worked, he parted his lips and began to attempt speech. Cadfael leaned close, his ear to the struggling mouth.
"... madness ..." said Elyas, or so Cadfael thought he said. "Over Clee," he grieved, "in such snows ..." He turned his head on the pillow, and hissed with the pain. "So young ... wilful ..." He was lapsing again into a better sleep, his disquiet easing. In a voice thread-fine but suddenly clearly audible: "The boy would have come with me," said Brother Elyas.
That was all. He lay once again motionless and mute.
"He has the turn for life," said Cadfael, when Prior Leonard came in to inquire after the patient as soon as Prime ended, "but there'll be no hurrying him." An earnest young brother stood dutifully by to relieve him of his watch. "When he stirs you may feed him the wine and honey, you'll find he'll take it now. Sit close and mark me any word he says. I doubt if you'll have anything more to do for him, while I get my sleep, but there's a ewer for his use if he needs it. And should he begin to sweat, keep him well covered but bathe his face to give him ease. God willing, he'll sleep. No man can do for him what sleep will do."
"You're content with him?" asked Leonard anxiously, as they went out together. "He'll do?"
"He'll do very well, given time and quietness." Cadfael was yawning. He wanted breakfast first, and a bed after, for all the morning hours. After that, and another look at the dressings on head and ribs, and all the minor hurts that had threatened suppuration, he would have a better idea of how to manage both the nursing of Brother Elyas and the pursuit of the lost children.
"And has he spoken? Any sensible word?" pressed Leonard.
"He has spoken of a boy, and of the madness of attempting to cross the hills in such snows. Yes, I believe he did encounter the Hugonin pair and their nun, and try to bring them into shelter here with him. It was the girl who would go her own way," said Cadfael, brooding on this unknown chit who willed to venture the hills in both winter and anarchy. "Young and wilful, he said." But however mad and troublesome they may be, the innocent cannot be abandoned. "Feed me," said Cadfael, returning to first needs, "and then show me a bed. Leave the absent for later. I'll not quit Brother Elyas as long as he needs me. But I tell you what we may well do, Leonard, if you've a guest in your hall here making for Shrewsbury today. You might charge him to let Hugh Beringar know that we have here what I take to be the first news of the three people he's seeking."
"That I'll certainly do," said Prior Leonard, "for there's a cloth merchant of the town on his way home for the Christmas feast, he'll be off as soon as he's eaten, to get the best of the day. I'll go and deliver him the message this minute, and do you go and get your rest."
Before night Brother Elyas opened his eyes for the second time, and this time, though the return to light caused him to blink a little, he kept them open, and after a few moments opened them wide in blank wonder, astonished by everything on which they rested. Only when the prior stooped close at Cadfael's shoulder did the brightness of recognition quicken in the sick man's eyes. This face, it seemed, he knew. His lips parted, and a husky whisper emerged, questioning but hopeful:
"Father Prior ...?"
"Here, brother," said Leonard soothingly. "You are here with us, safe in Bromfield. Rest and gather strength, you have been badly hurt, but here you are in shelter, among friends. Trouble for nothing ... ask for whatever you need."
"Bromfield ..." whispered Elyas, frowning. "I had an errand to that place," he said, troubled, and tried to raise his head from the pillow. "The reliquary ... oh, not lost ...?"
"You brought it faithfully," said Leonard. "It is here on the altar of our church, you kept vigil with us when we installed it. Do you not remember? Your errand was done well. All that was required of you, you performed."
"But how ... My head hurts