Hardly a town at all, it was so small and compact. The lowwooden houses clustered close, the single track led into the heartof them, and disclosed the unmistakable long roof and timberbell-turret of the cathedral at the centre of the village. Modestthough it was, it was the largest building to be seen, and the onlyone walled in stone. A range of other low roofs crowded theprecinct, and on most of them some hasty repairs had been done, andon others men were still busily working, for though the church hadbeen in use, the diocese had been dormant for seventy years, and ifthere were still canons attached to this centre their numbers musthave dwindled and their houses fallen into disrepair long ago. Ithad been founded, many centuries past, by Saint Kentigern, on themonastic principle of the old Celtic clas, a college of canonsunder a priest-abbot, and with one other priest or more among themembers. The Normans despised the clas, and were busy disposing allthings religious in Wales to be subject to the Roman rite ofCanterbury. Uphill work, but the Normans were persistentpeople.

But what was astonishing about this remote and rural communitywas that it seemed to be over-populated to a startling degree. Assoon as they approached the precinct they found themselvessurrounded by a bustle and purpose that belonged to aprince’s llys rather than a church enclave. Besides the busycarpenters and builders there were men and women scurrying aboutwith pitchers of water, armfuls of bedding, folded hangings, traysof new-baked bread and baskets of food, and one strapping ladhefting a side of pork on his shoulders.

“This is more than a bishop’s household,” saidCadfael, staring at all the activity. “They are feeding anarmy! Has Gilbert declared war on the valley of Clwyd?”