The Evening and the Morning

CHAPTER 19 June 998

ldred left Shiring on the pony Dismas, heading for Combe. There was safety in numbers, and he traveled with Offa the reeve, who was going to Mudeford. Aldred was carrying a letter from Abbott Osmund to Prior Ulfric. The letter was about a routine matter of business having to do with some land that, awkwardly, was jointly owned by the two monasteries. In Aldred’s saddlebag, carefully wrapped in linen, was a precious volume of the Dialogues of Pope Gregory the Great, copied and illuminated in Aldred’s scriptorium, a gift to Combe Priory. Aldred was hoping to receive a reciprocal present, another book that would enlarge the library at Shiring. Books were sometimes bought and sold, though exchange of gifts was more usual. But Aldred’s real reason for going to Combe was neither the letter nor the book. He was investigating Bishop Wynstan.

He wanted to be in Combe immediately after Midsummer Day, at the time when Wynstan and Degbert would visit, if they followed their usual routine. He was determined to find out what the corrupt cousins did there and whether it had any connection with the mystery of Dreng’s Ferry. He had been firmly ordered to drop the whole thing, but he was determined to disobey.

The minster at Dreng’s Ferry affected him profoundly. It made him feel stained. It was hard to take pride in being a man of God when others who wore the robes behaved like libertines. Degbert and his crew seemed to cast a shadow over everything Aldred did. Aldred was willing to break his vow of obedience if he could put an end to the minster.

Now that he was on his way, he had misgivings. Just how was he going to find out what Wynstan and Degbert were up to? He could follow them around, but they might notice. Worse, there were houses in Combe that a man of God should not enter. Wynstan and Degbert might go to such places discreetly, or perhaps not care if they were seen, but Aldred would find it impossible to act the part of a habitué, and he would surely be spotted. And then he would be in all kinds of trouble.

His route lay via Dreng’s Ferry, and he decided to ask Edgar’s help.

On arriving at the hamlet he went first to the minster. He walked in with his head high. He had been unwelcome there before, but now he was hated. It was not surprising. He had tried to have the priests ejected and deprived of their life of comfort and idleness, and they would never forget it. Forgiveness and mercy were among the many Christian virtues they lacked. All the same, Aldred insisted that they offer him the hospitality they owed to all clergy. He was not prepared to skulk in the alehouse. He was not the one who should feel ashamed. Degbert and his priests had given such offense by their behavior that the archbishop had agreed to expel them: they should feel unable to hold up their heads. They were still here only because they had some clandestine usefulness to Bishop Wynstan—and that was the secret Aldred was determined to uncover.

He did not want to reveal that he was on his way to Combe and would be there at the same time as Wynstan and Degbert, so he told a white lie and said he was going to Sherborne, which was several days’ journey from Combe.

After a begrudged evening meal and a perfunctory service of collatio, Aldred went in search of Edgar. He found him outside the alehouse, dandling a baby on his knee in the warm evening air. They had not met since their triumph at Outhenham, and Edgar seemed pleased to see Aldred.

But Aldred was startled by the baby. “Yours?” he said.

Edgar smiled and shook his head. “My brother’s. Her name is Wynswith. We call her Winnie. She’s almost three months old. Isn’t she beautiful?”

To Aldred she looked like every other baby: round-faced, bald as a priest, dribbling, charmless. “Yes, she’s beautiful,” he said. That was his second white lie today. He would have to pray for clemency.

“What brings you here?” said Edgar. “It can’t be the pleasure of visiting Degbert.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk without fear of being overheard?”

“I’ll show you my brewhouse,” Edgar said eagerly. “Just a minute.” He stepped inside the alehouse and came out again without the baby.

The brewhouse was close to the river, so that water did not have to be carried too far, and it was on the upstream side. As in all riverside settlements, the villagers dipped their buckets upstream and disposed of waste downstream.

The new building had a roof of oak tiles. “I thought you planned a stone roof,” Aldred said.

