August should not, in normal circumstances, have been one of his busiesttimes in the gardens, but there was more than enough for one man to doproperly, and the only relief they had to offer him was Brother Athanasius, whowas deaf, half-senile, and not to be relied upon to know a useful herb from aweed, and the offer had been firmly declined. Better by far manage alone. Therewas a bed to be prepared for planting out late cabbages for succession, andfresh seed to be sown for the kind that can weather the winter, as well aspease to be gathered, and the dead, dried haulms of the early crop to becleared away for fodder and litter. And in his wooden work-shed in theherbarium, his own particular pride, he had half a dozen preparations workingin glass vessels and mortars on the shelves, all of them needing attention atleast once a day, besides the herb wines that bubbled busily on their own atthis stage. It was high harvest time among the herbs, and all the medicines forthe winter demanding his care.

However, he was not the man to let any part of his kingdom slip out of hiscontrol, however wastefully the royal cousins Stephen and Maud contended forthe throne of England outside the abbey walls. If he lifted his head from diggingcompost into the cabbage bed he could see the sluggish plumes of smoke hangingover the abbey roofs and the town and castle beyond, and smell the acridresidue of yesterday’s fires. That shadow and stink had hung like a pallover Shrewsbury for almost a month, while King Stephen stamped and raged in hiscamp beyond the Castle Foregate, the one dry-foot way into the town unless hecould get possession of the bridges, and William FitzAlan within the fortressheld on grimly, keeping an anxious eye on his dwindling supplies, and left thethundering of defiance to his incorrigible uncle, Arnulf of Hesdin, who hadnever learned to temper valour with discretion. The townspeople kept their