Folding bandages, hmm? Of course a child as young as he appears to be would be given such menial work. Joscelin schools his face into a suitably sulky frown and sets himself to the task at hand, watching the old man through long, dark eyelashes without appearing to do so. He works quickly and efficiently, and almost all of the bandages are already neatly (almost painfully neatly) rolled by the time the tonsured stranger turns back around to face him. Joss is surprised to see food being shoved at him, not more work. And yet, he is hungry. Not for bread and cheese, of course, but it will take the edge off until he can truly satiate himself. Plus, tearing ravenously into the plate in front of him will help in the part he must play to extract whatever useful information he can from his companion. He openly studies the man between large bites, downing most of the food in near record time. It’s all part of the act. This is hardly the first time he’s used his image as a pitiful, forlorn child to gain an advantage over others. He’s an old hand at it.

Brother Cadfael. Joscelin’s eyebrows shoot up at that, unbidden, before the mask falls back into place. So the man is a monk. Part of him, the part that still looks back almost fondly at his cloistered mortal life, feels a bit more at ease now, around this stranger, but he refuses to give into it. Even this sudden, unbidden familiarity cannot get him to drop his guard.

“God be with you, Brother.” The response is flat, almost bored; a schoolboy’s rote greeting.

“I’m called Joscelin.”