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unable to suppress
his satisfaction in his own skills. “That should tempt a man on his death-bed
to finish it to the last drop.”
    Brother
Cadfael on his way to the refectory saw Aelfric crossing the great court from
the abbot’s kitchen, heading quickly for the gatehouse, bearing before him a
high-rimmed wooden tray laden with covered dishes. Guests enjoyed a more
relaxed diet than the brothers, though it did not differ greatly except in the
amount of meat, and at this time of year that would already be salt beef. To
judge by the aroma that wafted from the tray as it passed, beef boiled with
onions, and served with a dish of beans. The small covered bowl balanced on top
had a much more appetising smell. Evidently the newcomer was to enjoy an
intermissum today, before coming to the apples from the orchard. Aelfric
carried his burden, which must be quite heavy, with a careful concentration,
bent on getting it safely and quickly to the house by the pond. It was not a
long journey, out at the gatehouse, a short step to the left, to the limits of
the monastery wall, then past the mill-pond on the left, and the first house
beyond was Aelfric’s destination. Beyond, again, came the bridge over the
Severn, and the wall and gate of Shrewsbury. Not far, but far enough in
December for food to get cold. No doubt the household, though relieved of the
need to do much cooking, had its own fire and hob, and pans and dishes enough,
and the fuel was a part of the price of Bonel’s manor.
    Cadfael
went on to the refectory, and his own dinner, which turned out to be boiled
beef and beans, as he had foreseen. No savory intermissum here. Brother
Richard, the sub-prior, presided; Prior Robert ate privately in the lodging he
already thought of as his own. The partridge was excellent.
    They
had reached the grace after meat, and were rising from table, when the door
flew open almost in Brother Richard’s face, and a lay brother from the porter’s
lodge burst in, babbling incoherently for Brother Edmund, but too short of
breath from running to explain the need.
    “Master
Bonel—his serving-maid has come running for help…” He gulped breath deep, and
suppressed his panting long enough to get out clearly: “He’s taken terribly
ill, shesaid he looks at death’s door… the mistress begs
someone to come to him quickly!”
    Brother
Edmund gripped him by the arm. “What ails him? Is it a stroke? A convulsion?”
    “No,
from what the girl said, not that. He ate his dinner, and seemed well and well
content, and not a quarter of an hour after he was taken with tingling of the
mouth and throat, and then willed to vomit, but could not, and lips and neck
are grown stiff and hard… So she said!”
    By
the sound of it, she was a good witness, too, thought Cadfael, already making
for the door and his workshop at a purposeful trot. “Go before, Edmund, I’ll
join you as fast as I may. I’ll bring what may be needed.”
    He
ran, and Edmund ran, and behind Brother Edmund the messenger scuttled
breathlessly towards the gatehouse, and the agitated girl waiting there.
Prickling of the lips, mouth and throat, Cadfael was reckoning as he ran,
tingling and then rigidity, and urgent need, but little ability, to rid himself
of whatever it was he had consumed. And a quarter of an hour since he got it
down, more by now, if it was in the dinner he had eaten. It might be late to
give him the mustard that would make him sick, but it must be tried. Though
surely this was merely an attack of illness from some normal disagreement
between an indisposed man and his perfectly wholesome food, nothing else was
possible. But then, that prickling of the flesh of mouth and throat, and the
stiffness following… that sounded all too like at least one violent illness he
had witnessed, which had almost proved fatal; and the cause of that he knew.
Hurriedly he snatched from the shelves the preparations he wanted, and ran