“And as I hear, you are betrothed to Fulke Adeney’sdaughter.”

“I hardly know whether to say to that: ‘I am!’ or ‘Iwas!’ The times have altered a great many plans previously made, forothers as well as for me. As at this time, I do not know where the girl is, orwhether the bargain still holds.”

“There are said to be no women now in the castle,” said theking, eyeing him closely. “FitzAlan’s family may well be cleanaway, perhaps out of the country by now. But Adeney’s daughter is thoughtto be in hiding in the town. It would not be displeasing to me,” he saidwith soft emphasis, “to have so valuable a lady in safe-keeping—incase even my plans should need to be altered. You were of her father’sparty, you must know the places likely to be sheltering her now. When the wayis clear, you, of all people, should be able to find her.”

The young man gazed back at him with an inscrutable face, in which shrewdblack eyes signalled understanding, but nothing more, neither consent norresistance, no admission at all that he knew he was being set a task on whichacceptance and favour might well depend. His face was bland and his voiceguileless as he said: “That is my intent, your Grace. I came fromMaesbury with that also in mind.”

“Well,” said Stephen, warily content, “you may remain inattendance against the town’s fall, but we have no immediate work for youhere. Should I have occasion to call you, where will you be found?”

“If they have room,” said Beringar, “at the abbey guesthouse.”

*   *   *

The boy Godric stood through Vespers among the pupils and the novices, farback among the small fry of the house, and close to the laity, such as livedhere outside the walls on the hither bank of the river, and could still reachthis refuge. He looked, as Brother Cadfael reflected when he turned his head tolook for the child, very small and rather forlorn, and his face, bright and