Brother Cadfael 18: The Summer of the Danes

soil. Is that fair dealing?"
    "It is less extreme," said Owain coldly, "than what was done to Anarawd. Lands can be restored, if restoration is deserved. Life once lost is past restoration."
    "True, my lord, but even homicide may be compounded for a blood-price. To be stripped of all, and for life, is another kind of death."
    "We are not concerned with mere homicide, but with murder," said Owain, "as well you know."
    At Cadfael's left hand Cuhelyn sat stiff and motionless in his place, his eyes fixed upon Bledri, their glance lengthened to pierce through him and beyond. His face was white, and his single hand clenched tightly upon the edge of the board, the knuckles sharp and pale as ice. He said no word and made no sound, but his bleak stare never wavered.
    "Too harsh a name," said Bledri fiercely, "for a deed done in heat. Nor did your lordship wait to hear my prince's side of the quarrel."
    "For a deed done in heat," said Owain with immovable composure, "this was well planned. Eight men do not lie in wait in cover for four travellers unsuspecting and unarmed, in hot blood. You do your lord's cause no favour by defending his crime. You said you came to plead. My mind is not closed against reconciliation, civilly sought. It is proof against threats."
    "Yet, Owain," cried Bledri, flaring like a resinous torch, "it behoves even you to weigh what consequences may follow if you are obdurate. A wise man would know when to unbend, before his own brand burns back into his face."
    Cuhelyn started out of his stillness, quivering, and was half rising to his feet when he regained control, and sank back in his place, again mute and motionless. Hywel had not moved, nor had his face changed. He had his father's formidable composure. And Owain's unshaken and unshakable calm subdued in a moment the uneasy stir and murmur that had passed round the high table and started louder echoes down in the floor of the hall.
    "Am I to take that as threat, or promise, or a forecast of a doom from heaven?" asked Owain, in the most amiable of voices, but none the less with a razor edge to the tone that gave it piercing sweetness, and caused Bledri to draw back his head a little as if from a possible blow, and for a moment veil the smouldering fire of his black eyes, and abate the savage tightness of his lips.
    Somewhat more cautiously he responded at last: "I meant only that enmity and hatred between brothers is unseemly among men, and cannot but be displeasing to God. It cannot bear any but disastrous fruit. I beg you, restore your brother his rights."
    "That," said Owain thoughtfully, and eyeing the petitioner with a stare that measured and probed beyond the words offered, "I am not yet ready to concede. But perhaps we should consider of this matter at more leisure. Tomorrow morning I and my people set out for Aber and Bangor, together with some of the lord bishop's household and these visitors from Lichfield. It is in my mind, Bledri ap Rhys, that you should ride with us and be our guest at Aber, and on the way, and there at home in my llys, you may better develop your argument, and I better consider on those consequences of which you make mention. I should not like," said Owain in tones of honey, "to invite disaster for want of forethought. Say yes to my hospitality, and sit down with us at our host's table."
    It was entirely plain to Cadfael, as to many another within the hall, that by this time Bledri had small choice in the matter. Owain's men of the guard had fully understood the nature of the invitation. By his tight smile, so had Bledri, though he accepted it with every evidence of pleasure and satisfaction. No doubt it suited him to continue in the prince's company, whether as guest or prisoner, and to keep his eyes and ears open on the ride to Aber. All the more if his hint of dire consequences meant more than the foreshadowing of divine disapproval of enmity between brothers. He had said a little too much to be taken at his face value. And as a guest, free or under guard, his own safety was assured. He took the place that was cleared for him at the bishop's table, and drank to the prince with a discreet countenance and easy smile.
    The bishop visibly drew deep breath, relieved that his well-meaning effort at peace-making had at least survived the first skirmish. Whether he had understood the vibrating undertones of what had passed was doubtful. The subtleties of the Welsh were probably wasted on a forthright and devout Norman,