Brother Edmund the infirmarer came to Cadfael’s hut in themiddle of the afternoon, a week after Abbot Heribert’s departure, to collectsome medicines for his inmates. The frosts, though not yet severe, had comeafter such mild weather as to take more than one young brother by surprise,spreading a sneezing rheum that had to be checked by isolating the victims,most of them active youngsters who worked outdoors with the sheep. He had fourof them in the infirmary, besides the few old men who now spent their daysthere with none but religious duties, waiting peacefully for their end.

“All the lads need is a few days in the warm, and they’ll cure themselveswell enough,” said Cadfael, stirring and pouring a large flask into a smallerone, a brown mixture that smelled hot and aromatic and sweet. “But no need toendure discomfort, even for a few days. Let them drink a dose of this, two orthree times in the day and at night, as much as will fill a small spoon, andthey’ll be the easier for it.”

“What is it?” asked Brother Edmund curiously. Many of Brother Cadfael’spreparations he already knew, but there were constantly new developments.Sometimes he wondered if Cadfael tried them all out on himself.

“There’s rosemary, and horehound, and saxifrage, mashed into a little oilpressed from flax seeds, and the body is a red wine I made from cherries andtheir stones. You’ll find they’ll do well on it, any that have the rheum intheir eyes or heads, and even for the cough it serves, too.” He stoppered thelarge bottle carefully, and wiped the neck. “Is there anything more you’ll bewanting? For the old fellows? They must be in a taking at all these changeswe’re seeing. Past the three score men don’t take kindly to change.”

“Not, at all events, to this change,” owned Brother Edmund ruefully.“Heribert never knew how he was liked, until they began to feel his loss.”