“I made a mistake,” Edgar said. “I found I couldn’t cut stone into tiles. They were either too fat or too thin. I had to change my design.” He looked a bit abashed. “In the future I need to remember that not every bright idea I get is practicable.”

Inside, a strong, spicy odor of fermentation came from a big bronze cauldron suspended over a square stone-walled hearth. Barrels and sacks were stacked in a separate room. The stone floor was clean. “It’s a little palace!” said Aldred.

Edgar smiled. “It’s designed to be fireproof. Why did you want to talk privately? I’m eager to know.”

“I’m on my way to Combe.”

Edgar understood immediately. “Wynstan and Degbert will be there in a few days.”

“And I want to see what they get up to. But I have a problem. I can’t follow them around without being noticed, especially if they go into houses of ill fame.”

“What’s the answer?”

“I want you to help me keep an eye on them. You’re less likely to attract attention.”

Edgar grinned. “Is it really a monk who is asking me to visit Mags’s house?”

Aldred grimaced with distaste. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

Edgar turned serious again. “I can go to Combe to buy supplies. Dreng trusts me.”

Aldred was surprised. “Does he?”

“He set a trap for me, gave me too much money for stones, expecting me to steal the surplus, and was shocked when I gave it back to him. Now he’s glad to have me do the work and take the strain off his famous bad back.”

“Do you need anything from Combe?”

“We’re going to have to buy new ropes soon, and they’re cheaper in Combe. I could probably leave tomorrow.”

“We shouldn’t travel together. I don’t want people to realize we’re collaborating.”

“Then I’ll leave the day after Midsummer, and take the raft.”

“Perfect,” Aldred said gratefully.

They stepped out of the brewhouse. The sun was going down. Aldred said: “When you get there, you’ll find me at the priory.”

“Travel safely,” said Edgar.

Five days after Midsummer, Edgar was eating cheese in the alehouse known as the Sailors when he heard that Wynstan and Degbert had arrived in Combe that morning and were staying with Wigelm.

Wigelm had rebuilt the compound that had been destroyed by the Vikings a year ago. It was easy for Edgar to keep an eye on the single entrance, especially as there was another alehouse a stone’s throw away.

It was boring work, and he passed the time by speculating about Wynstan’s secret. He could think of all kinds of nefarious activities that the bishop might indulge in, but he could not imagine how Dreng’s Ferry fitted in, and his guesswork got him nowhere.

That first evening Wynstan and his brother and cousin caroused at home. Edgar watched the gate until the lights began to go out in the compound, then he returned to the abbey for the night, and told Aldred he had nothing to report.

He was worried about being noticed. Most people in Combe knew him, and it would not take them long to start wondering what he was up to. He had bought rope and a few other supplies; he had drunk ale with a handful of old friends; he had taken a good look around the rebuilt town; and now he needed a pretext to linger.

It was June, and he remembered a place in the woods where wild strawberries grew. They were a special treat at this time of year, hard to find but mouthwateringly delicious. He left the town when the monks rose for their dawn service and walked a mile into the forest. He was lucky: the strawberries were just ripe. He picked a sackful, returned to the town, and began to sell them at Wigelm’s gate. There was a good deal of traffic into and out of the compound so it was a logical place for a vendor to stand. He charged a farthing for two dozen.

By afternoon he had sold them all and had a pocketful of change. He returned to his seat outside the alehouse and ordered a cup of ale.

Brindle’s behavior at Combe was peculiar. The dog seemed bewildered to be in the place she knew so well and find it different. She ran around the streets, renewing acquaintance with the town dogs, sniffing in a baffled way at rebuilt houses. She had yelped delightedly at coming across the stone-built dairy, which had survived the fire; then she had spent half a day sitting outside the place as if waiting for Sungifu to come.

“I know how you feel,” Edgar said to the dog.

