made sounds less and more than speech, caresses rather than words, though
once at least words surfaced for a moment. A man’s voice, young, wary, saying:
“But how if he does ...?” And a woman’s soft, suppressed laughter: “He’ll sleep
till morning, never fear!” And her words were suddenly hushed with kissing, and
her laughter became huge, ecstatic sighs; the young man’s breath heaving
triumphantly, but still, a moment later, the note of fear again, half-enjoyed:
“Still, you know him, he may...” And she, soothing: “Not for an hour, at
least... then we’ll go... it will grow cold here...”
That,
at any rate, was true; small fear of them wishing to sleep out the night here,
even two close-wrapped in one cloak on the bench-bed against the wooden wall.
Brother Cadfael withdrew very circumspectly from the herb garden, and made his
way back in chastened thought towards the dortoir. Now he knew who had
swallowed that draught of his, and it was not the lady. In the pitcher of wine
the young groom had been carrying? Enough for a strong man, even if he had not
been drunk already. Meantime, no doubt, the body-servant was left to put his
lord to bed, somewhere apart from the chamber where the lady lay supposedly
nursing her indisposition and sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Ah, well, it
was no business of Cadfael’s, nor had he any intention of getting involved. He
did not feel particularly censorious. Doubtful if she ever had any choice about
marrying Hamo; and with this handsome boy for ever about them, to point the
contrast... A brief experience of genuine passion, echoing old loves, pricked
sharply through the years of his vocation. At least he knew what he was
condoning. And who could help feeling some admiration for her opportunist
daring, the quick wit that had procured the means, the alert eye that had
seized on the most remote and adequate shelter available?
Cadfael
went to bed, and slept without dreams, and rose at the Matin bell, some minutes
before midnight. The procession of the brothers wound its way down the night
stairs into the church, and into the soft, full glow of the lights before St
Mary’s altar.
Withdrawn
reverently some yards from the step of the altar, old Brother Jordan, who
should long ago have been in his cell with the rest, kneeled upright with
clasped hands and ecstatic face, in which the great, veiled eyes stared full
into the light he loved. When Prior Robert exclaimed in concern at finding him
there on the stones, and laid a hand on his shoulder, he started as if out of a
trance, and lifted to them a countenance itself all light.
“Oh,
brothers; I have been so blessed! I have lived through a wonder... Praise God
that ever it was granted to me! But bear with me, for I am forbidden to speak
of it to any, for three days. On the third day from today I may speak...!”
“Look,
brothers!’ wailed Jerome suddenly, pointing. “Look at the altar!”
Every
man present, except Jordan, who still serenely prayed and smiled, turned to
gape where Jerome pointed. The tall candles stood secured by drops of their own
wax in two small clay dishes, such as Cadfael used for sorting seeds. The two
silver lilies were gone from the place of honour.
Through
loss, disorder, consternation and suspicion, Prior Robert would still hold fast
to the order of the day. Let Hamo FitzHamon sleep in happy ignorance till
morning, still Matins and Lauds must be properly celebrated. Christmas was
larger than all the giving and losing of silverware. Grimly he saw the services
of the church observed, and despatched the brethren back to their beds until
Prime, to sleep or lie wakeful and fearful, as they might. Nor would he allow
any pestering of Brother Jerome by others, though possibly he did try in
private to extort something more satisfactory from the old man. Clearly the
theft, whether he knew anything about it or not, troubled Jordan not at all. To
once at least words surfaced for a moment. A man’s voice, young, wary, saying:
“But how if he does ...?” And a woman’s soft, suppressed laughter: “He’ll sleep
till morning, never fear!” And her words were suddenly hushed with kissing, and
her laughter became huge, ecstatic sighs; the young man’s breath heaving
triumphantly, but still, a moment later, the note of fear again, half-enjoyed:
“Still, you know him, he may...” And she, soothing: “Not for an hour, at
least... then we’ll go... it will grow cold here...”
That,
at any rate, was true; small fear of them wishing to sleep out the night here,
even two close-wrapped in one cloak on the bench-bed against the wooden wall.
Brother Cadfael withdrew very circumspectly from the herb garden, and made his
way back in chastened thought towards the dortoir. Now he knew who had
swallowed that draught of his, and it was not the lady. In the pitcher of wine
the young groom had been carrying? Enough for a strong man, even if he had not
been drunk already. Meantime, no doubt, the body-servant was left to put his
lord to bed, somewhere apart from the chamber where the lady lay supposedly
nursing her indisposition and sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Ah, well, it
was no business of Cadfael’s, nor had he any intention of getting involved. He
did not feel particularly censorious. Doubtful if she ever had any choice about
marrying Hamo; and with this handsome boy for ever about them, to point the
contrast... A brief experience of genuine passion, echoing old loves, pricked
sharply through the years of his vocation. At least he knew what he was
condoning. And who could help feeling some admiration for her opportunist
daring, the quick wit that had procured the means, the alert eye that had
seized on the most remote and adequate shelter available?
Cadfael
went to bed, and slept without dreams, and rose at the Matin bell, some minutes
before midnight. The procession of the brothers wound its way down the night
stairs into the church, and into the soft, full glow of the lights before St
Mary’s altar.
Withdrawn
reverently some yards from the step of the altar, old Brother Jordan, who
should long ago have been in his cell with the rest, kneeled upright with
clasped hands and ecstatic face, in which the great, veiled eyes stared full
into the light he loved. When Prior Robert exclaimed in concern at finding him
there on the stones, and laid a hand on his shoulder, he started as if out of a
trance, and lifted to them a countenance itself all light.
“Oh,
brothers; I have been so blessed! I have lived through a wonder... Praise God
that ever it was granted to me! But bear with me, for I am forbidden to speak
of it to any, for three days. On the third day from today I may speak...!”
“Look,
brothers!’ wailed Jerome suddenly, pointing. “Look at the altar!”
Every
man present, except Jordan, who still serenely prayed and smiled, turned to
gape where Jerome pointed. The tall candles stood secured by drops of their own
wax in two small clay dishes, such as Cadfael used for sorting seeds. The two
silver lilies were gone from the place of honour.
Through
loss, disorder, consternation and suspicion, Prior Robert would still hold fast
to the order of the day. Let Hamo FitzHamon sleep in happy ignorance till
morning, still Matins and Lauds must be properly celebrated. Christmas was
larger than all the giving and losing of silverware. Grimly he saw the services
of the church observed, and despatched the brethren back to their beds until
Prime, to sleep or lie wakeful and fearful, as they might. Nor would he allow
any pestering of Brother Jerome by others, though possibly he did try in
private to extort something more satisfactory from the old man. Clearly the
theft, whether he knew anything about it or not, troubled Jordan not at all. To
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