Brother Cadfael 14: The Hermit of Eyton Forest

falconer to the earl of Warwick. He has dealings with Gwynedd for young birds to train, so Brother Denis tells me. He came not a quarter of an hour since.'
    'I took him at first to be Bosiet's son,' said Cadfael, 'but I see he's too old - more the father's own generation.'
    'So did I take him for the son. I've been keeping a sharp watch for him, for someone has to tell him what's waiting for him here, and I'd rather it was Prior Robert than take it on myself.'
    'I like to see a man,' said Cadfael appreciatively, his eyes still on the stranger, 'who can stand stock still in the middle of other people's turmoil, and ask no questions. Ah, well, I'd better get this fellow unsaddled and into his stall, he's had a good day's exercise with all this coming and going. And so have I.'
    And tomorrow, he thought, leading the horse at a leisurely walk down the length of the great court towards the stable yard, I must be off again. I may be astray, but at least let's put it to the test.
    He passed close to where Rafe of Coventry stood, passively interested in the bustle for which he asked no explanation, and thinking his own thoughts. At the sound of hooves pacing slowly on the cobbles he turned his head, and meeting Cadfael's eyes by chance, gave him the brief thaw of a smile and a nod by way of greeting. A strong but uncommunicative face he showed, broad across brow and cheekbones, with a close-trimmed brown beard and wide-set, steady brown eyes, wrinkled at the corners as if he lived chiefly in the open, and was accustomed to peering across distances.
    'You're bound for the stables, Brother? Be my guide there. No reflection on your grooms, but I like to see my own beast cared for.'
    'So do I,' said Cadfael warmly, checking to let the stranger fall into step beside him. 'It's a lifetime's habit. If you learn it young you never lose it.' They matched strides neatly, being of the same modest stature. In the stable yard an abbey groom was rubbing down a tall chestnut horse with a white blaze down his forehead, and hissing gently and contentedly to him as he worked.
    'Yours?' said Cadfael, eyeing the beast appreciatively.
    'Mine,' said Rafe of Coventry briefly, and himself took the cloth from the groom's hand. 'My thanks, friend! I'll take him myself now. Where may I stable him?' And he inspected the stall the groom indicated, with a long, comprehensive glance round and a nod of satisfaction. 'You keep a good stable here, Brother, I see. No offence that I prefer to do my own grooming. Travellers are not always so well provided, and as you said, it's habit.'
    'You travel alone?' said Cadfael, busy unsaddling but with a sharp eye on his companion all the same. The belt that circled Rafe's hips was made to carry sword and dagger. No doubt he had shed both in the guest hall with his cloak and gear. A falconer is not easily fitted into a category where travel is concerned. A merchant would have had at least one able-bodied servant with him for protection, probably more. A soldier would be self-sufficient, as this man chose to be, and carry the means of protecting himself.
    'I travel fast,' said Rafe simply. 'Numbers drag. If a man depends only on himself, there's no one can let him fall.'
    'You've ridden far?'
    'From Warwick.' A man of few words and no curiosity, this falconer of the earl's. Or did that quite hold good? Concerning the search for the lost boy he showed no disposition to ask questions, but he was taking a measured interest in the stables and the horses they held. Even after he had satisfied himself of his own beast's welfare, he still stood looking round him at the rest with a keen professional eye. The mules and the working horses he passed by, but halted at the pale roan that had belonged to Drogo Bosiet. That was understandable enough in a lover of good horseflesh, for the roan was a handsome animal and clearly from stock of excellent quality.
    'Can your house afford such bloodstock?' He passed a hand approvingly over the glossy shoulder and stroked between the pricked ears. 'Or does this fellow belong to a guest?'
    'He did,' said Cadfael, himself sparing of words.
    'He did? How is that?' Rafe had turned alertly to stare, and in the unrevealing face the eyes were sharp and intent.
    'The man who owned him is dead. He's lying in our mortuary chapel this moment.' The old brother had gone to his rest in the cemetery that same morning, Drogo had the chapel to himself now.
    'What kind of man was that? And how did he die?' On