The Evening and the Morning

CHAPTER 17 February 998

dgar was angered by the idea of people stealing from Ragna.

He had not cared so much about Gab the quarrymaster cheating Ealdorman Wilwulf. Wilf had plenty of money, and anyway it was none of Edgar’s business. But he felt differently when Ragna was the victim, perhaps because she was a foreigner and therefore vulnerable—or perhaps, he thought wryly, because she was beautiful.

He had almost told her after the wedding, but he had hesitated. He wanted to be absolutely sure. He did not want to give her a false alert.

Anyway, he had to go to Outhenham again. The walls of the brewhouse were finished and the timber rafters were in place, but he wanted to complete the roof with thin stone tiles that would not burn. He told Dreng he could get the material for half the price if he transported it himself, which was true, and Dreng agreed, always keen to keep money rather than spend it.

Edgar built a simple raft of logs, long and broad. Last time he went to Outhenham he had followed the river upstream, so now he knew there were no major obstacles to craft, just two places where the water became shallow and the raft might have to be pulled along with ropes for a few yards.

However, poling the raft upstream would be hard work, and roping it over the shallows even harder, so he persuaded Dreng to pay Erman and Eadbald a penny each to leave the farm for two days and help him.

Dreng handed Edgar a small leather purse, saying: “There’s twelve pennies in there. That should be plenty.” Ethel gave them bread and ham for the journey, and Leaf added a flagon of ale to quench their thirst.

They set off early. Brindle leaped onto the raft as they boarded. In dog philosophy it was always better to go somewhere than to be left behind. Edgar asked himself whether that was his philosophy, too, and was not sure of the answer.

Erman and Eadbald were thin, and Edgar supposed he was, too. A year ago, when they had been living at Combe, no one would have called them even a little fat, but all the same they had shed weight over the winter. They were still strong, but lean, their cheeks concave, their muscles ropy, their waists narrow.

It was a cold February morning, but they perspired as they deployed the poles and pushed the raft upstream. One person could propel the vessel but it was easier with two, one on each side, the third man resting. They did not normally talk much, but there was nothing else to do on the journey, and Edgar asked: “How are you getting on with Cwenburg?”

Eadbald answered: “Erman lies with her on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and me on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.” He grinned. “Sunday is her day of rest.”

They were both good-humored about it, and Edgar concluded that the unorthodox marriage was working surprisingly well.

Erman said: “It’s lying and nothing more, now—she’s too pregnant for fucking.”

Edgar calculated when the baby was due. They had arrived in Dreng’s Ferry three days before Midsummer, and Cwenburg had conceived more or less immediately. “The baby is due three days before Lady Day,” he said. Erman gave him a sour look. Edgar’s ability with numbers seemed almost miraculous to other people, and his brothers resented it.

Erman said: “Anyway, Cwen can’t help with the spring ploughing. Ma will have to guide the ploughshare while we pull.”

The soil at Dreng’s Ferry was light and loamy, but their mother was no longer young. Edgar said: “How is Ma with that?”

“She finds field work hard.”

Edgar saw his mother about once a week, but his brothers were with her every day. “Does she sleep well?” he asked. “Does she have a good appetite?”

They were not very observant. Eadbald shrugged, and Erman said snappishly: “Look, Edgar, she’s old, and one day she will die, and only God knows when that will be.”

After that they stopped talking.

Looking ahead, Edgar reflected that it might not be easy to establish Gab’s cheating for certain. He needed to do it without arousing hostility. If he appeared too obviously inquisitive, Gab would become wary. And if he revealed his suspicions, Gab would be angry. It was curious, but a wrongdoer found out could often be morally indignant, as if the discovery were the offense, rather than the original transgression. More importantly, if Gab knew he was mistrusted he would have a chance to cover up.

The raft moved faster than Edgar had when walking on the bank, and they reached the large village of Outhenham at midday. The soil here was clay, and an eight-ox team was pulling a heavy plough in the nearest field, the great clods of earth rising and falling like waves of mud breaking on a beach. In the distance men were sowing, trudging the furrows and throwing the seed, while small children followed, scaring off the birds with shrill cries.

They pulled the raft up onto a beach, and to be doubly safe Edgar tied it to a tree. Then they walked into the village.

