Brother Cadfael 19: The Holy Thief

he rose from his knees it was with an exultant spring in his step and tilt to his chin, as though he knew he had carried his point.
    When he did sense another presence, and turn to face the newcomer, it was with the most demure and modest front, abating his brightness and exuberance as smoothly as he had diverted his love song into liturgical piety for Herluin's benefit in Donata's bedchamber. True, when he recognized Cadfael his devout gravity mellowed a little, and a subdued gleam came back cautiously into his amber eyes.
    "I was praying her aid for our mission," he said. "Today Father Herluin preaches at the High Cross in the town. If Saint Winifred lends us aid we cannot fail."
    His eyes turned again to the reliquary on the altar, and lingered lovingly, wide with wonder.
    "She has done miraculous things. Brother Rhun told me how she healed him and took him to be her true servant. And other such marvels... many... When the day of her translation comes round, every year, there are hundreds of pilgrims, Brother Jerome says so. I have been asking him about all the treasury of relics your house has gathered here. But she is the chief, and incomparable."
    Brother Cadfael certainly had nothing to object to that. Indeed there were some among the treasury of relics amassed by obedientiaries here over the years about which he felt somewhat dubious. Stones from Calvary and the Mount of Olives, well, stones are stones, every hill has a scattering of them, there is only the word of the purveyor as to the origin of any particular specimen. Fragments of bones from saints and martyrs, a drop of the Virgin's milk, a shred of her robe, a little flask of the sweat of Saint John the Baptist, a tress from the red hair of Saint Mary Magdalen... all easily portable, and no doubt some of the returning pilgrims from the Holy Land were genuine, and believed in the genuineness of what they offered, but in some cases Cadfael wondered whether they had ever been nearer Acre than Eastcheap. But Saint Winifred he knew well, he had lifted her out of the Welsh earth with his own hands, and with his own hands laid her reverently back into it, and drawn the sweet soil of Gwytherin over her rest. What she had bequeathed to Shrewsbury and to him in absence was the sheltering shadow of her right hand, and a half-guilty, half-sacred memory of an affection and kindness almost personal. When he appealed, she listened. He tried to present her with only reasonable requests. But no doubt she would listen as attentively to this persuasive and enthusiastic youth, and grant him, perhaps not all he demanded, but whatever was good for him.
    "If only," breathed Tutilo, burning up into his brightest and most irresistible radiance, "if only Ramsey had such a patroness, our future glory would be assured. All our misfortunes would be over. Pilgrims would come by the thousand, their offerings would enrich our house. Why should we not be another Compostela?"
    "It may be your duty," Cadfael reminded him dryly,"to work for the enrichment of your monastery, but that is not the first duty of the saints."
    "No, but that is what happens," said Tutilo, unabashed. "And surely Ramsey needs and deserves a particular grace, after all her sufferings. It cannot be wrong to plead for her enrichment. I want nothing for myself." That he corrected in haste the next moment. "Yes, I want to excel. I want to be profitable to my brothers and my Order. That I do want."
    "And that," Cadfael said comfortably, "she will certainly look upon with favour. And so you are profitable. With gifts like yours you should count yourself blessed. You go and do your best for Ramsey in the town, and give as good when you get to Worcester, or Pershore, or Evesham, and what more can possibly be required of you?"
    "What I can, I'll do," agreed Tutilo, with a great deal of resolution, but decidedly less genuine enthusiasm, and his eyes still dwelling fondly on Winifred's chased reliquary, points of silver shining in the candlelight. "But such a patroness... what could she not do to restore our fortunes! Brother Cadfael, can you not tell us where to find such another?"
    He took his leave almost reluctantly, looking back from the doorway, before he shook his shoulders firmly, and went off to submit himself to Herluin's orders, and undertake, one way or another, to unloose the purse-strings of the burghers of Shrewsbury.
    Cadfael watched the slender, springy figure stride away, and found something slightly