by Ellis Peters
Minor prodigies, most of them trivial, some derisory, trailed after them all the way to Shrewsbury, though how many of the crutches discarded had been necessary, and how many, even of those that were, had to be resumed shortly afterwards, how many of the speech impediments had been in the will rather than in the tongue, how many feeble tendons in the mind rather than in the legs, it was difficult to judge, not even counting all the sensation-seekers who were bound to bandage an eye or come over suddenly paralytic in order to be in with the latest cult. It all made for a great reputation that not only kept pace with them, but rushed ahead, and was already bringing in awestruck patronage in gifts and legacies to the abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, in the hope of having dubious sins prayed away by a grateful saint.
When they reached the outskirts of Shrewsbury, crowds of people came out to meet them, and accompany the procession as far as the boundary church of Saint Giles, where the reliquary was to await the great day of the saint’s translation to the abbey church. This could hardly take place without the blessing of the bishop, and due notice to all churches and religious houses, to add to the glory accruing. It was no surprise to Brother Cadfael that when the day came it should come with grey skies and squally rain, to leave room for another little miracle. For though it rained heavily on all the surrounding fields and countryside, not a drop fell on the procession, as they carried Saint Winifred’s casket at last to its final resting-place on the altar of the abbey church, where the miracle-seekers immediately betook themselves in great numbers, and mostly came away satisfied.
In full chapter Prior Robert gave his account of his mission to Abbot Heribert. “Father, to my grief I must own it, we have come back only four, who went out from Shrewsbury six brethren together. And we return without both the glory and the blemish of our house, but bringing with us the treasure we set out to gain.”
On almost all of which counts he was in error, but since no one was ever likely to tell him so, there was no harm done. Brother Cadfael dozed gently behind his pillar through the awed encomiums on Brother Columbanus, out of whom they would certainly have wished to make a new saint, but for the sad fact that they supposed all his relics but his discarded clothes to be for ever withdrawn from reach. Letting the devout voices slip out of his consciousness, Cadfael congratulated himself on having made as many people as possible happy, and drifted into a dream of a hot knife-blade slicing deftly through the thick wax of a seal without ever disturbing the device. It was a long time since he had exercised some of his more questionable skills, he was glad to be confirmed in believing that he had forgotten none of them, and that every one had a meritorious use in the end.
Chapter Twelve
IT WAS MORE than two years later, and the middle of a bright June afternoon, when Brother Cadfael, crossing the great court from the fish-ponds, saw among the travellers arriving at the gate a certain thickset, foursquare, powerful figure that he knew. Bened, the smith of Gwytherin, a little rounder in the belly and a little greyer in the hair, had found the time ripe for realising an old ambition, and was on his way in a pilgrim’s gown to the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham.
“If I’d put it off much longer,” he confided, when they were private together with a bottle of wine in a comer of the herb-garden, “I should have grown too old to relish the journey. And what was there to keep me now, with a good lad ready and able to take over the smithy while I’m gone? He took to it like a duck to water. Oh, yes, they’ve been man and wife eighteen months now, and as happy as larks. Annest always knew her own mind, and this time I will say she’s made no mistake.”
“And have they a child yet?” asked Brother Cadfael, imagining a bold, sturdy boy-baby with a bush of red hair, nibbed away by his pillow in an infant tonsure.
“Not yet, but there’s one on the way. By the time I get back he’ll be with us.”
“And Annest is well?”
“Blossoming like a rose.”
“And Sioned and Engelard? They had no troubles after we were gone?”
“None, bless you! Griffith ap Rhys let it be known that all was well, and should be let well alone. They’re married, and snug, and I’m to bring you their warmest greetings, and to tell you they have a fine son—three months old, I reckon he’d be now—dark and Welsh like his mother. And they’ve named him Cadfael.”
“Well, well!” said Brother Cadfael, absurdly gratified. “The best way to get the sweet out of children and escape the bitter is to have them by proxy. But I hope they’ll never find anything but sweet in their youngster. There’ll be a Bened yet, in one household or the other.”
Bened the pilgrim shook his head, but without any deep regret, and reached for the bottle. “There was a time when I’d hoped… But it would never have done. I was an old fool ever to think of it, and it’s better this way. And Cai’s well, and sends you remembrances, and says drink down one cup for him.”
They drank many more than one before it was time for Vespers. “And you’ll see me again at chapter tomorrow,” said Bened, as they walked back to the great court, “for I’m charged with greetings from Father Huw to Prior Robert and Abbot Heribert, and I’ll need you to be my interpreter.”
