Hermit of Eyton Forest Read Online Free PDF Page A

for his custody he knew where he stood, with the other he could not be
sure of his standing.
    Cadfael
eyed the lady with interest, for though her reputation was known to him, he had
never before been in her presence. Dionisia was tall and erect, certainly no
more than fifty-five years old, and in vigorous health. She was, moreover, a
handsome woman, if in a somewhat daunting fashion, with sharp, clear features
and cool grey eyes. But their coolness showed one warning flash of fire as they
swept over Richard’s escort, recording the strength of the enemy. The household
had come out at her back, the parish priest was at her side. There would be no
engagement here. Later, perhaps, when Richard Ludel was safely entombed, and
she could open the house in funeral hospitality, she might make a first move.
The heir could hardly be kept from his grandmother’s society on this day of all
days.
     
    The
solemn rites for Richard Ludel took their appointed course. Brother Cadfael
made good use of the time to survey the dead man’s household, from John of
Longwood to the youngest villein herdsman. There was every indication that the
place had thrived well under John’s stewardship, and his men were well content
with their lot. Hugh would have good reason to let well alone. There were
neighbours present, too, Fulke Astley among them, keeping a weather eye on what
he himself might have to gain if the proposed match ever took place. Cadfael
had seen him once or twice in Shrewsbury, a gross, self-important man in his
late forties, running to fat, ponderous of movement, and surely no match for
that restless, active, high-tempered woman standing grim-faced over her son’s
hier. She had Richard beside her, a hand possessively rather than protectively
on his shoulder. The boy’s eyes had dilated to engulf half his face, solemn as
the grave that had been opened for his father, and was now about to be sealed.
Distant death is one thing, its actual presence quite another. Not until this
minute had Richard fully realised the finality of this deprivation and
severance.
    The
grandmotherly hand did not leave his shoulder as the cortege of mourners wound
its way back to the manor, and the funeral meats spread for them in the hall.
The long, lean, aging fingers had a firm grip on the cloth of the boy’s best
coat, and she guided him with her among guests and neighbours, properly but
with notable emphasis making him the man of the house, and presiding figure at
his father’s obsequies. That did no harm at all. Richard was fully aware of his
position, and well able to resent any infringement of his privilege. Brother
Paul watched with some anxiety, and whispered to Cadfael that they had best get
the boy away before all the guests departed, or they might fail to get him away
at all, for want of witnesses. While the priest was still present, and those
few others not of the household, he could hardly be retained by force. Cadfael
had been observing those of the company not well known to him. There were two
grey-habited monks from the Savigniac house of Buildwas, a few miles away
down-river, to which Ludel had been a generous patron on occasion, and with
them, though withdrawn modestly throughout into the background, was a personage
less easily identifiable. He wore a monastic gown, rusty black and well worn at
the hems, but a head of unshorn dark hair showed within his cowl, and a gleam
of reflected light picked out two or three metallic gleams from his shoulder
that looked like the medals of more than one pilgrimage. Perhaps a wandering
religious about to settle for the cloister. Savigny had been at Buildwas now
for some forty years, a foundation of Roger de Clinton, bishop of Lichfield. Good,
detached observers surely, these three. Before such reverend guests no violence
could be attempted.
    Brother
Paul approached Dionisia courteously to take a discreet leave and reclaim his
charge, but the lady took