“Your prior will be wise,” said Urien, taking his leave,“to take a lesson from yonder young fellow. Leading and coaxing paysbetter than driving in these parts. But I need not tell you—a man asWelsh as myself.”

Cadfael watched him ride away gently along the cleared track until hevanished among the trees. Then he turned back towards Gwytherin, but wentsteeply downhill towards the river, and at the edge of the forest stood ingreen shadow under an oak tree, gazing across the sunlit meadows and the silverthread of river to where the team heaved and strained along the last furrow.Here there was no great distance between them, and he could see clearly thegloss of sweat on the pelts of the oxen, and the heavy curl of the soil as itheeled back from the share. The ploughman was dark, squat and powerful, with asalting of grey in his shaggy locks, but the ox-caller was tall and slender,and the curling hair that tossed on his neck and clung to his moist brow was asfair as flax. He managed his backward walking without a glance behind, feelinghis way light-footed and gracefully, as if he had eyes in the back of hisheels. His voice was hoarse and tired with long use now, but still clear andmerry, more effective than any goad, as he cajoled his weary beasts along thefinal furrow, calling and luring and praising, telling them they had donemarvels, and should get their rest and their need for it, that in moments nowthey would be going home, and he was proud of them and loved them, as if he hadbeen talking to Christian souls. And the beasts heaved and leaned, throwingtheir weight into the yokes and keeping their eyes upon him, and plainly woulddo anything in their power to please him. When the plough curved to the end andhalted, and the steaming oxen stood with lowered heads, the young man came andflung an arm over the neck of the near leader, and scrubbed with brisk knucklesin the curly hair on the other’s brow, and Cadfael said aloud:“Bravely! But, my friend, how did you stray into Wales?”