“One good shower would put all right,” said BrotherCadfael, eyeing the curious chessboard of blanched and bright witha gardener’s eye. “There’s nothing in the worldso strong as grass.”

He was on his way from the abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paulto its chapel and hospital of Saint Giles, half a mile away at thevery rim of the town. It was one of his duties to keep the medicinecupboard there well supplied with all the remedies the inmatesmight require, and he made this journey every couple of weeks, moreoften in times of increased habitation and need. On this particularearly morning in August he had with him young Brother Oswin, whohad worked with him among the herbs for more than a year, and wasnow on his way to put his skills into practice among the mostneedy. Oswin was sturdy, well-grown, glowing with enthusiasm. Timehad been when he had cost plenty in breakages, in pots burnedbeyond recovery, and deceptive herbs gathered by mistake for othersonly too like them. Those times were over. All he needed now to bea treasure to the hospital was a cool-headed superior who wouldknow when to curb his zeal. The abbey had the right of appointment,and the lay head they had installed would be more than proofagainst Brother Oswin’s too exuberant energy.

“You had a good fair, after all,” said Hugh.

“Better than ever I expected, with half the south cut offby the trouble in Winchester. They got here from Flanders,”said Cadfael appreciatively. East Anglia was no very peacefulground just now, but the wool merchants were a tough breed, andwould not let a little bloodshed and danger bar them off from agood profit.

“It was a fine wool clip.” Hugh had flocks of hisown on his manor of Maesbury, in the north, he knew about thequality of the year’s fleeces. There had been good buying infrom Wales, too, all along this border. Shrewsbury had ties ofblood, sympathy and mutual gain with the Welsh of both Powys and