Reginald of Brecon leant back in his chair, and closed the book that he had been reading.
“The woman whom they call Denise?”
Silvius looked demure, as though his sanctity were especially sensitive where a woman was concerned.
“Her fame has become very great these months,” he said quietly.
“You covet it, Silvius.”
The almoner bowed his head.
“I grudge no soul its good works, Father. But in these days of burnings, and of spilling of blood——”
“The woods have grown perilous, Silvius, with Lord Peter’s men abroad.”
“That is the very truth, sir. There is no place safe outside the sanctuaries. I have heard it said that the Prior of Mickleham has offered protection to the woman.”
Abbot Reginald smiled, the smile of a philosopher.