Brother Cadfael 03: Monk's Hood

shoulders and back. He gets about very little now, and it does pain him, I've seen it make him jerk and start. You have an oil that gave him ease before."
    "I have. Wait, now, let me find a flask to fill for you." Cadfael hoisted from its place on a low bench a large stone bottle, and rummaged along the shelves for a smaller one of cloudy glass. Carefully he unstoppered and poured a viscous dark oil that gave off a strong, sharp odour. He replaced the wooden stopper firmly, bedding it in with a wisp of linen, and with another torn shred scrupulously wiped the lips of both containers, and dropped the rag into the small brazier beside which he had a stoneware pot simmering gently. "This will answer, all the more if you get someone with good strong fingers to work it well into his joints. But keep it carefully, Edmund, never let it near your lips. Wash your hands well after using it, and make sure any other who handles it does the same. It's good for a man's outside, but bad indeed for his inside. And don't use it where there's any scratch or wound, any break in the skin, either. It's powerful stuff."
    "So perilous? What is it made from?" asked Edmund curiously, turning the bottle in his hand to see the sluggish way the oils moved against the glass.
    "The ground root of monk's-hood, chiefly, in mustard oil and oil from flax seeds. It's powerfully poisonous if swallowed, a very small draught of this could kill, so keep it safe and remember to cleanse your hands well. But it works wonders for creaking old joints. He'll notice a tingling warmth when it's rubbed well in, and then the pain is dulled, and he'll be quite easy. There, is that all you need? I'll come over myself presently, and do the anointing, if you wish? I know where to find the aches, and it needs to be worked in deep."
    "I know you have iron fingers," said Brother Edmund, mustering his load. "You used them on me once, I thought you would break me apart, but I own I could move the better, the next day. Yes, come if you have time, he'll be glad to see you. He wanders, nowadays, there's hardly one among the young brothers he recognises, but he'll not have forgotten you."
    "He'll remember any who have the Welsh tongue," said Cadfael simply. "He goes back to his childhood, as old men do."
    Brother Edmund took up his bag and turned to the door. The thin young man, all eyes, slipped aside and opened it for him civilly, and again closed it upon his smiling thanks. Not such a meagre young man, after all, inches above Cadfael's square, solid bulk, and erect and supple of movement, but lean and wary, with a suggestion of wild alertness in his every motion. He had a shock of light-brown hair, unkempt from the rising wind outside, and the trimmed lines of a fair beard about lips and chin, pointing the hungry austerity of a thin, hawk-featured face. The large, bright-blue eyes, glittering with intelligence and defensive as levelled spears, turned their attention upon Cadfael, and sustained the glance unwavering, lances in rest.
    "Well, friend," said Cadfael comfortably, shifting his pot a shade further from the direct heat, "what is it I can do for you?" And he turned and viewed the stranger candidly, from head to foot. "I don't know you, lad," he said placidly, "but you're welcome. What's your need?"
    "I'm sent by Mistress Bonel," said the young man, in a voice low-pitched and pleasant to hear, if it had not been so tight and wary, "to ask you for some kitchen-herbs she needs. Brother Hospitaller told her you would be willing to supply her when her own stocks fail. My master has today moved into a house in the Foregate, as guest of the abbey."
    "Ah, yes," said Cadfael, remembering the manor of Mallilie, gifted to the abbey in return for the means of life to the giver. "So they are safely in, are they? God give them joy of it! And you are the manservant who will carry their meals back and forth - yes, you'll need to find your way about the place. You've been to the abbot's kitchen?"
    "Yes, master."
    "No man's master," said Cadfael mildly, "every man's brother, if you will. And what's your name, friend? For we shall be seeing something of each other in the days to come, we may as well be acquainted."
    "My name is Aelfric," said the young man. He had come forward from the doorway, and stood looking round him with open interest. His eyes lingered with awe on the large bottle that held the oil of monk's-hood. "Is that truly so deadly? Even a little of it can kill a