Brother Cadfael 01: A Morbid Taste for Bones

hurriedly over Brother Cadfael, who had never been one of his favourites, perhaps by reason of a certain spark in his eye, as well as his notoriously worldly past, and lit gladly upon Old Brother Rhys, who was virtually senile but doctrinally safe, and had the capacious if capricious memory of the very old. "Brother, can you tell us the history of this saint, and where her well is to be found?"
    The old man was slow to realise that he had become the centre of attention. He was shrunken like a bird, and toothless, and used to a tolerant oblivion. He began hesitantly, but warmed to the work as he found all eyes upon him.
    "Saint Winifred, you say, Father? Everybody knows of Saint Winifred. You'll find her spring by the name they gave the place, Holywell, it's no great way in from Chester. But she's not there. You won't find her grave at Holywell."
    "Tell us about her," coaxed Prior Robert, almost fawning in his eagerness. "Tell us all her story."
    "Saint Winifred," declaimed the old man, beginning to enjoy his hour of glory, "was the only child of a knight named Tevyth, who lived in those parts when the princes were yet heathens. But this knight and all his household were converted by Saint Beuno, and made him a church there, and gave him house-room. The girl was devoted even above her parents, and pledged herself to a virgin life, hearing Mass every day. But one Sunday it happened that she was sick, and stayed at home when all the rest of the household went to church. And there came to the door the prince of those parts. Cradoc, son of the king, who had fallen in love with her at a distance. For this girl was very beautiful. Very beautiful!" gloated Brother Rhys, and licked his lips loudly. Prior Robert visibly recoiled, but refrained from stopping the flow by reproof. "He pleaded that he was hot and parched from hunting," said Brother Rhys darkly, "and asked for a drink of water, and the girl let him in and gave him to drink. Then," he shrilled, hunching himself in his voluminous habit and springing erect with a vigour nobody present would have credited, "he pressed his suit upon her, and grappled her in his arms. Thus!" The effort was almost too much for him, and moreover, the prior was eyeing him in alarm; he subsided with dignity. "The faithful virgin put him off with soft words, and escaping into another room, climbed from a window and fled towards the church. But finding that she had eluded him, Prince Cradoc took horse and rode after, and overtaking her just within sight of the church, and dreading that she would reveal his infamy, struck off her head with his sword."
    He paused for the murmur of horror, pity and indignation, and got it, with a flurry of prayerfully-folded hands, and a tribute of round eyes.
    "Then thus piteously she came by her death and beatitude?" intoned Brother Jerome enthusiastically.
    "Not a bit of it!" snapped Brother Rhys. He had never liked Brother Jerome. "Saint Beuno and the congregation were coming out of the church, and saw what had passed. The saint drew a terrible curse upon the murderer, who at once sank to the ground, and began to melt like wax in a fire, until all his body had sunk away into the grass. Then Saint Beuno fitted the head of the virgin onto her neck, and the flesh grew together, and she stood up alive, and the holy fountain sprang up on the spot where she arose."
    They waited, spellbound, and he let them wait. He had lost interest after the death.
    "And afterwards?" insinuated Prior Robert. "What did the saint do with her restored life?"
    "She went on a pilgrimage to Rome," said Brother Rhys indifferently, "and she attended at a great synod of saints, and was appointed to be prioress over a community of virgin sisters at Gwytherin, by Llanrwst. And there she lived many years, and did many miracles in her lifetime. If it should be called her lifetime? She was once dead already. When she died a second time, that was where it befell." He felt nothing concerning this residue of life, he offered it with a shrug. The girl had had her chance with Prince Cradoc, and let it slip, obviously her natural bent was to be prioress of a nest of virgins, and there was nothing more to be told about her.
    "And she is buried there at Gwytherin?" persisted the prior. "And her miracles continued after death?"
    "So I have heard. But it's a long time," said the old man, "since I've heard her name mentioned. And longer since I was in those parts."
    Prior Robert stood in the circle of