Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood

this boy's vocation was no longer in doubt or danger. If the times had been less troublesome he might well have sought leave to go and study in Oxford, but even without that opportunity, Cadfael was reasonably certain he would end by taking orders, and become a priest, and a good priest, too, one aware that women existed in the world, and respectful towards their presence and their worth. Mark had come unwillingly and resisting into the cloister, but he had found his rightful place. Not everyone was so fortunate.
    Aelfric came to the hut in the afternoon of a cloudy day, to ask for some dried mint. "My mistress wants to brew a mint cordial for my master."
    "I hear he's somewhat out of humour and health," said Cadfael, rustling the linen bags that gave forth such rich, heady scents upon the air. The young man's nostrils quivered and widened with pleasure, inhaling close sweetness. In the soft light within, his wary face eased a little.
    "There's not much ails him, more of the mind than the body. He'll be well enough when he plucks up heart. He's out of sorts with his kin most of all," said Aelfric, growing unexpectedly confiding.
    "That's trying for you all, even the lady," said Cadfael.
    "And she does everything woman could do for him, there's nothing he can reproach her with. But this upheaval has him out with everybody, even himself. He's been expecting his son to come running and eat humble pie before this, to try and get his inheritance back, and he's been disappointed, and that sours him."
    Cadfael turned a surprised face at this. "You mean he's cut off a son, to give his inheritance to the abbey? To spite the young man? That he couldn't, in law. No house would think of accepting such a bargain, without the consent of the heir."
    "It's not his own son." Aelfric shrugged, shaking his head. "It's his wife's son by a former marriage, so the lad has no legal claims on him. It's true he'd made a will naming him as his heir, but the abbey charter wipes that out - or will when it's sealed and witnessed. He has no remedy in law. They fell out, and he's lost his promised manor, and that's all there is to it."
    "For what fault could he deserve such treatment?" Cadfael wondered.
    Aelfric hoisted deprecating shoulders, lean shoulders but broad and straight, as Cadfael observed. "He's young and wayward, and my lord is old and irritable, not used to being crossed. Neither was the boy used to it, and he fought hard when he found his liberty curbed."
    "And what's become of him now? For I recall you said you were but four in the house."
    "He has a neck as stiff as my lord's, he's taken himself off to live with his married sister and her family, and learn a trade. He was expected back with his tail between his legs before now, my lord was counting on it, but never a sign, and I doubt if there will be."
    It sounded, Cadfael reflected ruefully, a troublous situation for the disinherited boy's mother, who must be torn two ways in this dissension. Certainly it accounted for an act of spleen which the old man was probably already regretting. He handed over the bunch of mint stems, their oval leaves still well formed and whole, for they had dried in honest summer heat, and had even a good shade of green left. "She'll need to rub it herself, but it keeps its flavour better so. If she wants more, and you let me know, I'll crumble it fine for her, but this time we'll not keep her waiting. I hope it may go some way towards sweetening him, for his own sake and hers. And yours, too," said Cadfael, and clapped him lightly on the shoulder.
    Aelfric's gaunt features were convulsed for a moment by what might almost have been a smile, but of a bitter, resigned sort. "Villeins are there to be scapegoats," he said with soft, sudden violence, and left the hut hurriedly, with only a hasty, belated murmur of thanks.
    With the approach of Christmas it was quite usual for many of the merchants of Shrewsbury, and the lords of many small manors close by, to give a guilty thought to the welfare of their souls, and their standing as devout and ostentatious Christians, and to see small ways of acquiring merit, preferably as economically as possible. The conventual fare of pulse, beans, fish, and occasional and meagre meat benefited by sudden gifts of flesh and fowl to provide treats for the monks of St Peter's. Honey-baked cakes appeared, and dried fruits, and chickens, and even, sometimes, a haunch of venison, all devoted to the pittances that turned a