Seric was again in his orchard, pruning the trees this time. Edgar stopped to talk to him. “Am I going to have trouble with Dudda again?” he asked.

Seric glanced at the sky to check the time of day. “Not this early,” he said. “Dudda hasn’t had his dinner yet.”

“Good.”

“Mind you, he’s no sweetheart even when sober.”

“I can imagine.”

They walked on, and came across Dudda a minute later, outside the alehouse. “Good day to you, lads,” he said. “What’s your business here?” His aggression was no doubt tempered by the sight of three strong young men. All the same Brindle growled, sensing underlying hostility.

Edgar said to his brothers: “This is Dudda, headman of Outhenham.” To Dudda he said: “I’m here to buy stone at the quarry, same as last time.”

Dudda looked blank. Clearly he had no memory of Edgar’s previous visit. He said: “Go to the east of the village and follow the track north.”

Edgar knew the way, but he just said: “Thank you” and walked on.

Gab and his family were working in the quarry as before. There was a large stack of cut stones in the middle of the clearing, suggesting that business was slow, which was probably a good thing for Edgar, the buyer. A handcart stood beside the stack.

All I have to do, Edgar thought, is watch how Gab marks the tally stick after I buy the stones I need. If he cuts the correct number of notches, my suspicions are groundless. If not, I’ve proved him guilty.

The slab that Gab was working on fell to the ground with a crash and a cloud of dust, and Gab coughed, put down his tools, and came to speak to the three brothers. He recognized Edgar and said: “Dreng’s Ferry, wasn’t it?”

“I’m Edgar, and these are my brothers, Erman and Eadbald.”

Gab adopted a facetious tone. “Did you bring them to protect you from Dudda?” Obviously he had heard about Edgar’s altercation with the headman on the last visit.

Edgar did not find the joke funny. “I don’t need protection from a fat old drunk,” he said crisply. “I’m here to buy stones, and I’m going to transport them myself this time, so my brothers are here to help me. This way we’ll save a penny on every stone.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” Gab said archly. He did not like Edgar knowing his prices in advance. “Who told you that?”

Cuthbert had, but Edgar decided to ignore the question. “I need ten stones,” he said. He opened the purse Dreng had given him. To his surprise it contained more than the twelve pennies Dreng had said—in fact, he saw at a glance, twenty-four. Erman and Eadbald saw him hesitate and frown, and both could see the coins, but Edgar did not give them a chance to comment: he did not want to look indecisive in front of Gab. He postponed consideration of the mystery, and briskly counted out ten pennies.

Gab counted them again and pocketed them but, to Edgar’s disappointment, he did not notch a stick. He just pointed at the stack of stones. “Help yourselves,” he said.

Edgar did not have a plan for this contingency. He decided to move the stones while thinking about it. “We have to take them to the river,” he said to Gab. “Can we use your cart?”

“No,” said Gab with a sly little smile. “You’ve decided to save money. You can carry the stones.” He walked away.

Edgar shrugged. He unslung his ax and handed it to Erman. “You two go into the woods and cut two stout poles for carrying,” he said. “I’ll take a look at the stones.”

While his brothers were away, he studied the pile. He had already tried cutting a stone into slim tiles, and had discovered that it was a delicate task. The thickness had to be just right: thin tiles sometimes fractured, thick ones would be too heavy for the rafters to bear. But he was confident his skill would improve.

When his brothers came back, he trimmed the poles they brought then laid them parallel on the ground. He and Erman picked up a stone and placed it across the poles. Then they knelt on the ground, one in front of the stone and one behind, grasped the poles, and stood up, lifting the whole ensemble to hip height.

They set off down the track to the river. Edgar called back to Eadbald: “Come with us—we’ll need to set a guard on the raft.”

They took turns carrying, with the resting brother remaining at the riverside just in case some enterprising traveler should decide to make off with a stone or two. By the time the daylight began to fade they had sore shoulders and aching legs, and there was one more stone to move.

But Edgar had not achieved his other purpose. He had failed to confirm Gab’s dishonesty.

The quarry was deserted. Gab and his sons had disappeared, presumably into their house. Edgar tapped on the door and went in. The family were eating their evening meal. Gab looked up with an annoyed expression.