“Father Huw must be the one person in Gwytherin, I suppose, who doesn’t know the truth by this time,” said Cadfael, with some compunction. “But it wouldn’t have been fair to lay such a load on his conscience. Better to let him keep his innocence.”
“His innocence is safe enough,” said Bened, “for he’s never said word to bring it in question, but for all that I wouldn’t be too sure that he doesn’t know. There’s a lot of merit in silence.”
The next morning at chapter he delivered his messages of goodwill and commendation to the monastery in general, and the members of Prior Robert’s mission in particular, from the parish of Saint Winifred’s ministry to the altar of her glorification. Abbot Heribert questioned him amiably about the chapel and the graveyard which he himself had never seen, and to which, as he said, the abbey owed its most distinguished patroness and most precious relics.
“And we trust,” he said gently, “that in our great gain you have not suffered equally great deprivation, for that was never our intent.”
“No, Father Abbot,” Bened reassured him heartily, “you need have no regrets upon that score. For I must tell you that at the place of Saint Winifred’s grave wonderful things are happening. More people come there for help than ever before. There have been marvellous cures.”
Prior Robert stiffened in his place, and his austere face turned bluish-white and pinched with incredulous resentment.
“Even now, when the saint is here on our altar, and all the devout come to pray to her here? Ah, but small things—the residue of grace…”
“No, Father Prior, great things! Women in mortal labour with cross-births have been brought there and laid on the grave from which she was taken, where we buried Rhisiart, and their children have been soothed into the world whole and perfect, with no harm to the mothers. A man blind for years came and bathes his eyes in a distillation of her may-blossoms, and threw away his stick and went home seeing. A young man whose leg-bone had been broken and knitted awry came in pain, and set his teeth and danced before her, and as he danced the pain left him, and his bones straightened. I cannot tell you half the wonders we have seen in Gwytherin these last two years.”
Prior Robert’s livid countenance was taking on a shade of green, and under his careful eyelids his eyes sparkled emerald jealousy. How dare that obscure village, bereft of its saint, outdo the small prodigies of rain that held off from falling, and superficial wounds that healed with commendable but hardly miraculous speed, and even the slightly suspicious numbers of lame who brought their crutches and left them before the altar, and walked away unsupported?
“There was a child of three who went into a fit,” pursued Bened with gusto, “stiff as a board in his mother’s arms, and stopped breathing, and she ran with him all the way from the far fields, fording the river,
and carried him to Winifred’s grave, and laid him down in the grass there dead. And when he touched the chill of the earth, he breathed and cried out, and she picked him up living, and took him home joyfully, and he is live and well to this day.”
“What, even the dead raised?” croaked Prior Robert, almost speechless with envy.
“Father Prior,” said Brother Cadfael soothingly, “surely this is but another proof, the strongest possible, of the surpassing merit and potency of Saint Winifred. Even the soil that once held her bones works wonders, and every wonder must redound to the credit and glory of that place which houses the very body that blessed the earth still blesses others.”
And Abbot Heribert, oblivious of the chagrin that was consuming his prior, benignly agreed that it was so, and that universal grace, whether it manifested itself in Wales, or England, or the Holy Land, or wheresoever, was to be hailed with universal gratitude.
“Was that innocence or mischief?” demanded Cadfael, when he saw Bened off from the gatehouse afterwards.
“Work it out for yourself! The great thing is, Cadfael, it was truth! These things happened, and are happening yet.”
Brother Cadfael stood looking after him as he took the road towards Lilleshall, until the stocky figure with its long, easy strides dwindled to child-size, and vanished at the curve of the wall. Then he turned back towards his garden, where a new young novice, barely sixteen and homesick, was waiting earnestly for his orders, having finished planting out lettuces to follow in succession. A silent lad as yet. Maybe once he had taken Brother Cadfael’s measure his tongue would begin to wag, and then there’d be no stopping it. He knew nothing, but was quick to learn, and though he was still near enough to childhood to attract any available moist soil to his own person, things grew for him. On the whole, Cadfael was well content.
