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nothing to object to that. Indeed there were some among
the treasury of relics amassed by obedientiaries here over the years about
which he felt somewhat dubious. Stones from Calvary and the Mount of Olives,
well, stones are stones, every hill has a scattering of them, there is only the
word of the purveyor as to the origin of any particular specimen. Fragments of
bones from saints and martyrs, a drop of the Virgin’s milk, a shred of her
robe, a little flask of the sweat of Saint John the Baptist, a tress from the
red hair of Saint Mary Magdalen... all easily portable, and no doubt some of
the returning pilgrims from the Holy Land were genuine, and believed in the
genuineness of what they offered, but in some cases Cadfael wondered whether
they had ever been nearer Acre than Eastcheap. But Saint Winifred he knew well,
he had lifted her out of the Welsh earth with his own hands, and with his own
hands laid her reverently back into it, and drawn the sweet soil of Gwytherin
over her rest. What she had bequeathed to Shrewsbury and to him in absence was
the sheltering shadow of her right hand, and a half-guilty, half-sacred memory
of an affection and kindness almost personal. When he appealed, she listened.
He tried to present her with only reasonable requests. But no doubt she would
listen as attentively to this persuasive and enthusiastic youth, and grant him,
perhaps not all he demanded, but whatever was good for him.
    “If
only,” breathed Tutilo, burning up into his brightest and most irresistible
radiance, “if only Ramsey had such a patroness, our future glory would be
assured. All our misfortunes would be over. Pilgrims would come by the
thousand, their offerings would enrich our house. Why should we not be another
Compostela?”
    “It
may be your duty,” Cadfael reminded him drily,”to work for the enrichment of
your monastery, but that is not the first duty of the saints.”
    “No,
but that is what happens,” said Tutilo, unabashed. “And surely Ramsey needs and
deserves a particular grace, after all her sufferings. It cannot be wrong to
plead for her enrichment. I want nothing for myself.” That he corrected in
haste the next moment. “Yes, I want to excel. I want to be profitable to my
brothers and my Order. That I do want.”
    “And
that,” Cadfael said comfortably, “she will certainly look upon with favour. And
so you are profitable. With gifts like yours you should count yourself blessed.
You go and do your best for Ramsey in the town, and give as good when you get
to Worcester, or Pershore, or Evesham, and what more can possibly be required
of you?”
    “What
I can, I’ll do,” agreed Tutilo, with a great deal of resolution, but decidedly
less genuine enthusiasm, and his eyes still dwelling fondly on Winifred’s
chased reliquary, points of silver shining in the candlelight. “But such a
patroness... what could she not do to restore our fortunes! Brother Cadfael,
can you not tell us where to find such another?”
    He
took his leave almost reluctantly, looking back from the doorway, before he
shook his shoulders firmly, and went off to submit himself to Herluin’s orders,
and undertake, one way or another, to unloose the purse-strings of the burghers
of Shrewsbury.
    Cadfael
watched the slender, springy figure stride away, and found something slightly
equivocal even in the back view of the overlong curls, and the tender, youthful
shaping of the nape of the neck. Ah, well! Few people are exactly what they
seem on first acquaintance, and he hardly knew the boy at all.
    They
sallied forth in solemn procession to the town, Prior Robert lending his
dignified presence to add to the gravity of the occasion. The sheriff had
notified the provost and Guild Merchant of the town, and left it to them to
make sure that the whole of Shrewsbury recognized its duty, and would be
present. Alms to so eminent a religious house in its persecution and need
provided