Edgar said: “Can we spend the night here? You were good enough to give me a place to sleep last time.”

“No,” said Gab. “You’re too many. And besides, there are more pennies in that purse of yours—you can afford to stay at the alehouse.”

Edgar was not surprised: the request was hardly reasonable. His question had been no more than a pretext for entering the house.

Gab’s wife, Bee, said: “The alehouse can be rowdy, but the food is all right.”

“Thank you.” Edgar turned around slowly, giving himself time to look carefully at the sticks hanging on the wall. There was a fresh-cut one, he observed, pale and new.

He saw immediately that it had five notches.

That proved it.

He masked his satisfaction, trying to look disappointed and mildly resentful at being refused accommodation. “Good-bye, then,” he said, and walked out.

He felt jubilant as he and Eadbald carried the last stone to the river. He was not sure why, but he was pleased to be able to do Ragna a good turn. He looked forward eagerly to telling her all about it.

When the last stone had been added to the stack, Edgar said: “I think the stones will be safe for an hour, if I leave Brindle here, especially now that it’s getting dark. We can get our supper at the alehouse. You two can sleep there, but I’ll spend the night on the raft. The weather’s not too cold.”

He tied up Brindle on a long string, then the three brothers walked to the alehouse. They got bowls of mutton stew and plenty of rye bread, and a pot of ale each. Edgar noticed Gab in a corner with Dudda, deep in conversation.

Eadbald said: “I saw that there was too much money in that purse.”

Edgar had been wondering when this would come up. He said nothing.

Erman said: “What are we going to do with the extra?”

Edgar noticed the use of “we” but did not comment on it. He said: “Well, I think we’re entitled to pay for our supper and beds for the night, but the rest goes back to Dreng, obviously.”

“Why?” said Erman.

Edgar disliked the question. “Because it’s his money!”

“He said he was giving you twelve pennies. How many were there?”

“Twenty-four.”

“How many extra is that?” Erman was not good with numbers.

“Twelve.”

“He made a mistake. So we can keep the extra twelve. We each get . . . a lot.”

Eadbald, who was smarter than Erman, said: “Four each.”

Edgar said: “So you’re asking me to steal twelve pennies and give eight away!”

“We’re all in this together,” said Erman.

“What if Dreng realizes his mistake?”

“We’ll swear there were only twelve pennies in the purse.”

Eadbald said: “Erman’s right. This is a chance.”

Edgar shook his head firmly. “I’m giving the extra back.”

Erman adopted a jeering tone. “You’ll get no thanks from Dreng.”

“I never get any thanks from Dreng.”

Eadbald said: “He’d steal from you if he could.”

“He would, but I’m not like him—thank heaven.”

They gave up.

Edgar was not a thief, but Gab was. There had been only five notches on his stick, whereas Edgar had bought ten stones. If Gab recorded only half of what he sold, he would pay Ragna only half of what was due. But for that he would need the cooperation of the village headman, who was responsible for making sure the villagers paid the right dues. Dudda would betray Gab’s scam—unless he were paid to keep quiet. And right now in front of Edgar’s eyes Gab and Dudda were drinking together and talking seriously, as if they were discussing some important common interest.

Edgar decided to speak to Seric about it. Seric was in the alehouse, talking to a shaven-headed man in a black robe who must be the village priest. Edgar waited until he left, then followed him, saying to his brothers: “I’ll see you at dawn.”

He followed Seric to a house next to the orchard. Seric turned at the door and said: “Where are you off to?”

“I’m going to spend the night on the riverbank. I want to guard my stones.”

Seric shrugged. “Probably unnecessary, but I won’t discourage you. And it’s a mild night.”

“May I ask you something in confidence?”

“Come inside.”

A gray-haired woman sat by the fire feeding a small child with a spoon. Edgar raised his eyebrows: Seric and his wife seemed too old to be the parents. Seric said: “My wife, Eadgyth, and our grandson, Ealdwine. Our daughter died in childbirth, and her husband went to Shiring to be a man-at-arms for the ealdorman.”

That explained the household.

“I wanted to ask you . . .” Edgar glanced at Eadgyth.

Seric said: “You can speak freely.”

“Is Gab honest?”

Seric was not surprised by the question. “I can’t say. Has he tried to cheat you?”

