Brother Cadfael had been out before Prime in his enclosed herb-garden,observing with approval the blooming of his oriental poppies, and assessing thetime when the seed would be due for gathering. The summer season was at itsheight, and promising rich harvest, for the spring had been mild and moistafter plenteous early snows, and June and July hot and sunny, with a fewcompensatory showers to keep the leafage fresh and the buds fruitful. The hayharvest was in, and lavish, the corn looked ripe for the sickle. As soon as theannual fair was over, the reaping would begin. Cadfael’s fragrant domain, dewyfrom the dawn and already warming into drunken sweetness in the rising sun,filled his senses with the kind of pleasure on which an ascetic churchsometimes frowns, finding something uneasily sinful in pure delight. There weretimes when young Brother Mark, who worked with him this delectable field, feltthat he ought to confess his joy among his sins, and meekly accept someappropriate penance. He was still very young, there were excuses to be found forhim. Brother Cadfael had more sense, and no such scruples. The manifold giftsof God are there to be delighted in, to fall short of joy would be ingratitude.

Having put in two hours of work before Prime, and having no office inconnection with the abbey fair, which was engaging all attention, Cadfael wasnodding, as was his habit, behind his protective pillar in the dimmest cornerof the chapter-house, perfectly ready to snap into wakefulness if someunexpected query should be aimed in his direction, and perfectly capable ofanswering coherently what he had only partially heard. He had been sixteenyears a monk, by his own considered choice, which he had never regretted, aftera very adventurous life which he had never regretted, either, and he was virtuallyout of reach of surprise. He was fifty-nine years old, with a world ofexperience stored away within him, and still as tough as a badger—according toBrother Mark almost as bandy-legged, into the bargain, but Brother Mark was aprivileged being. Cadfael dozed as silently as a closed flower at night, andhardly ever snored; within the Benedictine rule, and in genial companionshipwith it, he had perfected a daily discipline of his own that suited his needsadmirably.