“Father, he would like to make his reverence to you atonce, and let you know what his errand is. At your will whether itshould be here or in private.”

“Let him come in,” said Radulfus.

The porter vanished, and the small, discreet buzz of curiosityand speculation that went round the chapterhouse like a ripple on apond ebbed into anticipatory silence as the bishop’s envoycame in and stood among them.

A little man, of slender bones and lean but wiry flesh,diminutive as a sixteen-year-old boy, and looking very much likeone, until discerning attention discovered the quality and maturityof the oval, beardless face. A Benedictine like these his brothers,tonsured and habited, he stood erect in the dignity of his officeand the humility and simplicity of his nature, as fragile as achild and as durable as a tree. His straw-coloured ring of croppedhair had an unruly spikiness, recalling the child. His grey eyes,formidably direct and clear, confirmed the man.

A small miracle! Cadfael found himself suddenly presented with agift he had often longed for in the past few years, by its verysuddenness and improbability surely miraculous. Roger de Clintonhad chosen as his accredited envoy into Wales not some portly canonof imposing presence, from the inner hierarchy of his extensivesee, but the youngest and humblest deacon in his household, BrotherMark, sometime of Shrewsbury abbey, and assistant for two fondlyremembered years among the herbs and medicines of Cadfael’sworkshop.

Brother Mark made a deep reverence to the abbot, dipping hisebullient tonsure with a solemnity which still retained, until helifted those clear eyes again, the slight echo and charm ofabsurdity which had always clung about the mute waif Cadfael firstrecalled. When he stood erect he was again the ambassador; he wouldalways be both man and child from this time forth, until the daywhen he became priest, which was his passionate desire. And thatcould not be for some years yet, he was not old enough to beaccepted.