I don’t see, he thought, reviewing the whole business again from this peaceful distance, how I could have done much better. The little Welsh saint’s back where she always wanted to be, bless her, and showing her pleasure by taking good care of her own, it seems. And we’ve got what belonged to us in the first place, all we have a right to, and probably all we deserve, too, and by and large it seems to be thought satisfactory. Evidently the body of a calculating murderer does almost as well as the real thing, given faith enough. Almost, but never quite! Knowing what they all know by now, those good people up there in Gwytherin may well look forward to great things. And if a little of their thanks and gratitude rubs off on Rhisiart, well, why not? He earned it, and it’s a sign she’s made him welcome. She may even be glad of his company. He’s no threat to her virginity now, and if he is trespassing, that’s no fault of his. His bed-fellow won’t grudge him a leaf or two from her garland!
Glossary of Terms
Alltud
A foreigner living in Wales
Arbalest
A crossbow that enables the bow to be drawn with a winding handle
Baldric
A sword-belt crossing the chest from shoulder to hip.
Bannerole
A thin ribbon attached to a lance tip
Bodice
The supportive upper area of a woman’s dress, sometimes a separate item of clothing worn over a blouse
Brychan
A woollen blanket
Caltrop
A small iron weapon consisting four spikes. Set on the ground and used against horses and infantry
Capuchon
A cowl-like hood
Cariad
Welsh for ‘beloved’
Cassock
A long garment of the clergy
Castellan
The ruler of a castle
Chatelaine
The lady of a manor house
Chausses
Male hose
Coif
The cap worn under a nun’s veil
Conversus
A man who joins the monkhood after living in the outside world
Cottar
A Villein who is leased a cottage in exchange for their work
Cotte
A full- or knee-length coat. Length is determined by the class of the wearer
Croft
Land used as pasture that abuts a house
Currier
A horse comb used for grooming
Demesne
The land retained by a lord for his own use
Diocese
The district attached to a cathedral
Dortoir
Dormitory (monastic)
Electuary
Medicinal powder mixed with honey. Taken by mouth
Eremite
A religious hermit
Espringale
Armament akin to a large crossbow
Frater
Dining room (monastic)
Garderobe
A shaft cut into a building wall used as a lavatory
Garth
A grass quadrangle within the cloisters (monastic)
Geneth
Welsh for ‘girl’
Gentle
A person of honourable family
Glebe
An area of land attached to a clerical office
Grange
The lands and buildings of a monastery farm
Groat
A small coin
Gruel
Thin porridge
Guild
A trade association
Gyve
An iron shackle
Hauberk
A chainmail coat to defend the neck and shoulders
Helm
A helmet
Horarium
The monastic timetable, divided into canonical hours, or offices, of Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline
Husbandman
A tenant farmer
Jess
A short strap attached to a hawk’s leg when practising falconry
Largesse
Money or gifts, bestowed by a patron to mark an occasion
Leat (Leet)
A man-made waterway
Litany
Call and response prayer recited by clergyman and congregation
Llys
The timber-built royal court of Welsh princes
Lodestar
A star that acts as a fixed navigational point, i.e. the Pole Star
Lodestone
Magnetised ore
Lye
A solution used for washing and cleaning
Mandora
A stringed instrument, precursor to the mandolin
Mangonel
Armament used for hurling missiles
Marl
Soil of clay and lime, used as a fertiliser
Messuage
A house (rented) with land and out-buildings
Midden
Dung-heap
Missal
The prayer book detailing Mass services throughout the calendar
Moneyer
Coin minter
Mountebank
Trickster or entertainer
Mummer
An actor or player in a mime or masque
Murage
A tax levied to pay for civic repairs
Murrain
An infectious disease of livestock
Myrmidon
A faithful servant
Nacre
Mother-of-pearl
Oblatus
A monk placed in the monastery at a young age
Orts
Food scraps
Ostler
Horse handler
Palfrey
A horse saddled for a woman
Pallet
A narrow wooden bed or thin straw mattress
Palliative
A pain-killer
Pannikin
A metal cup or saucepan
Parfytours
Hounds used in hunting
Parole
The bond of a prisoner upon release from captivity
Patten
Pavage
A tax levied for street paving
Penteulu
A Welsh rank: captain of the royal guard
Pommel
The upward point on the front of a saddle
Poniard
A dagger
Prelate
A high-ranking member of the church (i.e. abbot or bishop)
Prie-Dieu
A kneeling desk used in prayer
Pyx
A small box or casket used to hold consecrated bread for Mass
Quintain
A target mounted on a post used for tilting practice
Rebec
A three string instrument, played using a bow
Rheum
Watery discharge of nose or eyes
Saeson
An Englishman
Scabbard
A sword or dagger sheath
Sconce
A bracket for candle or torch set on a wall
Sheepfold
A sheep pen