When they rode into the precinct of the diocesan guest-halls atLichfield, early in the evening, there was certainly a livelybustle to be observed, and several noble devices to be seen amongthe grooms and servants in the common lodging where Hugh’smen-at-arms rested. But none from Chester. Either Ranulf had takenanother route, perhaps straight from his half-brother in Lincoln,or else he was ahead of them, already back in his castle ofMountsorrel, near Leicester, making his plans for the council. Forhim it was not so much an attempt at making peace as an opportunityto secure his acceptance on what he hoped and calculated would bethe winning side in a total victory.

Cadfael went out before Compline into the chill of the dusk, andturned southward from the close to where the burnished surfaces ofthe minster pools shone with a sullen leaden light in the flatcalm, and the newly cleared space where the Saxon church had stoodshowed as yet like a scar slow to heal. Roger de Clinton,continuing work on foundations begun years before, had approved thechoice of a more removed and stable site for a projected weight fargreater than Saint Chad, the first bishop, had ever contemplated.Cadfael turned at the edge of the holy ground blessed by theministry of one of the gentlest and most beloved of prelates, andlooked back to the massive bulk of the new stone cathedral, barelyyet finished, if indeed there could ever be an end to adorning andenlarging it. The long roof of the nave and the strong, foursquarecentral tower stood razor-edged against the paler sky. The choir