Cadfael was accustomed to having two assistants allotted to him throughoutthe active part of the gardening years, for he grew other things in his walledgarden besides the enclosure of herbs, though the main kitchen gardens of theabbey were outside the enclave, across the main highway and along the fields bythe river, the lush level called the Gaye. The waters of Severn regularlymoistened it in the flood season, and its soil was rich and bore well. Herewithin the walls be had made, virtually single-handed, this closed garden forthe small and precious things, and in the outer levels, running down to theMeole brook that fed the mill, he grew food crops, beans and cabbages andpulse, and fields of pease. But now with the winter closing gently in, and thesoil settling to its sleep like the urchins under the hedges, curled drowsilywith all their prickles cushioned by straw and dead grass and leaves, he wasleft with just one novice to help him brew his draughts, and roll his pills,and stir his rubbing oils, and pound his poultices, to medicine not only thebrothers, but many who came for help in their troubles, from the town and theForegate, sometimes even from the scattered villages beyond. He had not beenbred to this science, he had learned it by experience, by trial and study,accumulating knowledge over the years, until some preferred his ministrationsto those of the acknowledged physicians.

His assistant at this time was a novice of no more than eighteen years,Brother Mark, orphaned, and a trouble to a neglectful uncle, who had sent himinto the abbey at sixteen to be rid of him. He had entered tongue-tied,solitary and homesick, a waif who seemed even younger than his years, who did whathe was told with apprehensive submission, as though the best to be hoped out oflife was to avoid punishment. But some months of working in thegarden with Cadfael had gradually loosened his tongue and put his fears to