A poor little wretch enough to be credited with murder and robbery. On hisfeet he might perhaps be about as tall as Cadfael, who was below the middleheight, but width-ways Cadfael would have made three of him. His cotte and hosewere ragged and threadbare, and had several new rents in them now from clawinghands and trampling feet, besides the dust and stains of long use, butoriginally they had been brightly-coloured in crude red and blue. He had adecent width of shoulder, better feeding might have made a well-proportionedman of him, but as he moved stiffly to look up at them he seemed all ganglinglimbs, large of elbow and knee, and very low in flesh to cover them. Seventeenor eighteen years old, Cadfael guessed. The eyes raised to them in suchdesolate entreaty were hollow and evasive, and one of them half-closed andswelling, but in the light of the candles they flared darkly and brilliantlyblue as periwinkle flowers.

“Son,” said Radulfus, with chill detachment, for murderers come in allshapes, ages and kinds, “you heard what is charged against you by those whosurely sought your life. Here you have committed body and soul to the care ofthe church, and I and all here are bound to keep and succour you. On that youmay rely. As at this moment, I offer you only one channel to grace, and ask ofyou but one question. Whatever the answer, here you are safe as long as theright of sanctuary lasts. I promise it.”

The wretch crouched on his knees, watching the abbot’s face as though henumbered him among his enemies, and said no word.

“How do you answer to this charge?” asked Radulfus. “Have you this daymurdered and robbed?”