Early that evening Wynstan, Wigelm, and Degbert emerged from Wigelm’s compound. Edgar was careful not to meet Wynstan’s eye: the bishop might well recognize him.

But Wynstan had his mind on pleasure tonight. His brothers were brightly dressed, and the bishop himself had changed his long black priestly robes for a short tunic under a light cloak secured with a gold pin. His tonsured head was covered with a jaunty cap. The three men zigzagged through the dusty streets in the evening light.

They went to the Sailors, the town’s largest and best-furnished alehouse. The place was always busy, and Edgar felt able to go inside and order a cup of ale while Wynstan called for a jug of the strong fermented-honey liquor called mead, and paid with pennies from a bulging leather purse.

Edgar drank his ale slowly. Wynstan did nothing remarkable. He drank and laughed, ordered a plate of shrimp, and put his hand up the skirt of a serving wench. He was making no serious attempt to keep his revelry secret, though he was taking care not to be ostentatious.

The daylight was fading, and no doubt Wynstan was getting drunker. When the three left the alehouse Edgar followed them out, feeling that the chances of his being noticed were diminishing. Nevertheless he maintained a discreet distance as he tailed them.

It occurred to him that if they spotted him they might pretend not to have, then ambush him. If that happened they would beat him half to death. He would not be able to defend himself against three of them. He tried not to feel scared.

They went to Mags’s house, and Edgar followed them in.

Mags had rebuilt the place and furnished it in a style as luxurious as that of any palace. There were tapestries on the walls, mattresses on the floor, and cushions on the seats. Two couples were shagging under blankets, and there were screens to hide those whose sexual practices were too embarrassing or too wicked to be seen. There seemed to be eight or ten girls and a couple of boys, some speaking with foreign accents, and Edgar guessed that most of them were slaves, bought by Mags at the market in Bristol.

Wynstan immediately became the center of attention, as the highest-ranking customer in the place. Mags herself brought him a cup of wine, kissed him on the lips, then stood beside him, pointing out the attractions of different girls: this one had big breasts, that one was expert at sucking off, and another had shaved all her body hair.

For a few minutes no one took any notice of Edgar, but eventually a pretty Irish girl showed him her pink breasts and asked him what would be his pleasure, and he muttered that he had come into the wrong house, and left quickly.

Wynstan was doing things a bishop ought not to do, and making only perfunctory attempts to be discreet, but again Edgar could not figure out what the great mystery might be.

It was full dark by the time the three merrymakers staggered out of Mags’s house, but their evening was not over yet. Edgar followed them with little fear now of being spotted. They went to a house near the beach that Edgar recognized as belonging to the wool trader Cynred, probably the richest man in Combe after Wigelm. The door was open to the evening air, and they went inside.

Edgar could not follow them into a private house. Looking through the open door he saw them settle around a table, chatting in a relaxed and amiable manner. Wynstan took out his purse.

Edgar concealed himself in a dark alley opposite.

Soon a well-dressed middle-aged man he did not recognize approached the house. Apparently not sure he was in the right place, the man put his head round the door. In the light from inside, Edgar saw that his clothes looked costly and possibly foreign. He asked a question Edgar did not hear. “Come in, come in!” someone shouted, and the man went in.

Then the door was closed.

However, Edgar could still hear something of what was going on inside, and soon the volume of conversation increased. He picked up the unmistakable rattle of dice in a cup. He heard shouted words:

“Ten pence!”

“Double six!”

“I win, I win!”

“The devil’s in those dice!”

Clearly Wynstan had had enough of drinking and whoring and had turned at last to gambling.

After a long wait in the alley, Edgar heard the monastery bell strike for the midnight service of nocturns, the first office of the new day. Soon afterward, the game seemed to come to an end. The players came out into the street, carrying branches from the fire to light their way. Edgar shrank back into his alley, but distinctly heard Wynstan say: “Luck was with you tonight, Monsieur Robert!”

