The Pilgram of Hate by Ellis Peters Read Free Book Online

use. Brother
Adam of Reading had a sharp eye for rarities, and was likely to go home laden
with spoils. He admired the neatness and order of Cadfael’s workshop, the
collection of rustling bunches of dried herbs hung from the roof-beams and
under the eaves, and the array of bottles, jars and flagons along the shelves.
He had hints and tips of his own to propound, too, and the amiable contest kept
them happy all the afternoon. When they returned together to the great court
before Vespers it was to a scene notably animated, as if the bustle of
celebration was already beginning. There were horses being led down into the
stableyard, and bundles being carried in at the guest-hall. A stout elderly man,
well equipped for riding, paced across towards the church to pay his first
respects on arrival, with a servant trotting at his heels.
    Brother
Paul’s youngest charges, all eyes and curiosity, ringed the gatehouse to watch
the early arrivals, and were shooed aside by Brother Jerome, very busy as usual
with all the prior’s errands. Though the boys did not go very far, and formed
their ring again as soon as Jerome was out of sight. A few of the citizens of
the Foregate had gathered in the street to watch, excited dogs running among
their legs.
    “Tomorrow,”
said Cadfael, eyeing the scene, “there will be many more. This is but the
beginning. Now if the weather stays fair we shall have a very fine festival for
our saint.”
    And
she will understand that all is in her honour, he thought privately, even if
she does lie very far from here. And who knows whether she may not pay us a
visit, out of the kindness of her heart? What is distance to a saint, who can
be where she wills in the twinkling of an eye?
    The
guest-hall filled steadily on the morrow. All day long they came, some singly,
some in groups as they had met and made comfortable acquaintance on the road,
some afoot, some on ponies, some whole and hearty and on holiday, some who had
travelled only a few miles, some who came from far away, and among them a
number who went on crutches, or were led along by better-sighted friends, or
had grievous deformities or skin diseases, or debilitating illnesses; and all
these hoping for relief.
    Cadfael
went about the regular duties of his day, divided between church and herbarium,
but with an interested eye open for all there was to see whenever he crossed
the great court, boiling now with activity. Every arriving figure, every face,
engaged his notice, but as yet distantly, none being provided with a name, to
make him individual. Such of them as needed his services for relief would be
directed to him, such as came his way by chance would be entitled to his whole
attention, freely offered.
    It
was the woman he noticed first, bustling across the court from the gatehouse to
the guest-hall with a basket on her arm, fresh from the Foregate market with
new-baked bread and little cakes, soon after Prime. A careful housewife, to be
off marketing so early even on holiday, decided about what she wanted, and not
content to rely on the abbey bakehouse to provide it. A sturdy, confident
figure of a woman, perhaps fifty years of age but in full rosy bloom. Her dress
was sober and plain, but of good material and proudly kept, her wimple
snow-white beneath her head-cloth of brown linen. She was not tall, but so
erect that she could pass for tall, and her face was round, wide-eyed and
broad-cheeked, with a determined chin to it.
    She
vanished briskly into the guest-hall, and he caught but a glimpse of her, but
she was positive enough to stay with him through the offices and duties of the
morning, and as the worshippers left the church after Mass he caught sight of
her again, arms spread like a hen-wife driving her birds, marshalling two
chicks, it seemed, before her, both largely concealed beyond her ample width
and bountiful skirts. Indeed she had a general largeness about her, her
head-dress