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around him, and two people came up from the shadowy buildings of the stables towards the hall, softly and swiftly, but with abrupt pauses that shook the air more than their motion. They were talking as they came, just above the betraying sibilance of whispers, and their conference had an edge and an urgency that made him freeze where he stood, covered by the bulk and darkness of the trees. By the time he was aware of them they were between him and his rest, and when they drew close enough he could not choose but hear. But man being what he is, it cannot be avowed that he would so have chosen, even if he could.
    “—mean me no harm!” breathed the one, bitter and soft. “And do you not harm me, do you not rob me of what’s mine by right, with every breath you draw? And now you will be off to him, as soon as this English lord can be moved…”
    “Have I a choice,” protested the other, “when the prince sends me? And he is my foster-brother, can you change that? Why can you not let well alone?”
    “It is not well, it is very ill! Sent, indeed!” hissed the girl’s voice viciously. “Ha! And you would murder any who took the errand from you, and well you know it. And I to sit here! While you will be together again, his arm around your neck, and never a thought for me!” The two shadows glared in the muted gleam from the dying fire within, black in the doorway. Eliud’s voice rose perilously. The taller shadow, head and shoulders taller, wrenched itself away.
    “For God’s love, woman, will you not hush, and let me be!” He was gone, casting her off roughly, and vanishing into the populous murmur and hush of the hall. Cristina plucked her skirts about her with angry hands, and followed slowly, withdrawing to her own retiring place.
    And so did Cadfael, as soon as he was sure there was none to be discomposed by his going. There went two losers in this submerged battle. If there was a winner, he slept with a child’s abandon, as seemed to be his wont, in a stone cell that was no prison, in Shrewsbury castle. One that would always fall on his feet. Two that probably made a practice of falling over theirs, from too intense peering ahead, and too little watching where they trod.
    Nevertheless, he did not pray for them that night. He lay long in thought instead, pondering how so complex a knot might be disentangled.
     
    In the early morning he and his remaining force mounted and rode. It did not surprise him that the devoted cousin and foster-brother should be there to see him go, and send by him all manner of messages to his captive friend, to sustain him until his release. Most fitting that the one who was older and wiser should stand proxy to rescue the younger and more foolish. If folly can be measured so?
    “I was not clever,” owned Eliud ruefully, holding Cadfael’s stirrup as he mounted, and leaning on his horse’s warm shoulder when he was up. “I made too much of it that he should not go with Cadwaladr. I doubt I drove him the more firmly into it. But I knew it was mad!”
    “You must grant him one grand folly,” said Cadfael comfortably. “Now he’s lived through it, and knows it was folly as surely as you do. He’ll not be so hot after action again. And then,” he said, eyeing the grave oval countenance close, “I understand he’ll have other causes for growing into wisdom when he comes home. He’s to be married, is he not?” Eliud faced him a moment with great hazel eyes shining like lanterns. Then: “Yes!” he said very shortly and forbiddingly, and turned his head away.

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
    THE NEWS WENT ROUND IN SHREWSBURY—abbey, castle and town—almost before Cadfael had rendered account of his stewardship to Abbot Radulfus, and reported his success to Hugh. The sheriff was alive, and his return imminent, in exchange for the Welshman taken at Godric’s Ford. In her high apartments in the castle, Lady Prestcote brightened and grew buoyant with relief. Hugh rejoiced not only