Read Holy Thief for Free Online Page A

an infallible means of acquiring merit, and there must be many in so
large a town willing to pay a modest price to buy off reprobation for minor
backslidings.
    Herluin
returned from his foray so clearly content with himself, and Tutilo bearing so
heavy a satchel, that it was plain they had reaped a very satisfactory harvest.
The following Sunday’s sermon from the parish pulpit added to the spoils. The
coffer Radulfus had donated to receive offerings grew heavier still. Moreover,
three good craftsmen, master-carpenter and two journeyman masons, proposed to
go back with the Ramsey men and seek work in the rebuilding of the gutted barns
and storehouses. The mission was proceeding very successfully. Even Rémy of
Pertuis had given good silver coin, as became a musician who had composed
liturgical works in his time for two churches in Provence.
    They
were scarcely out of church after the Mass when a groom came riding in from
Longner, with a spare pony on a leading rein, to prefer a request from the Lady
Donata. Would Sub-Prior Herluin, she entreated, permit Brother Tutilo to visit
her? The day being somewhat advanced, she had sent a mount for his journey, and
promised a return in time for Compline. Tutilo submitted himself to his
superior’s will with the utmost humility, but with shining eyes. To return
unsupervised to Donata’s psaltery, or the neglected harp in the hall at
Longner, would be appropriate reward for piping to Herluin’s tune with such
devotion during the day.
    Cadfael
saw him ride out from the gatehouse, the childish delight showing through
plainly by then; delight at being remembered and needed, delight at riding out
when he had expected only a routine evening within the walls. Cadfael could
appreciate and excuse that. The indulgent smile was still on his face as he
went to tend certain remedies he had working in his herbarium. And there was
another creature just as shiningly young, though perhaps not as innocent,
hovering at the door of his hut, waiting for him.
    “Brother
Cadfael?” questioned Rémy of Pertuis’ girl singer, surveying him with bold blue
eyes just on a level with his own.
    Not
tall, but above average for a woman, slender almost to leanness, and straight
as a lance. “Brother Edmund sent me to you. My master has a cold, and is croaking
like a frog. Brother Edmund says you can help him.”
    “God
willing!” said Cadfael, returning her scrutiny just as candidly. He had never
seen her so close before, nor expected to, for she kept herself apart, taking
no risks, perhaps, with an exacting master. Her head was uncovered now, her
face, oval, thin and bright, shone lily-pale between wings of black, curling
hair.
    “Come
within,” he said, “and tell me more of his case. His voice is certainly of
importance. A workman who loses his tools has lost his living. What manner of
cold is it he’s taken? Has he rheumy eyes? A thick head? A stuffed nose?”
    She
followed him into the workshop, which was already shadowy within, lit only by
the glow of the damped-down brazier, until Cadfael lit a sulphur spill and kindled
his small lamp. She looked about her with interest at the laden shelves and the
herbs dangling from the beams, stirring and rustling faintly in the draught
from the door. “His throat,” she said indifferently. “Nothing else worries him.
He’s hoarse and dry. Brother Edmund says you have lozenges and draughts. He’s
not ill,” she said with tolerant disdain. “Not hot or fevered. Anything that
touches his voice sends him into a sweat. Or mine, for that matter. Another of
his tools he can’t afford to lose, little as he cares about the rest of me.
Brother Cadfael, do you make all these pastes and potions?” She was ranging the
shelves of bottles and jars with eyes respectfully rounded.
    “I
do the brewing and pounding,” said Cadfael, “the earth supplies the means. I’ll
send your lord some pastilles for his throat,