The snow thickened, two fine curtains of spume driving past him one oneither side, cloven by his sturdy body and waving away ahead of him like theends of a gauze scarf, drawing him forward. Perhaps four times on this ride hehad exchanged greetings in passing with other human creatures, and all of themclose to home. In such a season only the desperate travel.

It was dark by the time he reached the gatehouse of Bromfield,crossing the foot-bridge over the little River Onny. His horse had had enoughby then, and was blowing frostily, and twitching irritable shoulders andflanks. Cadfael lighted down gladly between the torches in the gateway, and leta lay brother take the bridle. Before him the familiar court opened, straighterthan at Shrewsbury, and the shapes of the monastic buildings gilded here andthere by the flame of a torch. The church of Saint Mary loomed dark indarkness, large and noble for such a modest foundation. And striding out ofshadows across the court came Prior Leonard himself, a long, loose-jointedheron of a man, pointed beak anxiously advanced, arms flapping like wings. Thecourt under his feet, surely swept during the day, already bore a smooth, frailcoating of snow. By morning it would be crisp and deep underfoot, unless thewind that brought it removed half of it again to hurl it elsewhere.

“Cadfael?” The prior was near-sighted, he had to peer and narrow his eyeseven by daylight, but he groped for a hand that came to meet his, and held andknew it. “Thank God you could come! I fear for him… But such a ride… Comewithin, come within, I have provision made for you, and a meal. You must beboth hungry and weary!”

“First let me see him,” said Cadfael briskly, and set off purposefully upthe slope of the court, leaving his broad boot-prints plain in the new-fallenwhiteness. Prior Leonard strode beside him, long legs curbed to his friend’sshorter pace, still talking volubly.