“A wedding,” said Cadfael seriously, stacking away jars of salves andbottles of lotion made from alkanet, anemone, mint, figwort, and the grains ofoats and barley, most of them herbs of Venus and the moon, “a wedding is thecrux of two lives, and therefore no mean matter.” He added the fruits ofmustard, which belongs rather to Mars, but provides formidablepastes and poultices to fight malignant ulcers. “Every man and woman who hasfaced the ordeal,” he said thoughtfully, “must feel concern for those about toface it. Even those who have not, may speculate with sympathy.”

Matrimony was one joust he had never attempted, wide as his experience hadbeen before he entered the cloister; but he had brushed fingertips with itonce, and circumvented it more than once. He felt some astonishment, once hebegan remembering.

“This baron has a famous name, but I know no more of him, except that he’sin good odor, they say, with the king. I think I may once have known an oldkinsman of the lady. But whether she’s from the same line is more than I know.”

“I hope she may be beautiful,” said Mark.

“Prior Robert would be interested to hear you say so,” said Cadfael drily,and closed the cupboard door.

“Beauty is a very healing thing,” said Brother Mark, earnest and unabashed.“If she is young and lovely, if she smiles on them and inclines her head as sherides by, if she does not shrink at seeing them, she will do more for thosepeople of mine out there than I can do with probing and poulticing. Here Ibegin to know that blessedness is what can be snatched out of the passing day,and put away to think of afterwards.” He added, recoiling into deprecation: “Ofcourse it need not be someone else’s wedding feast. But how can we waste that,when it offers?”