Brother Cadfael 04: St. Peter's Fair

and rounded below the girdle. There was a life there within. He was not so innocent that he did not know the signs. He should have lowered his eyes, and willed to do so, and could not; she shone so that it was like all the pictures of the Visiting Virgin that he had ever seen. And this vision held out both hands to Brother Cadfael, and called him by his name. Brother Mark, though unwillingly, bent his head and went on his way alone.
    "Girl," said Brother Cadfael heartily, clasping the proffered hands with delight, "you bloom like a rose! And he never told me!"
    "He has not seen you since the winter," she said, dimpling and flushing, "and we did not know then. It was no more than a dream, then. And I have not seen you since we were wed."
    "And you are happy? And he?"
    "Oh, Cadfael, can you ask it!" There had been no need, the radiance Brother Mark had recognised was dazzling Cadfael no less. "Hugh is here, but he must go to the sheriff first. He'll certainly be asking for you before Compline. I have come to buy a cradle, a beautiful carved cradle for our son. And a Welsh coverlet, in beautiful warm wool, or perhaps a sheepskin. And fine spun wools, to weave his gowns."
    "And you keep well? The child gives you no distress?"
    "Distress?" she said, wide-eyed and smiling. "I have not had a moment's sickness, only joy. Oh, Brother Cadfael," she said, breaking into laughter, "how does it come that a brother of this house can ask such wise questions? Have you not somewhere a son of your own? I could believe it! You know far too much about us women!"
    "As I suppose," said Cadfael cautiously, "I was born of one, like the rest of us. Even abbots and archbishops come into the world the same way."
    "But I'm keeping you," she said, remorseful. "It's time for Vespers, and I'm coming, too. I have so many thanks to pour out, there's never enough time. Say a prayer for our child!" She pressed him by both hands, and floated away through the press towards the guest-hall. Born Aline Siward, now Aline Beringar, wife to the deputy sheriff of Shropshire, Hugh Beringar of Maesbury, near Oswestry. A year married, and Cadfael had been close friend to that marriage, and felt himself enlarged and fulfilled by its happiness. He went on towards the church in high content with the evening, his own mood, and the prospects for the coming days.
    When he emerged from the refectory after supper, into an evening still all rose and amber light, the court was as animated as at noon, and new arrivals still entering at the gatehouse. In the cloister Hugh Beringar sat sprawled at ease, waiting for him; a lightweight, limber, dark young man, lean of feature and quizzical of eyebrow. A formidable face, impossible to read unless a man knew the language. Happily, Cadfael did, and read with confidence.
    "If you have not lost your cunning," said the young man, lazily rising, "or met your overmatch in this new abbot of yours, you can surely find a sound excuse for missing Collations - and a drop of good wine to share with a friend."
    "Better than an excuse," said Cadfael readily, "I have an acknowledged reason. They're having trouble in the grange court with scour among the calves, and want a brewing of my cure in a hurry. And I daresay I can find you a draught of something better than small ale. We can sit outside the workshop, such a warm evening. But are you not a neglectful husband," he reproved, as they fell companionably into step on their way into the gardens, "to abandon your lady for an old drinking crony?"
    "My lady," said Hugh ruefully, "has altogether abandoned me! A breeding girl has only to show her nose in the guest-hall, and she's instantly swept away by a swarm of older dames, all cooing like doves, and loading her with advice on everything from diet to midwives' magic. Aline is holding conference with all of them, hearing details of all their confinements, and taking note of all their recommendations. And since I can neither spin, nor weave, nor sew, I'm banished." He sounded remarkably complacent about it, and being well aware of it himself, laughed aloud. "But she told me she had seen you, and you needed no telling. How do you think she is looking?"
    "Radiant!" said Cadfael. "In full bloom, and prettier than ever."
    In the herb-garden, shaded along one side by its high hedge from the declining sun, the heavy fragrances of the day hung like a spell. They settled on a bench under the eaves of Cadfael's workshop, with a jug of wine between