black eyes were missing nothing, and his ears were at stretch while he laughed and jested. By this time he knew that the well-spoken and well-favoured boy of whom Aline had innocently spoken was not going to make his appearance, and more, that Brother Cadfael did not care if he poked his nose into every corner of the garden, sniffed at every drying herb and peered at every potion in the hut, for they would tell him nothing. The benchbed was stripped of its blanket, and laden with a large mortar and a gently bubbling jar of wine. There was no trace of Godith anywhere to be found. The boy was simply a boy like the rest, and no doubt slept in the dortoir with the rest.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your cleansing labours,” said Beringar, “and stop hampering your meditations with my prattle. Or have you work for me to do?”
“The king has none?” said Cadfael solicitously.
Another ungrudging laugh acknowledged the thrust. “Not yet, not yet, but that will come. Such talent he cannot afford to hold off suspiciously for ever. Though to be sure, he did lay one testing task upon me, and I seem to be making very little progress in that.” He plucked another tip of mint, and bruised and bit it with pleasure. “Brother Cadfael, it seems to me that you are the most practical man of hand and brain here. Supposing I should have need of your help, you would not refuse it without due thought—would you?”
Brother Cadfael straightened up, with some creaking of back muscles, to give him a long, considering look. “I hope,” he said cautiously, “I never do anything without due thought—even if the thought sometimes has to shift its feet pretty briskly to keep up with the deed.”
“So I supposed,” said Beringar, sweet-voiced and
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