“Good! So you should lay claim to what you know you dowell,” she said approvingly. “Music has been my easiestway to sleep, many a night. My consolation, too, when the devilswere too active. Now they spend their time sleeping, and I lieawake.” She moved a frail hand upon the coverlet, indicatinga chest that sat remote in a corner of the room. “There is apsaltery in there, though it has not been touched for a long time.If you care to try it? No doubt it would be grateful to be given avoice again. There is a harp in the hall, but no one now to playit.”

Tutilo went readily to lift the heavy lid and peer down at thestored valuables within. He lifted out the instrument, not a largeone, meant to be played on the knees, and shaped like the broadsnout of a pig. The manner in which he handled it was eloquent ofinterest and affection, and if he frowned, it was at the sight of abroken course among the strings. He peered deeper into the chestfor quills to play it, but found none, and frowned again.

Time was,” said Donata, “when I cut quills new everyweek or so. I am sorry we have neglected our duty.”

That brought her a brief, preoccupied smile, but his attentionwent back at once to the psaltery. “I can use mynails,” he said, and brought the instrument with him to thebedside, and without ceremony or hesitation sat down on the edge ofthe bed, straightened the psaltery on his knees, and passed astroking hand over the strings, raising a soft, quiveringmurmur.

“Your nails are too short,” said Donata. “Youwill flay your finger-ends.”

Her voice could still evoke colors and tones that made thesimplest utterance eloquent. What Cadfael heard was a mother,between indulgence and impatience, warning youth of venturing an