“All the lads need is a few days in the warm, and they’ll cure themselves well enough,” said Cadfael, stirring and pouring a large flask into a smaller one, a brown mixture that smelled hot and aromatic and sweet. “But no need to endure discomfort, even for a few days. Let them drink a dose of this, two or three times in the day and at night, as much as will fill a small spoon, and they’ll be the easier for it.”
“What is it?” asked Brother Edmund curiously. Many of Brother Cadfael’s preparations he already knew, but there were constantly new developments. Sometimes he wondered if Cadfael tried them all out on himself.
“There’s rosemary, and horehound, and saxifrage, mashed into a little oil pressed from flax seeds, and the body is a red wine I made from cherries and their stones. You’ll find they’ll do well on it, any that have the rheum in their eyes or heads, and even for the cough it serves, too.” He stoppered the large bottle carefully, and wiped the neck. “Is there anything more you’ll be wanting? For the old fellows? They must be in a taking at all these changes we’re seeing. Past the three score men don’t take kindly to change.”
“Not, at all events, to this change,” owned Brother Edmund ruefully. “Heribert never knew how he was liked, until they began to feel his loss.”
“You think we have lost him?”
“I fear it’s all too likely. Not that Stephen himself bears grudges too long, but what the legate wants, Stephen will let him have, to keep the pope sweet. And do you think a brisk, reforming spirit, let loose here in our realm with powers to fashion the church he wants, will find our abbot very impressive? Stephen cast the doubt, while he was still angry, but it’s Alberic of Ostia who will weigh up our good little abbot, and discard him for too soft in grain,” said Brother Edmund regretfully. “I could do with another pot of that salve of yours for bed-sores. Brother Adrian can’t be much longer for this penance, poor soul.”
“It must be pain now, just shifting him for the anointing,” said Cadfael with sympathy.
“Skin and bone, mere skin and bone. Getting food down him at all is labour enough. He withers like a leaf.”
“If ever you want an extra hand to lift him, send for me, I’m here to be used. Here’s what you want. I think I have it better than before, with more of Our Lady’s mantle in it.”
Brother Edmund laid bottle and pot in his scrip, and considered on other needs, scouring his pointed chin between thumb and forefinger. The sudden chill that blew in through the doorway made them both turn their heads, so sharply that the young man who had opened the door a wary inch or two hung his head in instant apology and dismay.
“Close the door, lad,” said Cadfael, hunching his shoulders.
A hasty, submissive voice called: “Pardon, brother! I’ll wait your leisure.” And the door began to close upon a thin, dark, apprehensively sullen face.
“No, no,” said Cadfael with cheerful impatience, “I never meant it so. Come into the warm, and close the door on that wicked wind. It makes the brazier smoke. Come in, I’ll be with you very shortly, when Brother Infirmarer has all his needs.”
The door opened just wide enough to allow a lean young man to slide in through the aperture, which he thereupon very hastily closed, and flattened his thin person against the door in mute withdrawal, willing to be invisible and inaudible, though his eyes were wide in wonder and curiosity at the storehouse of rustling, dangling, odorous herbs that hung about the place, and the benches and shelves of pots and bottles that hoarded the summer’s secret harvest.
“Ah, yes,” said Brother Edmund, recollecting, “there was one more thing. Brother Rhys is groaning with creaks and pains in his shoulders and back. He gets about very little now, and it does pain him, I’ve seen it make him jerk and start. You have an oil that gave him ease before.”
“I have. Wait, now, let me find a flask to fill for you.” Cadfael hoisted from its place on a low bench a large stone bottle, and rummaged along the shelves for a smaller one of cloudy glass. Carefully he unstoppered and poured a viscous dark oil that gave off a strong, sharp odour. He replaced the wooden stopper firmly, bedding it in with a wisp of linen, and with another torn shred scrupulously wiped the lips of both containers, and dropped the rag into the small brazier beside which he had a stoneware pot simmering gently. “This will answer, all the more if you get someone with good strong fingers to work it well into his joints. But keep it carefully, Edmund, never let it near your lips. Wash your hands well after using it, and make sure any other who handles it does the same. It’s good for a man’s outside, but bad indeed for his inside. And don’t use it where there’s any scratch or wound, any break in the skin, either. It’s powerful stuff.”
“So perilous? What is it made from?” asked Edmund curiously, turning the bottle in his hand to see the sluggish way the oils moved against the glass.
“The ground root of monk’s-hood, chiefly, in mustard oil and oil from flax seeds. It’s powerfully poisonous if swallowed, a very small draught of this could kill, so keep it safe and remember to cleanse your hands well. But it works wonders for creaking old joints. He’ll notice a tingling warmth when it’s rubbed well in, and then the pain is dulled, and he’ll be quite easy. There, is that all you need? I’ll come over myself presently, and do the anointing, if you wish? I know where to find the aches, and it needs to be worked in deep.”
“I know you have iron fingers,” said Brother Edmund, mustering his load. “You used them on me once, I thought you would break me apart, but I own I could move the better, the next day. Yes, come if you have time, he’ll be glad to see you. He wanders, nowadays, there’s hardly one among the young brothers he recognises, but he’ll not have forgotten you.”
“He’ll remember any who have the Welsh tongue,” said Cadfael simply. “He goes back to his childhood, as old men do.”
Brother Edmund took up his bag and turned to the door. The thin young man, all eyes, slipped aside and opened it for him civilly, and again closed it upon his smiling thanks. Not such a meagre young man, after all, inches above Cadfael’s square, solid bulk, and erect and supple of movement, but lean and wary, with a suggestion of wild alertness in his every motion. He had a shock of light-brown hair, unkempt from the rising wind outside, and the trimmed lines of a fair beard about lips and chin, pointing the hungry austerity of a thin, hawk-featured face. The large, bright-blue eyes, glittering with intelligence and defensive as levelled spears, turned their attention upon Cadfael, and sustained the glance unwavering, lances in rest.
“Well, friend,” said Cadfael comfortably, shifting his pot a shade further from the direct heat, “what is it I can do for you?” And he turned and viewed the stranger candidly, from head to foot. “I don’t know you, lad,” he said placidly, “but you’re welcome. What’s your need?”
“I’m sent by Mistress Bonel,” said the young man, in a voice low-pitched and pleasant to hear, if it had not been so tight and wary, “to ask you for some kitchen-herbs she needs. Brother Hospitaller told her you would be willing to supply her when her own stocks fail. My master has today moved into a house in the Foregate, as guest of the abbey.”
“Ah, yes,” said Cadfael, remembering the manor of Mallilie, gifted to the abbey in return for the means of life to the giver. “So they are safely in, are they? God give them joy of it! And you are the manservant who will carry their meals back and forth—yes, you’ll need to find your way about the place. You’ve been to the abbot’s kitchen?”
“Yes, master.”
“No man’s master,” said Cadfael mildly, “every man’s brother, if you will. And what’s your name, friend? For we shall be seeing something of each other in the days to come, we may as well be acquainted.”
“My name is Aelfric,” said the young man. He had come forward from the doorway, and stood looking round him with open interest. His eyes lingered with awe on the large bottle that held the oil of monk’s-hood. “Is that truly so deadly? Even a little of it can kill a man?”
“So can many things,” said Cadfael, “used wrongly, or used in excess. Even wine, if you take enough of it. Even wholesome food, if you devour it beyond reason. And are your household content with their dwelling?”