“Not me, no. But I bought ten stones, and I noticed a new stick with only five notches.”

Seric said: “Let me put it this way: if I were asked to swear to Gab’s honesty, I would refuse.”

Edgar nodded. That was enough. Seric could prove nothing, but he had little doubt. “Thank you,” said Edgar, and he took his leave.

The raft was pulled up on the beach. The brothers had not loaded it: that would have made theft of the stones too easy. Edgar lay down on the raft and pulled his cloak around him. He might not sleep, but perhaps that was no bad thing when he was guarding something valuable.

Brindle whimpered, and Edgar drew the dog under his cloak. Brindle would keep him warm, and warn him if anyone approached.

Edgar now had to tell Ragna that she was being defrauded by Gab and Dudda. He could go to Shiring tomorrow, he figured. Erman and Eadbald could manage the raft on the downstream trip, and he could go home by road, via the town. He needed lime for the mortar, and he could buy it in Shiring and carry it home on his shoulder.

Edgar slept fitfully and woke at first light. Soon afterward, Erman and Eadbald appeared, bringing Leaf’s flagon topped up with Outhenham ale and a big loaf of rye bread to eat on the way. Edgar told them he was going to Shiring to buy lime.

“So we’ll have to pole the raft back without your help!” Erman said indignantly.

“It won’t cost you much effort,” Edgar said patiently. “It’s downstream. All you’ll have to do is keep the raft away from the banks.”

The three of them pushed the raft into the water, still tied up, then loaded it with the stones. Edgar insisted on an interlocking pile, so that the cargo would not shift in transit, but in fact the river was so calm that it was not really necessary.

“You’d better unload before you drag the raft across the shallows,” Edgar said. “Otherwise you might get stuck.”

“Then reload again—that’s a lot of work,” Erman grumbled.

Eadbald said: “And we’ll have to unload the stones again at the other end!”

“You’d damn well better—you’re being paid to.”

“All right, all right.”

Edgar untied the raft and the three boarded. “Pole across and drop me on the opposite bank,” Edgar said.

They crossed the river. Edgar got off in the shallows. His brothers returned the vessel to midstream, and slowly the current caught it and took it away.

Edgar watched it out of sight, then set off on the road to Shiring.

The town was busy. The farriers were shoeing horses; the saddlers were sold out of tack; two men with rotating grindstones were sharpening every blade; and the fletchers were selling arrows as fast as they could make them. Edgar soon discovered the reason: Ealdorman Wilwulf was about to harry the Welsh.

The wild men of the west had raided into Wilf’s territory in the autumn, but he had been busy with his wedding and had not retaliated. However, he had not forgotten, and now he was mustering a small army to punish them.

An English attack would be devastating to the Welsh. It would disrupt the agricultural cycle. Men and women would be killed, so there would be fewer to plough and sow. Adolescent boys and girls would be captured and sold as slaves, making money for the ealdorman and his men-at-arms, and leaving fewer fecund couples, and therefore in the long term fewer Welsh raiders, theoretically.

Harrying was meant to discourage raids, but since the Welsh generally raided only when they were starving, the punishment was a feeble deterrent, in Edgar’s opinion. Revenge was the real motive, he thought.

He made his way to the abbey, where he planned to spend the night. It was a pale stone monument of peace in the middle of a town preparing for war. Aldred seemed pleased to see Edgar. The monks were about to go in procession to the church for the midafternoon services of Nones, but Aldred was allowed to skip it.

Edgar had had a long walk in the February cold, and Aldred said: “You need to warm up. There’s a fire in Osmund’s room—let’s sit there.” Edgar accepted gratefully.

All the other monks had left, and the monastery was silent. Edgar felt a moment of unease: Aldred’s affection for him was a little too intense. He hoped this was not going to be the scene of an embarrassing interaction. He did not want to offend Aldred, but nor did he want to be embraced by him.

He need not have worried. Aldred had other things on his mind. “It turns out that Ragna did not know about Wilf’s first wife, Inge,” he said.

Edgar remembered a conversation with Agnes the seamstress. “They thought she was dead,” he recalled.

“Until after they were married, and most of Ragna’s servants had gone back to Cherbourg; then Wilf moved Inge back into the compound, along with their son, Garulf.”

