Not a very amiable companion on a long journey, unless his looksbelied him. Brother Tutilo, who stood modestly a little behind hissuperior, following with rapt attention every word Herluin said,looked about twenty years old, perhaps even less; a lightly-builtlad, notably lissome and graceful in movement, a model ofdisciplined composure in stillness. His crown only just toppedHerluin’s shoulder, and was ringed with a profusion of lightbrown curls, the crop grown during a lengthy journey. No doubt theywould be clipped austerely close when Herluin got him back toRamsey, but now they would have done credit to a painted seraph ina missal, though the face beneath this aureole was scarcelyseraphic, in spite of its air of radiant devotion. At first glancea lovely innocent, as open as his wide eyes, and with the silkenpink and whiteness of a girl, but a more penetrating study revealedthat this childlike coloring was imposed upon an oval face ofclassic symmetry and sharp and incisive molding. The coloring ofroses on those pure marble lines had almost the air of a disguise,behind which an engaging but slightly perilous creature lurked inpossibly mischievous ambush.

Tutilo—a strange name for an English youth; for there wasnothing of the Norman or the Celtic about this young man. Perhapsthe name chosen for him when he entered his novitiate. He must askBrother Anselm what it signified, and where the authorities inRamsey could have found it. Cadfael turned his attention once againto what was being discussed between host and guests.

“While you are in these parts,” said the abbot,“I take it you may wish to visit other Benedictine houses. Wewill provide horses, if you so please. The season is not the most