The Summer of the Danes by Ellis Peters

intense passions, measuring an enemy. It seemed to
Cadfael, surveying the scene with a thoughtful eye, that there would be a
considerable weight of ill will and not a few grudges among the rich baggage of
this princely party.
    The
bishop came down into the courtyard to take leave of his royal guests. This
first encounter had passed off successfully enough, considering the strain he
had put upon it by inviting Cadwaladr’s envoy into conference. He was not so
insensitive that he had not felt the momentary tension and displeasure, and no
doubt he was drawing relieved breath now at having survived the danger. Whether
he had the humility to realise that he owed it to the prince’s forbearance was
another matter, Cadfael reflected. And here came Owain side by side with his
host, and Hywel at his back. At his coming the whole bright cortege quivered
into expectant life, and as he reached for bridle and stirrup, so did they all.
Too tall for me, eh, Hugh? Cadfael thought, swinging aloft into the roan’s high
saddle, with a buoyancy that set him up in a very gratifying conceit of
himself. I’ll show you whether I have lost my appetite for travel and forgotten
everything I learned in the east before ever you were born.
    And
they were away, out of the wide-open gate and heading westward after the
prince’s lofty fair head, uncovered to the morning sun. The bishop’s household
stood to watch them depart, warily content with one diplomatic encounter
successfully accomplished. Such threats as lingered uneasily from last night’s
exchanges cast their shadows on these departing guests. Bishop Gilbert, if he
had believed in them at all, could let them withdraw unchallenged, for they
were no threat to him.
    As
those within the enclave emerged into the green track without, Owain’s officers
from the encampment fell into neat order about them, lining either flank, and
Cadfael observed with interest but without surprise that there were archers
among them, and two keeping their station a few yards behind Bledri ap Rhys’s
left shoulder. Given this particular guest’s undoubted quickness of perception,
he was equally aware of them, and just as clearly he had no objection to their
presence, for in the first mile he did not let it inhibit him from changing his
position two or three times to speak a civil word in Canon Morgant’s ear, or
exchange courtesies with Hywel ab Owain, riding close at his father’s back. But
he did not make any move to edge his way through the attendant file of guards.
If they were keeping him in mind of his virtual captivity, so was he bent on
assuring them that he was perfectly content, and had no intention of attempting
to remove himself. Indeed, once or twice he looked to left and right to take
the measure of the prince’s unobtrusive efficiency, and seemed not unfavourably
impressed by what he saw.
    All
of which was of considerable interest to an inquisitive man, even if at this
stage it remained undecypherable. Put it away at the back of the mind, along
with everything else of oddity value in this expedition, and the time would
come when its meaning would be revealed. Meantime, here was Mark, silent and
happy at his elbow, the road westward before him, and the sun bright on Owain’s
pennant of bright hair at the head of the column. What more could any man ask
on a fine May morning?
    They
did not, as Mark had expected, bear somewhat northwards towards the sea, but
made due west, over softly rolling hills and through well-treed valleys, by
green trails sometimes clearly marked, sometimes less defined, but markedly
keeping a direct line uphill and down alike, here where the lie of the land was
open and the gradients gentle enough for pleasant riding.
    “An
old, old road,” said Cadfael. “It starts from Chester, and makes straight for
the head of Conwy’s tidal water, where once, they say, there was a fort the
like of Chester. At low tide, if you know