Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood

beak of an old soldier so consoled him that he found heart to laugh again, while Cadfael could not find the heart to scold him, since even for him the picture had its appeal.
    Brother Edmund the infirmarer came to Cadfael's hut in the middle of the afternoon, a week after Abbot Heribert's departure, to collect some medicines for his inmates. The frosts, though not yet severe, had come after such mild weather as to take more than one young brother by surprise, spreading a sneezing rheum that had to be checked by isolating the victims, most of them active youngsters who worked outdoors with the sheep. He had four of them in the infirmary, besides the few old men who now spent their days there with none but religious duties, waiting peacefully for their end.
    "All the lads need is a few days in the warm, and they'll cure themselves well enough," said Cadfael, stirring and pouring a large flask into a smaller one, a brown mixture that smelled hot and aromatic and sweet. "But no need to endure discomfort, even for a few days. Let them drink a dose of this, two or three times in the day and at night, as much as will fill a small spoon, and they'll be the easier for it."
    "What is it?" asked Brother Edmund curiously. Many of Brother Cadfael's preparations he already knew, but there were constantly new developments. Sometimes he wondered if Cadfael tried them al out on himself.
    "There's rosemary, and horehound, and saxifrage, mashed into a little oil pressed from flax seeds, and the body is a red wine I made from cherries and their stones. You'll find they'll do well on it, any that have the rheum in their eyes or heads, and even for the cough it serves, too." He stoppered the large bottle carefully, and wiped the neck. "Is there anything more you'll be wanting? For the old fellows? They must be in a taking at all these changes we're seeing. Past the three score men don't take kindly to change."
    "Not, at all events, to this change," owned Brother Edmund ruefully. "Heribert never knew how he was liked, until they began to feel his loss."
    "You think we have lost him?"
    "I fear it's all too likely. Not that Stephen himself bears grudges too long, but what the legate wants, Stephen will let him have, to keep the pope sweet. And do you think a brisk, reforming spirit, let loose here in our realm with powers to fashion the church he wants, will find our abbot very impressive? Stephen cast the doubt, while he was still angry, but it's Alberic of Ostia who will weigh up our good little abbot, and discard him for too soft in grain," said Brother Edmund regretfully. "I could do with another pot of that salve of yours for bed-sores. Brother Adrian can't be much longer for this penance, poor soul."
    "It must be pain now, just shifting him for the anointing," said Cadfael with sympathy.
    "Skin and bone, mere skin and bone. Getting food down him at al is labour enough. He withers like a leaf."
    "If ever you want an extra hand to lift him, send for me, I'm here to be used. Here's what you want. I think I have it better than before, with more of Our Lady's mantle in it."
    Brother Edmund laid bottle and pot in his scrip, and considered on other needs, scouring his pointed chin between thumb and forefinger. The sudden chill that blew in through the doorway made them both turn their heads, so sharply that the young man who had opened the door a wary inch or two hung his head in instant apology and dismay.
    "Close the door, lad," said Cadfael, hunching his shoulders.
    A hasty, submissive voice called: "Pardon, brother! I'll wait your leisure." And the door began to close upon a thin, dark, apprehensively sullen face.
    "No, no," said Cadfael with cheerful impatience, "I never meant it so. Come into the warm, and close the door on that wicked wind. It makes the brazier smoke. Come in, I'll be with you very shortly, when Brother Infirmarer has all his needs."
    The door opened just wide enough to allow a lean young man to slide in through the aperture, which he thereupon very hastily closed, and flattened his thin person against the door in mute withdrawal, willing to be invisible and inaudible, though his eyes were wide in wonder and curiosity at the storehouse of rustling, dangling, odorous herbs that hung about the place, and the benches and shelves of pots and bottles that hoarded the summer's secret harvest.
    "Ah, yes," said Brother Edmund, recollecting, "there was one more thing. Brother Rhys is groaning with creaks and pains in his