Bened was a thickset, muscular man of middle years, bearded and brown. Of his two companions the younger was recognisable as the ploughman who had followed the ox-team that day, and no wonder he was dry after such labour. And the third was a grey-headed elder with a long, smoothly-trimmed beard and fine, sinewy hands, in an ample homespun gown that had seen better days, perhaps on another wearer. He bore himself as one entitled to respect, and got it.
“Padrig, here, is a good poet and a fine harpist,” said Bened, “and Gwytherin is lucky to have him staying a while among us, in Rhisiart’s hall. That’s away beyond Cadwallon’s place, in a forest clearing, but Rhisiart has land over this way, too, both sides the river. He’s the biggest landowner in these parts. There are not many here entitled to keep a harp, or maybe we’d be honoured with more visits from travelling bards like Padrig. I have a little harp myself — I have that privilege — but Rhisiart’s is a fine one, and kept in use, too. I’ve heard his girl play on it sometimes.”
“Women cannot be bards,” said Padrig with tolerant scorn. “But she knows how to keep it tuned, and well looked after, that I will say. And her father’s a patron of the arts, and a generous, open-handed one. No bard goes away disappointed from his hall, and none ever leaves without being pressed to stay. A good household!”
“And this is Cai, Rhisiart’s ploughman. No doubt you saw the team cutting new land, when you came over the ridge today.”
“I did and admired the work,” said Cadfael heartily. “I never saw better. A good team you had there, and a good caller, too.”
“The best,” said Cai without hesitation. “I’ve worked with a good many in my time, but never known one with the way Engelard has with the beasts. They’d die for him. And as good a hand with all cattle, calving or sick or what you will. Rhisiart would be a sorry man if ever he lost him. Ay, we did a good day’s work today.”
“You’ll have heard from Father Huw,” said Cadfael, “that all the free men are called to the church tomorrow after Mass, to hear what our prior is proposing. No doubt we shall see Rhisiart there.”
“See and hear him,” said Cai, and grinned. “He speaks his mind. An open-hearted, open-natured man, with a temper soon up and soon down, and never a grudge in him, but try and move him when his mind’s made up, and you’re leaning on Snowdon.”
“Well, a man can but hold fast to what he believes right, and even the opponent he baulks should value him for that. And have his sons no interest in the harp, that they leave it to their sister?”
“He has no sons,” said Bened. “His wife is dead, and he never would take another, and there’s only this one girl to follow him.”
“And no male heir anywhere in his kinship? It’s rare for a daughter to inherit.”
“Not a man on his side the family at all,” said Cai, “and a pity it is. The only near kin is her mother’s brother, and he has no claim, and is old into the bargain. The greatest match anywhere in this valley, is Sioned, and young men after her like bees. But God willing, she’ll be a contented wife with a son on her knee long before Rhisiart goes to his fathers.”
“A grandson by a good man, and what could any lord want more.” said Padrig, and emptied the jug of mead and passed the horn along. “Understand me, I’m not a Gwytherin man myself, and have no right to give a voice one way or the other. But if I may say a word my friends won’t say for themselves — you having your duty to your prior as Cai has to his lord, or I to my art and my patrons — don’t look for an easy passage, and don’t take offence if your way is blocked. Nothing personal to you! But where the free men of Wales see no fair dealing, they won’t call it by fair names, and they won’t stand aside.”
“I should be sorry if they did,” said Cadfael. “For my part, the ending I want is the fair ending, leaving no man with a just grievance. And what of the other lords we can expect to see there? Of Cadwallon we’ve heard, two of our brothers are enjoying his hospitality. And his lands are neighbour to Rhisiart’s?”
“It’s a fair piece beyond to Rhisiart’s hall, on through the forest. But they’re neighbours, boundary to boundary, yes, and friends from youth. A peaceable man, Cadwallon, he likes his comfort and his hunting. His way would be to say yes to whatever bishop and prince commend, but then, his way normally is also to say yes to Rhisiart. For that matter,” owned Bened, tilting the last drop from the horn, “I know no more than you what either of them will have to say in this matter. For all I know they’ll accept your omens and bless your errand. If the free voice goes with your prior, then Saint Winifred goes home with you, and that’s the end of it.”
It was the end of the mead, too, for that night.
“Bide the night here,” said Bened to Padrig, when the guests rose to walk home, “and we’ll have a little music before you leave tomorrow. My small harp needs to be played, I’ve kept it in fettle for you.”
“Why, so I will, since you’re so kind,” said Padrig, and weaved his way gently into the house with his host. And Cai and Brother Cadfael, taking their leave, set off companionably shoulder to shoulder, to make their way back to Father Huw’s house, and thence in courtesy a measure of the way through the woods towards Rhisiart’s hall before they parted.
“I would not say more nor plainer,” said Cai confidingly, “while Bened was present, nor in front of Padrig, for that matter, though he’s a good fellow — so are they both! — but a traveller, not a native. This Sioned, Rhisiart’s girl…. The truth is, Bened would like to be a suitor for her himself, and a good, solid man he is, and a girl might well do worse. But a widower, poor soul, and years older than the lass, and a poor chance he has. But you haven’t seen the girl!”
Brother Cadfael was beginning to suspect that he had indeed seen the girl, and seen more than any here had ever been allowed to see. But he said nothing.
“A girl like a squirrel! As swift, as sudden, as black and as red! If she had nothing, they’d still be coming from miles around, and she will have lands any man might covet even if she squinted! And there’s poor Bened, keeping his own counsel and feeding on his own silence, and still hoping. After all, a smith is respected in any company. And give him his due, it isn’t her heritage he covets. It’s the girl herself. If you’d seen her, you’d know. In any case,” said Cai, sighing gustily for his friend, “her father has a favourite for son-in-law already, and has all along. Cadwallon’s lad has been in and out of Rhisiart’s hall, and made free with Rhisiart’s servants and hawks and horses, ever since he could run, and grown up with the girl. And he’s sole heir to the neighbouring holding, and what could suit either father better? They’ve had it made up between them for years. And the children seem ideally matched, they know each other through and through, like brother and sister.”