The horses walked along a reinforced causeway, down an avenue of trees.

Scharley stood up in the stirrups. “Look at the monastery. I wonder what the rules are like. Do you fancy eating carp? Or tench? It’s Friday today and the monks have rung the Nones. Perhaps they’ll offer us luncheon?”

“I doubt it.”

“What do you doubt and why?”

Reynevan didn’t reply. He was looking at the half-open monastery gate, from which a piebald horse was cantering, ridden by a monk. Once outside the gate, the monk spurred his mount to a hard gallop—which ended badly. The little piebald horse turned out to be wild and skittish, and the monk, clearly a Benedictine from his black habit, wasn’t blessed with equestrian skill. He had also mounted the piebald wearing sandals, which just wouldn’t stay in the stirrups. After galloping about a quarter of a furlong, the piebald kicked and the monk sailed out of the saddle and tumbled over and over, flashing bare calves, and finally came to rest under some willows. The horse kicked and neighed, pleased with itself, and then trotted along the causeway towards the two travellers. Scharley grabbed its reins in passing.

“Just look at that centaur!” he said. “Rope for reins, a blanket for a saddle and rags for a girth. I don’t know if the Rule of Saint Benedict of Nursia permits or forbids riding horses, I truly don’t, but it ought to forbid riding like that.”

“He was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Like the monastery, they heard the monk before they saw him, for he was sitting among the burdock with his head on his knees, sobbing hard enough to break your heart.

“There, there,” said Scharley from the height of his saddle. “No need to shed tears, Frater. Nothing’s lost. The horse didn’t run away, we have him here. And you’ll learn to ride, Frater, for I see you have a great deal of time ahead of you in which to do so.”

Scharley was indeed right. The monk was but a boy, whose hands, lips and the rest of his face were shaking.

“Brother… Deodatus…” he sobbed. “Brother Deodatus… will die… because of me…”

“Eh?”

“It’s all my fault…”

“Were you hurrying to get a physician?” Reynevan quickly guessed. “To treat a sick man?”

The boy sobbed, “Brother Deodatus… will die because of me…”

“Collect yourself and speak more coherently, Frater!”

“An evil spirit has entered Brother Deodatus and possessed him!” shouted the monk, raising reddened eyes. “So the abbot ordered me to ride as quickly as possible to Świdnica, to the Order of Preachers… To fetch an exorcist!”

“Wasn’t there a better horseman in the monastery?”

“No, and since I’m the youngest… Oh, how hapless am I!”