“Rhun has taken upon himself the custody of SaintWinifred’s altar,” said Cadfael. “He has aproprietorial interest in the little lady. He makes the candles forher himself, and borrows essences from me to scent them for her.No, Rhun will find his own duties, and no one will stand in hisway. He and she between them will see to that.”

They crossed the little foot-bridge over the leat that fed thepools and the mill, and emerged into the rose-garden. The trimmedbushes had made little growth as yet, but the first buds wereswelling at last, the green sheaths parting to show a sliver of redor white. “They’ll open fast now,” said Cadfaelcontentedly. “All they needed was warmth. I’d begun towonder whether the Widow Perle would get her rent on time thisyear, but if these are making up for lost time, so will her whiteones be. A sad year, if there were no roses by the twenty-secondday of June!”

“The Widow Perle? Oh, yes, the Vestier girl!” saidHugh. “I remember! So it’s due on the day of SaintWinifred’s translation, is it? How many years is it now sinceshe made the gift?”

“This will be the fourth time we’ve paid her herannual rent. One white rose from that bush in her old garden, to bedelivered to her on the day of Saint Winifred’stranslation—”

“Supposed translation,” said Hugh, grinning.“And you should blush when you name it.”

“So I do, but with my complexion who notices?” Andhe was indeed of a rosy russet colouring, confirmed by long yearsof outdoor living in both east and west, so engrained now thatwinters merely tarnished it a little, and summers regularly renewedthe gloss.

“She made modest demands,” observed Hughthoughtfully, as they came to the second plank-bridge that spannedthe channel drawn off to service the guest-hall. “Most of oursolid merchants up in the town value property a good deal higherthan roses.”