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immune just as surely, safe from injury in the battle or reprisals after it.
“But he did not strike me as a cautious man,” Cadfael owned, rejecting the
option, though with some lingering reluctance.
    A
few threads of shadow still crossed the gathering darkness of the precinct,
ripples on a nocturnal lake. The open door of the bishop’s great hall made a
rectangle of faint light, most of the torches within already quenched, the fire
turfed down but still glowing, distant murmurs of movement and voices a slight
quiver on the silence, as the servants cleared away the remnants of the feast
and the tables that had borne it.
    A
tall, dark figure, wide-shouldered and erect against the pale light, appeared
in the doorway of the hall, paused for a long moment as though breathing in the
cool of the night, and then moved leisurely down the steps, and began to pace
the beaten earth of the court, slowly and sinuously, like a man flexing his
muscles after being seated a while too long. Cadfael opened the door a little
wider, to have the shadowy movements in view.
    “Where
are you going?” asked Mark at his back, anticipating with alert intelligence.
    “Not
far,” said Cadfael. “Just far enough to see what rises to our friend Bledri’s
bait. And how he takes it!”
    He
stood motionless outside the door for a long moment, drawing the door to behind
him, to accustom his eyes to the night, as doubtless Bledri ap Rhys was also
doing as he trailed his coat to and fro, nearer and nearer to the open gate of
the precinct. The earth was firm enough to make his crisp, deliberate steps
audible, as plainly he meant them to be. But nothing stirred and no one took
note of him, not even the few servants drifting away to their beds, until he
turned deliberately and walked straight towards the open gate. Cadfael had
advanced at leisure along the line of modest canonical houses and guest
lodgings, to keep the event in view.
    With
admirable aplomb two brisk figures heaved up into the gateway from the fields
without, amiably wreathed together, collided with Bledri in midpassage, and
untwined themselves to embrace him between them. “What, my lord Bledri!” boomed
one blithe Welsh voice. “Is it you? Taking a breath of air before sleeping? And
a fine night for it!”
    “We’ll
bear you company, willingly,” the second voice offered heartily. “It’s early to
go to bed yet. And we’ll see you safe to your own brychan, if you lose your way
in the dark.”
    “I’m
none so drunk as to go astray,” Bledri acknowledged without surprise or
concern. “And for all the good company there is to be had in Saint Asaph
tonight, I think I’ll get to my bed. You gentlemen will be needing your sleep,
too, if we’re off with the morn tomorrow.” The smile in his voice was clear to
be sensed. He had the answer he had looked for, and it caused him no dismay,
rather a measure of amusement, perhaps even satisfaction. “Goodnight to you!”
he said, and turned to saunter back towards the hall door, still dimly lighted
from within.
    Silence
hung outside the precinct wall, though the nearest tents of Owain’s camp were
not far away. The wall was not so high that it could not be climbed, though
wherever a man mounted, there would be someone waiting below on the other side.
But in any case Bledri ap Rhys had no intention of removing himself, he had
merely been confirming his expectation that any attempt to do so would very
simply and neatly be frustrated. Owain’s orders were readily understood even when
obliquely stated, and would be efficiently carried out. If Bledri had been in
any doubt of that, he knew better now. And as for the two convivial guards,
they withdrew again into the night with an absence of pretence which was almost
insulting.
    And
that, on the face of it, was the end of the incident. Yet Cadfael continued
immobile and detachedly interested, invisible against the dark bulk of the