Camber of Culdi by Katherine Kurtz Read Free Book Online Page B

Saint Ultan’s’ And we’ve still got eleven years to go!”
    Rhys sighed and sat down at the desk, dipping quill to ink. “Well, let’s get on with it, then. A lot of those earlier ones will be dead by now— he may even be dead, for all we know. If you’ll find them, I’ll copy them down.”
    â€œAll right,” Joram sighed. “Here’s one in 26 Festilus III, when you get those three. It’s going to be a long night.”
    Three hours later, they had compiled a list of sixteen names, three of which they were able to eliminate immediately as belonging to identifiable noble houses. Unfortunately, they did not know the father’s full name, and there was no reference to grandparents in the records.
    So the two were left with a list of thirteen. Further winnowing with regard to age from other records cut the list to ten. But next they must search out all the death records for the ten Benedicts and discover which ones, if any, were still alive. The eastern windows of the library were graying with approaching dawn when the last scroll was replaced on its shelf and the two sat back to relax.
    â€œFive still alive and of the right age,” Joram murmured, stretching his arms over his head and indulging in a tremendous yawn. “It’s a good thing we insisted on coming here tonight. Can you imagine the whole abbey breathing down our necks in the daytime, wondering what in the world we were up to?”
    Rhys laid aside his quill and shook his fingers, then picked up the list. His eyes felt gravelly from lack of sleep, but the list was in his hands.
    26 F III Andrew, son of James, age 45 — Saint Piran’s Priory
    28 F III Nicholas, son of Royston, age 43 — Saint Foillan’s Abbey
    31 F III John, son of Daniel, age 42 — Saint Piran’s Priory
    32 F III Robert, son of Peter, age 39 — Saint Ultan’s Priory
    2 Bl. Matthew, son of Carlus, age 46 — Saint Illtyd’s Monastery
    He scanned the list once more, then handed it across to Joram.
    â€œWell, what now? I’ve never even heard of half these places. Where are Saint Ultan’s and Saint Foillan’s?”
    Joram looked at the list also, then folded it and tucked it into his robe. “Saint Ultan’s is down in Mooryn, near the coast. Saint Foillan’s is in the Lendour highlands, about three days’ ride southeast of here. I think we’d be better off to try Saint Piran’s first, though. That’s only a day’s ride north, and two of our candidates are there. Also, it’s too much to hope for, but this second one at Saint Piran’s, this John son of Daniel, is an awfully close name to be associated with the Haldane line. The name John is close to Ifor, who would have been our Benedict’s great-grandfather, the last Haldane king. And of course, your man’s name was Daniel. He might have named his son the same.”
    â€œAnd if neither of the Benedicts at Saint Piran’s is the one, what then?”
    â€œThen we’ll try Saint Foillan’s, and Saint Ultan’s, and even Saint llltyd’s, if we have to—though I don’t relish heading down toward Nyford with the building going on. I hope your riding muscles are in better shape than mine.”
    He rubbed his backside and gave a droll grin, and Rhys had to chuckle. Gathering up the extra parchment they had been using as working notes, Rhys started to wad it up, but Joram reached across and took it from him, held each piece to the rushlight flame, and watched it burn to ash. Rhys said nothing during the operation, but as they rose to go he glanced across at Joram.
    â€œYou know, you just destroyed my last illusion of innocence,” he said in a low voice. “We can still say, for now, that we’re only interested in finding Brother Benedict. As long as no one makes any other connection, we’re safe enough. But, once we find him, then what? What do you