Read The Raven in the Foregate for Free Online

with judgement and energy, if not with
very much skill.
    “Wait!” said Cadfael, noting the thin, worn shoes the
boy wore. “If you thrust like that in such wear you’ll have a swollen foot
before long. I have wooden pattens in my hut that you can strap under your feet
and shove as hard as you please. But no need to rush at it, or you’ll be in a
muck sweat before you’ve done a dozen rows. What you must do is set an even
pace, get a rhythm into it, and you can go on all day, the spade will keep time
for you. Sing to it if you have breath enough, or hum with it and save your
breath. You’ll be surprised how the rows will multiply.” He caught himself up
there, somewhat belatedly aware that he was giving away too much of what he had
already observed. “Your work’s been mainly with horses, as I heard,” he said
blandly. “There’s an art in every labour.” And he went to fetch the wooden
pattens he had himself carved out to shoe his own feet against either harsh
digging or deep mire, before Benet could bridle in self-defence.
    Thus shod and advised, Benet began very circumspectly,
and Cadfael stayed only to see him launched into a good, steady action before
he took himself off into his workshop, to be about his ordinary business of
pounding up green herbs for an ointment of his own concoction, good against the
chapped hands that would surely make their usual January appearance among the
copyists and illuminators in the scriptorium. There would be coughs and colds,
too, no doubt, later on, and now was the right time to prepare such of his
medicines as would keep through the winter.
    When it was almost time to clear away his impedimenta
and prepare for Vespers he went out to see how his acolyte was faring. No one
likes to be watched at his work, especially if he comes raw to the practice,
and maybe a thought sensitive about his lack of skill and experience. Cadfael
was impressed by the great surge the young man had made down the formidable
butt of ground. His rows were straight, clearly he had a good eye. His cut
appeared to be deep, by the rich black of the upturned tilth. True, he had
somewhat sprayed soil over the border paths, but he had also ferreted out a
twig broom from the shed, and was busy brushing back the spilled earth to where
it belonged. He looked up a little defensively at Cadfael, flicking a glance towards
the spade he had left lying.
    “I’ve blunted the iron edge against a stone,” he said,
and dropped his broom to up-end the spade and run his fingers gingerly along
the metal rim that bound the wood. “I’ll hammer it out fine before I leave it.
There’s a hammer in the shed there, and your water trough has a good wide rim
to the stone. Though I was aiming at two rows more before the light goes.”
    “Son,” said Cadfael heartily, “you’ve already done
more than ever I expected of you. As for the spade, that edge has been replaced
three times at least since the tool was made, and I know well enough it’s due
for a fourth sheathing very soon. If you think it will do yet a while, at least
to finish this task, then beat it out again by all means, but then put it away,
and wash, and come to Vespers.”
    Benet looked up from the dented edge, suddenly aware
of cautious praise, and broke into the broadest and most unguarded grin Cadfael
could ever recall seeing, and the speckled, limpid light blazed up in his
trout-stream eyes.
    “I’ll do, then?” he said, between simple pleasure and
subtle impudence, flushed and exhilarated with his own energy; and added with
unwary honesty: “I’ve hardly had a spade in my hands before.”
    “Now that,” said Cadfael, straight-faced, and eyeing
with interest the form and trim of the hands that jutted a little too far from
the outgrown sleeves, “that I never would have suspected.”
    “I’ve worked mostly with—” Benet began in slight
haste.
    “—with horses. Yes, I know! Well, you match