Dread settled like a weight in the pit of Edgar’s stomach. “How is she?”

“Distraught.”

He felt desperately sorry for her, a stranger far from home and family, cruelly tricked by the English. “Poor girl,” he said, but the phrase felt inadequate.

Aldred said: “But that’s not why I’m so keen to talk to you. It’s about Dreng’s Ferry.”

Edgar wrenched his thoughts away from Ragna.

Aldred went on: “After I saw the state of the minster, I proposed that it should be taken over by monks, and the archbishop agreed. But Wynstan kicked up a huge fuss, and Abbot Osmund backed down.”

Edgar frowned. “Why did Wynstan care so much?”

“That’s the question. It’s not a rich church, and Degbert is no more than a distant relation to him.”

“Why would Wynstan quarrel with his archbishop over something so minor?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you. You live at the alehouse, you operate the ferry, you see everyone who comes and goes. You must know most of what happens there.”

Edgar wanted to help Aldred, but did not know the answers to his questions. He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what’s in Wynstan’s mind.” Then a thought occurred to him. “He does visit, though.”

“Really?” said Aldred, intrigued. “How often?”

“Twice since I’ve been there. The first was a week after Michaelmas, the second just about six weeks ago.”

“You’re good with dates. So both visits came soon after the quarter day. For what purpose?”

“Nothing apparent to me.”

“Well, what does he do there?”

“At Christmas he gave every house a piglet.”

“Strange. He’s not normally openhanded. Rather the opposite.”

“And then he and Degbert went to Combe. Both times.”

Aldred scratched his shaved scalp. “Something is going on, and I can’t figure out what.”

Edgar had a notion, but he felt awkward about voicing it. “Wynstan and Degbert could be . . . I mean, they could be having some kind of . . .”

“Love affair? Possibly, but I don’t think so. I know a bit about that sort of thing, and neither man strikes me as the type.”

Edgar had to agree.

Aldred added: “They might hold orgies with slave girls at the minster, that would be more credible.”

It was Edgar’s turn to look dubious. “I don’t see how they could keep such a thing secret. Where would they hide the slaves?”

“You’re right. They might hold pagan rites, though; they wouldn’t necessarily need slaves for that.”

“Pagan rites? What’s in that for Wynstan?”

“What’s in it for anyone? But still there are pagans.”

Edgar was not convinced. “In England?”

“Perhaps not.”

Edgar was struck by a thought. “I vaguely remember Wynstan visiting Combe when we lived there. Young men aren’t very interested in the clergy, and I never took much notice, but he used to stay at the house of his brother, Wigelm—I remember my mother commenting that you’d expect a bishop to stay at the monastery.”

“And why would he go to Combe?”

“It’s a good place to indulge your lusts. At least it was before the Vikings burned it, and it probably recovered quickly. There’s a woman called Mags who keeps a bawdy house, several houses where men gamble for high stakes, and more alehouses than churches.”

“The fleshpots of Babylon.”

Edgar smiled. “Also a lot of ordinary people like me just pursuing a trade. But, yes, the town gets a lot of visitors, mostly sailors, and that gives it a certain character.”

There was a moment of quiet, and they both heard a soft sound from outside the room. Aldred jumped to his feet and threw the door wide.

Edgar saw the figure of a monk moving away.

“Hildred!” said Aldred. “I thought you were at Nones. Were you eavesdropping?”

“I had to come back for something.”

“What?”

Hildred hesitated.

“Never mind,” said Aldred, and he slammed the door.

The ealdorman’s compound was even busier than the town. The army was to leave at dawn, and all the men were getting ready, sharpening arrows and polishing helmets and loading saddlebags with smoked fish and hard cheese.

Edgar noticed that some of the women seemed dressed up, and he wondered why; then it occurred to him that they feared this night might be their last with their husbands, and they wanted to make it a memorable one.

Ragna looked different. The last time Edgar had seen her had been at her wedding, when she had shone with gladness and hope. She was still beautiful, but in a different way. Now the light she radiated was more like that of a full moon, bright but cold. She was as poised and composed as ever, and beautifully dressed in the rich brown color that suited her so well; but a certain girlish enthusiasm had gone, to be replaced by an air of angry determination.

