Brother Cadfael 11: An Excellent Mystery

well! Brother Fidelis might at first be disposed to resent any other undertaking the care of his master. Let him find him recovered and well doctored, and he would accept what had been done. As good a way to his confidence as any.
    'I knew we should be needed before long,' said Edmund, leading the way vigorously up the day stairs. 'Old wounds, you think? Your skills will avail more than mine, you have ploughed that field yourself.'
    The bell had fallen silent. They heard the first notes of the evening office raised faintly from within the church as they entered the sick man's cell. He opened slow, heavy lids and smiled at them.
    'Brothers, I grieve to be a trouble to you…'
    The deep eyes were hooded again, but he was aware of all, and submitted meekly to all.
    They drew down the linen that hid him from the waist, and uncovered the ruin of his body. A great misshapen map of scar tissue stretched from the left hip, where the bone had survived by miracle, slantwise across his belly and deep, deep into the groin. Its colouration was of limestone pallor and striation below, where he was half disembowelled but stonily healed. But towards the upper part it was reddened and empurpled, the inflamed belly burst into a wet-lipped wound that oozed a foul jelly and a faint smear of blood.
    Godfrid Marsecot's crusade had left him maimed beyond repair, yet not beyond survival. The faceless, fingerless lepers who crawl into Saint Giles, thought Cadfael, have not worse to bear. Here ends his line, in a noble plant incapable of seed. But what worth is manhood, if this is not a man?

Chapter Three
    Edmund ran for soft cloths and warm water, Cadfael for draughts and ointments and decoctions from his workshop. Tomorrow he would pick the fresh, juicy water betony, and wintergreen and woundwort, more effective than the creams and waxes he made from them to keep in store. But for tonight these must do. Sanicle, ragwort, moneywort, adder's tongue, all cleansing and astringent, good for old, ulcerated wounds, were all to be found around the hedgerows and the meadows close by, and along the banks of the Meole Brook.
    They cleaned the broken wound of its exudations with a lotion of woundwort and sanicle, and dressed it with a paste of the same herbs with betony and the chickweed wintergreen, covered it with clean linen, and swathed the patient's wasted trunk with bandages to keep the dressing in place. Cadfael had brought also a draught to soothe the pain, a syrup of woundwort and Saint John's wort in wine, with a little of the poppy syrup added. Brother Humilis lay passive under their hands, and let them do with him what they would.
    'Tomorrow,' said Cadfael, 'I'll gather the same herbs fresh, and bruise them for a green plaster, it works more strongly, it will draw out the evil. This has happened many times since you got the injury?'
    'Not many times. But if I'm overworn, yes - it happens,' said the bluish lips, without complaint.
    'Then you must not be allowed to overwear. But it has also healed before, and will again. This woundwort got its name by good right. Be ruled now, and lie still here for two days, or three, until it closes clean, for if you stand and go it will be longer in healing.'
    'He should by rights be in the infirmary,' said Edmund anxiously 'where he could be undisturbed as long as is needful.'
    'So he should,' agreed Cadfael 'but that he's now well bedded here, and the less he stirs the better. How do you feel yourself now, Brother?'
    'At ease,' said Brother Humilis, and faintly smiled.
    'In less pain?'
    'Scarcely any. Vespers will be over,' said the faint voice, and the high-arched lids rolled back from fixed eyes. 'Don't let Fidelis fret for me…He has seen worse - let him come.'
    'I'll fetch him to you,' said Cadfael, and went at once to do it, for in this concession to the stoic mind there was more value than in anything further he could do here for the ravaged body. Brother Edmund followed him down the stair, anxious at his shoulder.
    'Will it heal? Marvel he ever lived for it to heal at all. Did you ever see a man so torn apart, and live?'
    'It happens,' said Cadfael, 'though seldom. Yes, it will close again. And open again at the least strain.' Not a word was said between them to enjoin or promise secrecy. The covering Godfrid Marescot had chosen for his ruin was sacred, and would be respected.
    Fidelis was standing in the archway of the cloister, watching the brothers as they emerged, and looking with increasing