that," said Erwald comfortably, "for it would never stand if he did. And why should he want to do you wrong? He's a stickler for the letter of the law, you'll find, but nothing more than that. Why, every soul in the parish would testify. I'll tell him so, and he'll hear reason."
But the tale had gone round before nightfall.
The second small blot in the clear sky was an urchin with a broken head, who admitted, between sniffs and sobs, that he and a few more of his age had been playing a somewhat rumbustious ball game against the wall of the priest's house, a clear, windowless wall well suited for the purpose, and that they had naturally made a certain amount of noise in the process. But so they had many times before, and Father Adam had never done worse than shake a tolerant fist at them, and grin, and finally shoo them away like chickens. This time a tall black figure had surged out of the house crying anathema at them and brandishing a great long staff, and even their startled speed had not been enough to bring them off without damage. Two or three had bad bruises to show for it, and this unfortunate had taken a blow on the head that all but stunned him, and left him with a broken wound that bled alarmingly for a while, as head wounds do.
"I know they can be imps of Satan," said Erwald to Brother Cadfael, when the child had been soothed and bandaged and lugged away by an indignant mother, "and many a time I expect you and I have clouted a backside or boxed an ear, but not with a great walking-staff like that one he carries."
"That could well have been an unlucky stroke that was never meant to land," said Cadfael. "But I wouldn't say he'll ever be as easy on the scamps as Father Adam was. They'd best learn to stay out of his way, or mind their manners within reach of him."
It was soon plain that the boys thought so, too, for there were no more noisy games outside the small house at the end of the alley, and when the tall, black-clad figure was seen stalking down the Foregate, cloak flying like a crow's wings in time to his impetuous stride, the children melted away to safe distances, even when they were about blameless business.
It certainly could not be said that Father Ailnoth neglected his duties. He was meticulous in observing the hours, and let nothing interrupt his saying of the office, he preached somewhat stern sermons, conducted his services reverently, visited the sick, exhorted the backsliding. His comfort to the ailing was austere, even chilling, and his penances heavier than those to which his flock was accustomed, but he did all that his cure required of him. He also took jealous care of all the perquisites of his office, tithe and tilth, to the extent that one of his neighbours in the fields was complaining of having half his headland ploughed up, and Aelgar was protesting that he had been ordered to plough more closely, for the waste of ground was blameworthy.
The few boys who had been learning a smattering of letters from Father Adam, and had continued their lessons under his successor, grew less and less willing to attend, and muttered to their parents that they were beaten now for the least error, let alone a real offence.
"It was a mistake," said Brother Jerome loftily, "ever to let them run wild, as Father Adam did. They feel a proper curb now as affliction, instead of fair usage. What says the Rule on this head? That boys or youths who cannot yet understand how great a punishment excommunication is, must be punished for their offences either by fasting, or by sharp stripes, for their own good. The priest does very properly by them."
"I cannot regard a simple mistake in letters," retorted Brother Paul, up in arms for lads no older than his own charges, "as an offence. Offence argues a will to offend, and these children answer as best they know, having no will but to do well."
"The offence," said Jerome pompously, "is in the neglect and inattention which caused them to be imperfect in answering.