Brother Cadfael 08: The Devil's Novice

for themselves what manner of life they desire. Therefore, Brother Paul, it is my view that you must decline the offer of this boy, upon the terms desired. Let his father know that in a few years' time the boy will be welcome, as a pupil in our school, but not as an oblate entering the order. At a suitable age, should he so wish, he may enter. So tell his parent.' He drew breath and stirred delicately in his chair, to indicate that the conference was over. 'And you have, as I understand, another request for admission?'
    Brother Paul was already on his feet, relieved and smiling. 'There will be no difficulty there, Father. Leoric Aspley of Aspley desires to bring to us his younger son Meriet. But the young man is past his nineteenth birthday, and he comes at his own earnest wish. In his case, Father, we need have no qualms at all.'
    'Not that these are favourable times for recruitment,' owned Brother Paul, crossing the great court to Compline with Cadfael at his side, 'that we can afford to turn postulants away. But for all that, I'm glad Father Abbot decided as he did. I have never been quite happy about the young children. Certainly in most cases they may be offered out of true love and fervour. But sometimes a man must wonder ... With lands to keep together, and one or two stout sons already, it's a way of disposing profitably of the third.'
    'That can happen,' said Cadfael dryly, 'even where the third is a grown man.'
    'Then usually with his full consent, for the cloister can be a promising career, too, But the babes in arms - no, that way is too easily abused.'
    'Do you think we shall get this one in a few years, on Father Abbot's terms?' wondered Cadfael.
    'I doubt it. If he's placed here to school, his sire will have to pay for him.' Brother Paul, who could discover an angel within every imp he taught, was nevertheless a sceptic concerning their elders. 'Had we accepted the boy as an oblate, his keep and all else would be for us to bear. I know the father. A decent enough man, but parsimonious. But his wife, I fancy, will be glad enough to keep her youngest.'
    They were at the entrance to the cloister, and the mild green twilight of trees and bushes, tinted with the first tinge of gold, hung still and sweet-scented on the air. 'And the other?' said Cadfael. 'Aspley - that should be somewhere south, towards the fringes of the Long Forest, I've heard the name, but no more. Do you know the family?'
    'Only by repute, but that stands well. It was the manor steward who came with the word, a solid old countryman, Saxon by his name - Fremund. He reports the young man lettered, healthy and well taught. Every way a gain to us.'
    A conclusion with which no one had then any reason to quarrel. The anarchy of a country distracted by civil war between cousins had constricted monastic revenues, kept pilgrims huddled cautiously at home, and sadly diminished the number of genuine postulants seeking the cloister, while frequently greatly increasing the numbers of indigent fugitives seeking shelter there. The promise of a mature entrant already literate, and eager to begin his novitiate, was excellent news for the abbey.
    Afterwards, of course, there were plenty of wiseacres pregnant with hindsight, listing portents, talking darkly of omens, brazenly asserting that they had told everyone so. After every shock and reverse, such late experts proliferate.
    It was only by chance that Brother Cadfael witnessed the arrival of the new entrant, two days later. After several days of clear skies and sunshine for harvesting the early apples and carting the new-milled flour, it was a day of miserable downpour, turning the roads to mud, and every hollow in the great court into a treacherous puddle. In the carrels of the scriptorium, copiers and craftsmen worked thankfully at their desks. The boys kicked their heels discontentedly indoors, baulked of their playtime, and the few invalids in the infirmary felt their spirits sink as the daylight dimmed and went into mourning. Of guests there were few at that time. There was a breathing-space in the civil war, while earnest clerics tried to bring both sides together in agreement, but most of England preferred to stay at home and wait with held breath, and only those who had no option rode the roads and took shelter in the abbey guest-halls.
    Cadfael had spent the first part of the afternoon in his workshop in the herbarium. Not only had he a number of concoctions working there, fruit of his autumn