“That is one he will never reclaim,” said Donatawith certainty. “My sorrow that ever he was driven to mistakehimself so grossly, and if Geoffrey de Mandeville did nothing ofgood besides, among his much evil, at least his onslaught droveSulien back to his proper self. My younger son,” she said,meeting Tutilo’s wide golden eyes with a thoughtful andappreciative smile, “was never cut out to be amonk.”

“So an emperor said, I believe,” remarked Cadfael,recalling what Anselm had said of the saint of Saint Gall,“about the first Tutilo, after whom this young brother isnamed. For this is Brother Tutilo, a novice of Ramsey, and close tothe end of his novitiate, as I hear from his superior. And if hetakes after his namesake he should be painter, carver, singer andmusician. Great pity, said King Charles—Charles the Fat, theycalled him—that ever such a genius should be made a monk. Hecalled down a malediction on the man that did it. So Anselm tellsme, at least.”

“Some day,” said Donata, looking this very comelyand graceful young man over from head to foot, and recording withdetached admiration what she saw, “some king may say as muchof this one. Or some woman, of course! Are you such a paragon,Tutilo?”

“It is why they gave me the name,” said the boyhonestly, and a faint rosy blush surged out of the coils of hiscowl and climbed his sturdy throat into the suave cheeks, butapparently without causing him the slightest discomfort. He did notlower his eyes, which dwelt with fascination upon her face. In itsfinal tranquility something of its long-departed beauty hadreturned, to render Donata even more formidable and admirable.“I have some skill,” he said, “in music.”It was stated with the certainty of one capable of detachedjudgment, without either boasting or deprecating his powers. Smallflames of interest and liking kindled in Donata’s holloweyes.