was something in his bearing reminiscent of the older man’s stiffself-awareness, like sire, like son. Meriet Aspley, nineteen years old, wasalmost a head shorter than Leoric when they stood together on the ground; awell-made, neat, compact young man, with almost nothing to remark about him atfirst sight. Dark-haired, with his forelocks plastered to his wet forehead, andrain streaking his smooth cheeks like tears. He stood a little apart, his headsubmissively bent, his eyelids lowered, attentive like a servant awaiting hislord’s orders; and when they moved away into the shelter of the gatehouse hefollowed at heel like a well-trained hound. And yet there was something about himcomplete, solitary and very much his own, as though he paid observance to theseformalities without giving away anything more, an outward and scrupulousobservance that touched no part of what he carried within. And such distantglimpses as Cadfael had caught of his face had shown it set and composed asausterely as his sire’s and deep, firm hollows at the corners of a mouth atfirst sight full-lipped and passionate.

No, thought Cadfael, those two are not in harmony, that’s certain. And theonly way he could account satisfactorily for the chill and stiffness was byreturning to his first notion, that the father did not approve his son’sdecision, probably had tried to turn him from it, and held it against himgrievously that he would not be deterred. Obstinacy on the one hand andfrustration and disappointment on the other held them apart. Not the best ofbeginnings for a vocation, to have to resist a father’s will. But those whohave been blinded by too great a light do not see, cannot afford to see, the painthey cause. It was not the way Cadfael had come into the cloister, but he hadknown it happen to one or two, and understood its compulsion.

They were gone, into the gatehouse to await Brother Paul, and their formalreception by the abbot. The groom who had ridden in at their heels on a shaggy