A Rare Benedictine by Ellis Peters Page A

somewhere about the shire.
    The
pedlar louted to Master William with obsequious respect, said his goodday, and
made off to his lodging. Early to be home for the night, surely, but perhaps he
had done good business and come back to replenish his stock. A wise tradesman
kept something in reserve, when he had a safe store to hand, rather than carry
his all on every foray.
    Master
William looked after him with no great favour. “What had that fellow to do thus
with you, boy?” he questioned suspiciously. “He’s a deal too curious, with that
long nose of his. I’ve seen him making up to any of the household he can back
into a corner. What was he after in the scriptorium?”
    Jacob
opened his wide eyes even wider. “Oh, he’s an honest fellow enough, sir, I’m
sure. Though he does like to probe into everything, I grant you, and asks a lot
of questions...”
    “Then
you give him no answers,” said the steward firmly.
    “I
don’t, nothing but general talk that leaves him no wiser. Though I think he’s
but naturally inquisitive and no harm meant. He likes to curry favour with everyone,
but that’s by way of his trade. A rough-tongued pedlar would not sell many
tapes and laces,” said the young man blithely, and flourished the leaf of
vellum he carried. “I was coming to ask you about this carucate of land in
Recordine there’s an erasure in the leiger book, I looked up the copy to
compare. You’ll remember, sir, it was disputed land for a while, the heir tried
to recover it...”
    “I
do recall. Come, I’ll show you the original copy. But have as little to say to
these travelling folk as you can with civility,” Master William adjured
earnestly. “There are rogues on the roads as well as honest tradesmen. There,
you go before, I’ll follow you.”
    He
looked after the jaunty figure as it departed smartly, back to the scriptorium.
“As I said, Cadfael, too easily pleased with every man. It’s not wise to look
always for the best in men. But for all that,” he added, reverting morosely to
his private grievance, “I wish that scamp of mine was more like him. In debt
already for some gambling folly, and he has to get himself picked up by the
sergeants for a street brawl, and fined, and cannot pay the fine. And to keep
my own name in respect, he’s confident I shall have to buy him clear. I must
see to it tomorrow, one way or the other, when I’ve finished my rounds in the
town, for he has but three days left to pay. If it weren’t for his mother...
Even so, even so, this time I ought to let him stew.”
    He
departed after his clerk, shaking his head bitterly over his troubles. And
Cadfael went off to see what feats of idiocy or genius Brother Oswin had
wrought in the herb garden in his absence.
    In
the morning, when the brothers came out from Prime, Brother Cadfael saw the
steward departing to begin his round, the deep leather satchel secured to his
locked belt, and swinging by two stout straps. By evening it would be heavy
with the annual wealth of the city rents, and those from the northern suburbs
outside the walls. Jacob was there to see him go, listening dutifully to his
last emphatic instructions, and sighing as he was left behind to complete the
bookwork. Warm Harefoot, the packman, was off early, too, to ply his trade
among the housewives either of the town or the parish of the Foregate. A
pliable fellow, full of professional bows and smiles, but by the look of him
all his efforts brought him no better than a meagre living.
    So
there went Jacob, back to his pen and inkhorn in the cloisters, and forth to
his important business went Master William. And who knows, thought Cadfael,
which is in the right, the young man who sees the best in all, and trusts all,
or the old one who suspects all until he has probed them through and through?
The one may stumble into a snare now and then, but at least enjoy sunshine
along the way, between falls. The other may