“You take your losses in good spirit,” said a voice with an accent, and Edgar deduced that the foreign-looking stranger was a French or Norman trader.

“You must give me a chance to win it all back some time!”

“With pleasure.”

Edgar reflected ruefully that he had followed Wynstan all evening only to learn that the bishop was a good sport.

Wynstan, Wigelm, and Degbert turned toward Wigelm’s place, and Robert went in the opposite direction. On impulse, Edgar followed Robert.

The foreigner went to the beach. There he hitched up the skirts of his tunic and waded out into the water. Edgar watched him, following the flame, until he boarded a ship. By the light of the torch Edgar could see that it was a broad-beamed, deep-hulled vessel, almost certainly a Norman cargo ship.

Then the light was doused, and Edgar lost sight of the man.

Early next morning Edgar met with Aldred and confessed himself at a loss. “Wynstan spends the church’s money on wine, women, and dice, but there’s no mystery about that,” Edgar said.

But Aldred was intrigued by a detail Edgar had thought trivial. “Wynstan didn’t seem to mind having lost money, you say?”

Edgar shrugged. “If he did mind, he concealed it well.”

Aldred shook his head skeptically. “Gamblers always mind losing,” he said. “There would be no thrill otherwise.”

“He just shook the man’s hand and said he looked forward to a chance to win it back.”

“Something is wrong here.”

“I can’t think what it might be.”

“And afterward, Monsieur Robert boarded a ship, presumably his own.” Aldred drummed his fingers on the table. “I must talk to him.”

“I’ll take you.”

“Good. Tell me, is there a money changer in Combe? There must be, it’s a port.”

“Wyn the jeweler buys foreign money and melts it down.”

“Jeweler? He must have a balance and accurate weights for small amounts of precious metals.”

“I’m sure.”

“We may need him later.”

Edgar was intrigued. He did not follow Aldred’s thinking. He asked: “But why?”

“Be patient. It’s not clear in my own mind yet. Let’s go and talk to Robert.”

They left the monastery. Until now they had not been seen together in Combe, but Aldred seemed too excited to worry about that this morning. Edgar led the way to the beach.

Edgar was excited, too. Although he was baffled, he guessed they were nearer to solving the mystery.

The Norman cargo vessel was being loaded. On the beach was a small hill of iron ore. Men were shoveling the ore into barrels, carrying the barrels out to the ship, and emptying them into the hold. Monsieur Robert was on the beach, supervising. Edgar noticed that a leather purse bulging with coins was securely attached to his belt. “That’s him,” Edgar said.

Aldred approached the man and introduced himself, then said: “I have something important and private to tell you, Monsieur Robert. I think you were cheated last night.”

“Cheated?” said Robert. “But I won.”

Edgar shared Robert’s mystification. How could he have been cheated when he came away with a purse full of cash?

Aldred said: “If you will come with me to the jeweler’s house, I will explain. I promise you won’t feel it a wasted journey.”

Robert looked hard at Aldred for a long moment, then appeared to decide to trust him. “Very well.”

Edgar led them to the home of Wyn, a stone house that had survived the Viking fire. They found the jeweler at breakfast with his family. Wyn was a small man of about fifty with receding hair. He had a young wife—his second, Edgar recalled—and two little children.

Edgar said: “Good morning, sir. I hope I find you well.”

Wyn was amiable. “Hello, Edgar. How is your mother?”

“Feeling her age, to tell the truth.”

“Aren’t we all? Have you come back to Combe?”

“Just a visit. This is Brother Aldred, the armarius of Shiring Abbey, who’s staying at Combe Priory for a few days.”

Wyn said politely: “I’m glad to meet you, Brother Aldred.” He was puzzled but patient, waiting to find out what was going on.

“And this is Monsieur Robert, the owner of a ship in the harbor.”

“Happy to meet you, monsieur.”

Aldred then took over. “Wyn, would you be so kind as to weigh some English pennies that Monsieur Robert has acquired?”