He looked carefully at her figure—never a burdensome task—and decided that she was not yet pregnant. She had been married for only a little more than three months, so it was early days yet.

She welcomed him into her house and gave him bread with soft cheese and a cup of ale. He wanted to know about Wilf and Inge, but he did not dare to ask her such personal questions. Instead he said: “I’ve just been to Outhenham.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Buying stone for the new brewhouse I’m building at Dreng’s Ferry.”

“I’m the new lord of the Vale of Outhen.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted to see you. I think you’re being cheated.”

“Go on, please.”

He told her the story of Gab and his sticks. “I can’t prove that you’re being robbed, but I’m sure of it,” he said. “You may want to check.”

“I certainly do. If Dudda the headman is defrauding me that way he’s probably doing it in a dozen other ways, too.”

Edgar had not thought of that. Ragna had an instinct for government, he realized, just as he had an instinct for the construction of shapes in wood and stone. His respect for her rose higher.

She said thoughtfully: “What are the other villagers like? I’ve never been there.”

“There’s an elder called Seric who seems more sensible than most.”

“That’s useful to know. Thank you. And how are you?” Her tone became bright and somewhat brittle. “You’re old enough to be married. Is there a girl in your life?”

Edgar was taken aback. After their conversation at her wedding, when he had told her about Sungifu, how could she ask him a lighthearted question about romance? “I’m not planning to marry,” he said shortly.

She sensed his reaction, and said: “I’m sorry. I forgot, for a moment, just how very serious you are, for someone your age.”

“I think we have that in common.”

She thought about that. He feared he had been impudent, but all she said was: “Yes.”

It was an intimate moment, and he was emboldened to say: “Aldred told me about Inge.”

A wounded look came over her lovely face. “It was a shock to me,” she said.

Edgar guessed she was not that frank with everyone, and he felt privileged. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I feel mortified that you’ve been so misled by the English.” In the back of his mind he was thinking that he was not as sad as he should have been. Somehow the idea that Wilf had turned out to be an unsatisfactory husband did not displease him as much as it ought to have. He put the ungenerous thought out of his mind and said: “That’s why I’m so cross about Gab the quarrymaster. You know that we English are not all the same, though, don’t you?”

“Of course. But I only married one.”

Edgar risked a bold question. “Do you still love him?”

She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

He was surprised.

He must have shown it for she said: “I know. He’s deceived me, and he’s unfaithful, but I love him.”

“I see,” he said, though he did not.

“You shouldn’t be shocked,” she said. “You love a dead woman.”

That was harsh, but they were having a frank conversation. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.

Suddenly she seemed to feel they had gone far enough. She stood up and said: “I have a lot to do.”

“I’m glad to have seen you. Thank you for the cheese.” He turned to go.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you for telling me about the quarrymaster at Outhenham. I appreciate it.”

He felt a glow of satisfaction.

To his surprise she kissed his cheek. “Good-bye,” she said. “I hope I see you again soon.”

In the morning Aldred and Edgar went out to see the army ride off.

Aldred was still chewing over the mystery of Dreng’s Ferry. The place had something to hide. He had wondered why the ordinary villagers there were hostile to strangers. It was because they were guarding a secret—all except Edgar and his family, who were not in on it.

Aldred was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Edgar had with him the sack of lime he was going to carry for the next two days. “It’s a good thing you’re strong,” Aldred said. “I’m not sure I could carry it for two hours.”

“I’ll manage,” said Edgar. “It was worth it for the chance to talk to Ragna.”

“You’re fond of her.”

Edgar’s hazel eyes twinkled in a way that made Aldred’s heart beat faster. “Not in the way you seem to imply,” Edgar said. “Which is just as well, since the daughters of counts never marry the sons of boatbuilders.”

Aldred was familiar with impossible love. He almost said so, but bit his tongue. He did not want his tendresse for Edgar to become embarrassing to them both. That might end their friendship, and friendship was all he had.

He glanced at Edgar and saw, with relief, that his expression was untroubled.

