Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood Read Online Free PDF Page A

he's done. He understands. I'd hardly let a man take risks with such a brew, after your lecture. I've told him what the stuff could do, misused."
    The young man ceased his ministrations momentarily when Brother Cadfael approached, and made to stand up respectfully, but Cadfael waved him down again. "No, sit, lad, I won't disturb you. I'm here for a word with an old friend, but I see you've taken on my work for me, and doing it well, too."
    The young man, with cheerful practicality, took him at his word, and went on kneading the pungent oils into Brother Rhys's aged shoulders. He was perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five years old, sturdily built and strong; his square, good-natured face was brown and weathered, and plentifully supplied with bone, a Welsh face, smooth-shaven and decisive, his hair and brows thick, wiry and black. His manner towards Brother Rhys was smiling, merry, almost teasing, as it probably would have been towards a child; and that was engaging in him, and won Brother Cadfael's thoughtful approval, for Brother Rhys was indeed a child again. Livelier than usual today, however, the visitor had done him a deal of good.
    "Well, now, Cadfael!" he piped, twitching a shoulder pleasurably at the young man's probing. "You see my kinsmen remember me yet. Here's my niece Angharad's boy come to see me, my great-nephew Meurig. I mind the time he was born ... Eh, I mind the time she was born, for that matter, my sister's little lass. It's many years since I've seen her - or you, boy, come to think of it, you could have come to see me earlier. But there's no family feeling in the young, these days." But he was very complacent about it, enjoying handing out praise one moment and illogical reproof the next, a patriarch's privilege. "And why didn't the girl come herself? Why didn't you bring your mother with you?"
    "It's a long journey from the north of the shire," said the young man Meurig, easily, "and always more than enough to be done at home. But I'm nearer now, I work for a carpenter and carver in the town here, you'll be seeing more of me. I'll come and do this for you again - have you out on a hillside with the sheep yet, come spring."
    "My niece Angharad," murmured the old man, benignly smiling, "was the prettiest little thing in half the shire, and she grew up a beauty. What age would she be now? Five and forty, it may be, but I warrant she's still as beautiful as ever she was - don't you tell me different, I never yet saw the one to touch her ..."
    "Her son's not likely to tell you any different," agreed Meurig comfortably. Are not all one's lost nieces beautiful? And the weather of the summers when they were children always radiant, and the wild fruit they gathered then sweeter than any that grows now? For some years Brother Rhys had been considered mildly senile, his wanderings timeless and disorganised; memory failed, fantasy burgeoned, he drew pictures that never had existed on sea or land. But somewhere else, perhaps? Now, with the stimulus of this youthful and vigorous presence and the knowledge of their shared blood, he quickened into sharp remembrance again. It might not last, but it was a princely gift while it lasted.
    "Turn a little more to the fire - there, is that the spot?" Rhys wriggled and purred like a stroked cat, and the young man laughed, and plied deep into the flesh, smoothing out knots with a firmness that both hurt and gratified.
    "This is no new skill with you," said Brother Cadfael, observing with approval.
    "I've worked mostly with horses, and they get their troubles with swellings and injuries, like men. You learn to see with your fingers, where to find what's bound, and loose it again."
    "But he's a carpenter now," Brother Rhys said proudly, "and working here in Shrewsbury."
    "And we're making a lectern for your Lady Chapel," said Meurig, "and when it's done - and it soon will be - I'll be bringing it down to the abbey myself. And I'll come and see you again while I'm here."
    "And rub my