Brother Cadfael 01: A Morbid Taste for Bones by Ellis Peters Page B

his daughter's, and smiled. "Howbeit, I will come, and my thanks for all your trouble. At the hour of noon, or a little after, I will come to your dinner, and I will listen faithfully to whatever may be said to me.'
    There was a good laughter echoing from end to end of the bench under the eaves, and it was tempting to join the drinkers, at least for one quick cup, as Cai demanded. Bened had got up to replenish his horn from the pitcher, and Brother John, silent and flushed but glowingly happy, sat with no barrier between him and the girl, their sleeves all but touching when she leaned curiously closer, her hair dropping a stray lock against his shoulder.
    "Well, how have you sped?" asked Cai, pouring mead for them. "Will he come and talk terms with your prior?"
    "He'll come," said Cadfael. "Whether he'll talk terms I doubt. He was greatly affronted. But he'll come to dine, and that's something."
    "The whole parish will know it before ever you get back to the parsonage," said Cai. "News runs faster than the wind in these parts, and after this morning they're all building on Rhisiart. I tell you, if he changed his tune and said amen, so would they. Not for want of their own doubts and waverings, but because they trust him. He took a stand, and they know he won't leave it but for good reason. Sweeten him, and you'll get your way."
    "Not my way," said Cadfael. "I never could see why a man can't reverence his favourite saint without wanting to fondle her bones, but there's great rivalry for such relics among the abbeys these days. A good mead, this, Cai."
    "Our Annest here brewed it," said Bened, with tolerant pride in his niece, and clapped a hand fondly on her shoulder. "And only one of her skills! She'll be a treasure for some man when she weds, but a sad loss to me."
    "I might bring you a good smith to work with you," said the girl, dimpling. "Where's the loss then?"
    It was deep dusk, and with all the longing they felt to linger, they had to be away. Huw was fidgety, thinking of Prior Robert's rising impatience, his tall figure pacing the garden and looking out for the first glimpse of his messengers returning. "We should be off. We shall be looked for. Come, brother, make your farewells."
    Brother John rose reluctantly but dutifully. The groom was leading the horses forward, an arm under each arching neck. With composed face but glowing eyes Brother John said his general goodnight and blessing. In careful but resounding Welsh!
    The echo swept the riders away towards the gate on a wave of laughter and goodwill, in which the girl's light voice soared gaily, and Engelard's hearty English "God go with you!" balanced the tongues.
    "And who taught you that between evening and dark?" asked Brother Cadfael with interest, as they entered the deep green twilight under the trees. "Bened or Cai?"
    "Neither," said Brother John, contentedly pondering a deep private satisfaction.
    Small use asking how she had managed it, she having no English and he no Welsh, to determine what the phrase was she was drumming into him. There was a kind of language at work here that made short shrift on interpreters.
    "Well, you can fairly claim the day hasn't been wasted," owned Cadfael generously, "if something's been learned. And have you made any other discoveries to add to that?"
    "Yes," said Brother John, placidly glowing. "The day after tomorrow is baking-day at Bened's."
    "You may rest and sleep, Father Prior," said Huw, fronting the tall, pale forehead gallantly with his low, brown one. "Rhisiart has said he will come, and he will listen. He was gracious and reasonable. Tomorrow at noon or soon after he will be here."
    Prior Robert certainly loosed a cautious, suppressed sigh of relief. But he required more before they could all go away and sleep. Richard loomed at his shoulder, large, benign and anxious.
    "And is he sensible of the wrong-mindedness of his resistance? Will he withdraw his opposition?"
    In the dimness where the candle-light barely