There was a noise from up the hill, hoofbeats and cheering. The sound got louder, then the army appeared. At its head was a big iron-gray stallion with a mad look in its eye. Its rider, in a red cloak, was surely Wilf, but his identity was hidden by a gleaming full-face helmet with a plume. Looking more closely, Aldred saw that the helmet was made of more than one metal, and was engraved with complex designs that could not be made out at a distance. It was decorative, Aldred guessed, intended to impress: Wilf would probably wear a less valuable one into battle.

Wilf’s brother Wigelm and son, Garulf, came next, riding side by side; then the men-at-arms, dressed less finely but still showing some bright colors. After them came a crowd of young men on foot, peasant boys and poor town lads, dressed in the usual worn brown tunics, most armed with homemade wooden spears, others having nothing more than a kitchen knife or a hand ax, all hoping to change their fortunes in battle and come home with a bag of looted jewelry or a valuable pair of teenage captives to sell as slaves.

They all crossed the square, waving at the townspeople, who clapped and cheered as they went by; then they disappeared to the north.

Edgar was going east. He shouldered his sack and took his leave.

Aldred returned to the abbey. It was almost time for the service of Terce, but he was summoned to Abbot Osmund.

As usual, Hildred was with the abbot.

Aldred thought: What now?

Osmund said: “I’ll get right to the point, Brother Aldred. I don’t want you to make an enemy of Bishop Wynstan.”

Aldred understood immediately, but pretended not to. “The bishop is our brother in Christ, of course.”

Osmund was too smart to be diverted by this sort of platitude. “You were overheard talking to that lad from Dreng’s Ferry.”

“Yes. I caught Brother Hildred eavesdropping.”

Hildred said: “And a good thing, too! You were plotting against your abbot!”

“I was asking questions.”

Osmund said: “Listen to me. We had a difference of opinion with Wynstan about Dreng’s Ferry, but the matter has been resolved and is now closed.”

“Not really. The minster is still an abomination in the sight of the Lord.”

“That’s as may be, but I have decided not to quarrel with the bishop. I don’t accuse you of plotting against me, despite Hildred’s hot words, but really, Aldred, you must not undermine me.”

Aldred felt shame mixed with indignation. He had no wish to offend his kindly but lazy superior. On the other hand, it was wrong for a man of God to overlook wickedness. Osmund would do anything for a quiet life, but a monk was obliged to do more than seek a quiet life.

However, this was not the time to make a stand. “I’m sorry, my lord abbot,” he said. “I will try harder to remember my vow of obedience.”

“I knew you’d see sense,” said Osmund.

Hildred looked skeptical. He did not believe that Aldred was sincere.

And he was right.

Edgar arrived back in Dreng’s Ferry on the afternoon of the following day. He was dead beat. It had been a mistake to carry a sack of lime that distance. He was strong, but not superhuman. He had a crippling backache.

The first thing he saw was a pile of stones on the bank of the river. His brothers had unloaded the raft but had not carried the stones to the site of the brewhouse. At that moment he felt he could have murdered them both.

He was too tired even to walk into the tavern. He dumped his sack by the stones and lay on the ground right there.

Dreng came out and saw him. “So you’re back,” he said superfluously.

“Here I am.”

“The stones have arrived.”

“So I see.”

“What have you brought?”

“A sack of lime. I saved you the cost of horse transport, but I’ll never do it again.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

Dreng smiled with an odd look of malicious satisfaction.

Edgar said: “Except for one thing.” He took out the purse. “You gave me too much money.”

Dreng looked startled.

Edgar said: “The stones were a penny each. We paid a penny at the alehouse in Outhenham for supper and beds. The lime was four pence. There are nine pennies left.”

Dreng took the purse and counted the coins. “So there are,” he said. “Well, well.”

Edgar was puzzled. A man as mean as Dreng should have been horrified to learn that he had handed over more money than necessary. But he was just mildly surprised.

“Well, well,” Dreng said again, and he went back into the alehouse.

Lying supine, waiting for his back to stop hurting, Edgar mused. It was almost as if Dreng knew he had given too much and was surprised to get some back.

Of course, Edgar thought; that was it.

He had been given a test. Dreng had deliberately put temptation in his way, to see what he would do.

His brothers would have swallowed the bait. They would have stolen the money and been found out. But Edgar had simply given it back.

All the same, Erman and Eadbald had been right about one thing. They had said that Edgar would get no thanks from Dreng. And no thanks was just what he had got.