Brother Cadfael 15: The Confession of Brother Haluin

garrison. Once, as you'll remember all too well, he let himself be persuaded to take such a revenge, here at Shrewsbury, God knows against his nature. Never again! As like as not, it was the memory of Shrewsbury that kept Oxford safe. He let them march out untouched, on condition they dispersed to their homes. He's left the castle well garrisoned and supplied for his own cause, and made off to Winchester with his brother the bishop, to keep Christmas. And he's sent to call all his midland sheriffs there to keep it with him. It's long since he was in these parts, no doubt he's anxious to look us over afresh, and make sure that all his defences hold fast."
    "Now?" said Cadfael, surprised. "To Winchester? You'll never make the journey in time."
    "Yes, we shall. We have four days, and according to the courier the thaw's well forward, farther south, and the roads clear. I'll be away tomorrow."
    "And leave Aline and your boy to keep the feast without you! And Giles just past his third birthday, too!" Hugh's son was a Christmas babe, and had entered the world in the most extreme of winters, in frost and snow and bitter gales. Cadfael was his godfather and most devoted admirer.
    "Ah, Stephen won't keep us long," said Hugh confidently. "He needs us where he placed us, to keep an eye on his shire revenues. I shall be home by the year's end, if all goes well. But Aline will be glad if you could pay her a visit or two while I'm gone. Father Abbot won't grudge you leave now and then, and that long lad of yours - Winfrid, is it? - he's getting handy enough with the salves and medicines to be left on his own for an hour or two."
    "Very gladly I'll mind your flock for you at home," said Cadfael heartily, "while you're strutting at court. But you'll be missed, all the same. What a turnabout this has been! Five years of it now, and nothing gained on either part. And with the new year, no doubt it must all begin again. All that effort and waste, and nothing is changed."
    "Oh, yes, there's something changed, for what it's worth!" Hugh uttered a brief bark of laughter. "There's a new contender on the scene, Cadfael. Geoffrey could spare no more than a meagre handful of knights to his wife's aid, but he's sent her something it seems he can part with more willingly. Either that or, as may very well be true, he's taken Stephen's measure shrewdly enough to know past doubt what he dare wager in safety. He's sent over their son in Robert's care, to see if the English will rally to him rather than to his mother. Henry Plantagenet, nine years old - or did they say ten? No more than that! Robert brought him to her at Wallingford. By this time I fancy the boy's been whisked away to Bristol or Gloucester, out of harm's way. But if Stephen laid hold of him, what could he do with him? As like as not, put him on board ship at his own expense, and send him well guarded back to France."
    "Do you tell me so?" Cadfael's eyes opened wide in astonishment and curiosity. "So there's a new star on the horizon, is there? And starting young! It seems one soul at least has a blessed Christmas assured, with her liberty won, and her son in her arms again. His coming will give her heart, no question. But I doubt if he'll do much more for her cause."
    "Not yet!" said Hugh, with prophetic caution. "We'll wait and see what his mettle is. With his mother's stomach and Geoffrey's wit he may give the king trouble enough in a few years' time. We'd best make better use of what time we have, and see to it the boy goes back to Anjou and stays there, and best of all, takes his mother with him. I wish," said Hugh fervently, rising with a sigh, "Stephen's own son promised better, we'd have no need to fear what the empress's sprig may have to show." He shook off present doubts with an impatient twitch of his lean shoulders. "Well, I'll be off and make ready for the road. We'll be away at first light."
    Cadfael lifted his cooling pot aside to the earth floor, and went out with his friend through the walled stillness of the herb garden, where all his small, neat beds slept warmly through the frosts under deep snow. As soon as they let themselves out onto the path that skirted the frozen pools, they could see distantly, beyond the glassy surface and the broad gardens on the northern side, the long slope of the guest hall roof overhanging the drainage channel, the dark timber cage of scaffolding and ladders, and the two muffled figures working on the uncovered slates.
    "I see you