Brother Edmund the infirmarer, only eight years short of Cadfael’s robustsixty, and a grave, handsome, thoughtful creature who might have looked equallywell on horseback and in arms, or farming a manor and keeping a patron’s eye onhis tenants, considered the question seriously, and was not disturbed. “No, Ihave had no regrets. But neither did I know what there might be worthregretting. And I have known those who did rebel, even wanting that knowledge.It may be they imagined a better world without than is possible in this life,and it may be that I lack that gift of imagination. Or it may be only that Iwas fortunate in finding work here within to my liking and within my scope, andhave been too busy to repine. I would not change. But my choice would have beenthe same if I had grown to puberty here, and made my vows only when I wasgrown. I have cause to know that others would have chosen differently, had theybeen free.”

“That is fairly spoken,” said Radulfus. “Brother Cadfael, what of you? Youhave ranged over much of the world, as far as the Holy Land, and borne arms.Your choice was made late and freely, and I do not think you have looked back.Was that gain, to have seen so much, and yet chosen this small hermitage?”

Cadfael found himself compelled to think before he spoke, and beneath thecomfortable weight of a whole day’s sunlight and labour thought was an effort.He was by no means certain what the abbot wanted from him, but had no doubtwhatever of his own indignant discomfort at the notion of a babe in arms beingswaddled willy-nilly in the habit he himself had assumed willingly.

“I think it was gain,” he said at length, “and moreover, a better gift Ibrought, flawed and dinted though it might be, than if I had come in my