“Olivier’s life,” said Cadfael, “hasmore than half its race to run, by God’s grace, and is ofhigher value than my spent years. And you have a duty of your own,as I have mine. Yes, I will go. He knows it. He promises nothingand threatens nothing. He has said I go as my own man if I gobeyond Coventry, but he has not said what he would do, were he inmy shoes. And since I go without his bidding, I will go without anyproviding of his, if you will find me a mount, Hugh, and a cloak,and food in my scrip.”

“And a sword and a pallet in the guardroomafterwards,” said Hugh, shaking off his solemnity, “ifthe cloister discards you. After we have recovered Olivier, ofcourse.”

The very mention of the name always brought beforeCadfael’s eyes the first glimpse he had ever had of hisunknown son, seen over a girl’s shoulder through the openwicket of the gate of Bromfield Priory in the snow of a cruelwinter. A long, thin but suave face, wide browed, with a scimitarof a nose and a supple bow of a mouth, proud and vivid, with theblack and golden eyes of a hawk, and a close, burnished cap ofblue-black hair. Olive-gold, cast in fine bronze, very beautiful.Mariam’s son wore Mariam’s face, and did honour to hermemory. Fourteen years old when he left Antioch after her funeralrites, and went to Jerusalem to join the faith of his father, whomhe had never seen but through Mariam’s eyes. Thirty years oldnow, or close. Perhaps himself a father, by the girl ErminaHugonin, whom he had guided through the snow to Bromfield. Hernoble kin had seen his worth, and given her to him in marriage. Nowshe lacked him, she and that possible grandchild. And that wasunthinkable, and could not be left to any other to set right.

“Well,” said Hugh, “it will not be the firsttime you and I have ridden together. Make ready, then, you havethree days yet to settle your differences with God and Radulfus.And at least I’ll find you the best of the castle’sstables instead of an abbey mule.”