In a few moments Cadfael saw the possible reason for that. Agroom came down the court from the gatehouse leading two horses tothe stables, a solid brown cob, most likely his own mount, and abig, handsome black beast with white stockings, richly caparisoned.No need to ask whose. The impressive harness, scarlet saddle cloth,and ornamented bridle made all plain. Two more men followed withtheir less decorated horseflesh in hand, and a packhorse into thebargain, well loaded. This was a cleric who did not travel withoutthe comforts to which he was accustomed. But what might well havebrought that note of measured irritation into his voice was thatthe black horse, the only one of the party worthy to do justice tohis rider’s state, if not the only one fitted to carry hisweight, went lame in the left foreleg. Whatever his errand anddestination, the abbot’s guest would be forced to prolong hisstay here for a few days, until that injury healed.
Cadfael finished his clipping and carried away the basket offading heads into the garden, leaving the hum and activity of thegreat court behind. The roses had begun to bloom early, by reasonof fine, warm weather. Spring rains had brought a good hay crop,and June, ideal conditions for gathering it. The shearing wasalmost finished, and the wool dealers were reckoning up hopefullythe value of their clips. Saint Winifred’s modest pilgrims,coming on foot, would have dry traveling and warm lying, evenout-of-doors. Her doing, perhaps? Cadfael could well believe thatif the Welsh girl smiled, the sun would shine on the borders.