Edgar began to see where Aldred was heading, and he became riveted.

Wyn hesitated only for a moment. To do a good turn for an important monk was an investment that would be repaid one day. “Of course,” he said. “Come into my workshop.”

He led the way and the others followed, Robert looking mystified but not unwilling.

Wyn’s workshop was similar to that of Cuthbert at the minster, Edgar saw, with a hearth, an anvil, an array of small tools, and a stout, ironbound chest that probably contained precious metals. On the workbench was a delicate-looking balance, a T shape with trays dangling from each end of the crossbar.

Aldred said: “Monsieur Robert, may we weigh the pennies you won at Cynred’s house last night?”

Edgar said: “Ah.” He was beginning to see how Robert might have been cheated.

Robert took the purse from his belt and opened it. It held a mixture of English and foreign currency. The others waited patiently while he picked out the English coins, all with a cross on one side and the head of King Ethelred on the other. He closed the purse carefully and reattached it to his belt, then counted out the pennies. There were sixty-three.

Aldred said: “Did you win all these coins last night?”

“Most of them,” said Robert.

Wyn said: “Please put sixty pennies in a tray—it doesn’t matter which one.” As Robert did so, Wyn selected some small weights from a box. They were disc-shaped and looked, to Edgar, as if they were made of lead. “Sixty pence should weight exactly three ounces,” Wyn said. He placed three weights in the opposite tray. The tray immediately sank to the bench. Edgar gasped, shocked. Wyn said to Robert: “Your pennies are light.”

“What does that mean?” said Robert.

Edgar knew the answer, but he remained silent while Wyn explained.

“Most silver coins contain some copper to make the disk more hard-wearing,” Wyn said. “English pennies have nineteen parts of silver to one part of copper. Just a moment.” He removed an ounce weight from the tray and began to replace it with smaller ones. “Copper is lighter than silver.” When the two sides balanced he said: “Your pennies contain about ten parts of copper to ten of silver. The difference is so small as to be imperceptible in normal use. But these are forgeries.”

Edgar nodded. That was the solution to the mystery: Wynstan was a forger. And furthermore, Edgar now realized, gambling was a way of changing bad coins for good. If Wynstan won at dice, he gained genuine silver pennies, but if he lost, he only sacrificed forgeries. Over the long run he was sure to come out ahead.

Robert’s face was flushed with anger. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

“I’ll prove it. Does anyone have a good penny?”

Edgar had Dreng’s money. He gave Robert a penny. Robert drew his belt knife and scratched the coin on the side with the head of Ethelred. The scratch was hardly visible.

Wyn said: “That coin is the same all the way through. No matter how deep you go, the color showing will be silver. Now scratch one of your own.”

Robert gave Edgar his penny back, took a coin of his own from the tray, and repeated the exercise. This time the scratch mark was brown.

Wyn explained: “The mixture of half silver, half copper is brown in color. Forgers make their coins look silver by washing them in vitriol, which removes the copper from the surface; but underneath the metal is still brown.”

Robert said furiously: “Those damned Englishmen were gambling with counterfeit money!”

Aldred said: “Well, one of them was.”

“I shall go and accuse Cynred now!”

“Cynred may not be the guilty one. How many were around the table?”

“Five.”

“Who will you accuse?”

Robert saw the problem. “So the cheat is going to get away with it?”

“Not if I can help it,” Aldred said resolutely. “But if you make a wild accusation now, they will all deny it. Worse, the villain will be forewarned and it will become difficult to bring him to justice.”

“What am I to do with all this false money?”

Aldred was unsympathetic. “You got it gambling, Robert. Have the forgeries melted down and made into a ring to wear to remind you not to gamble. Remember that the Roman soldiers at the Cross threw dice for our Lord’s clothes.”

“I’ll think about that,” Robert said sulkily.

Edgar doubted that Robert would melt down the counterfeit coins. More likely he would spend them in ones and twos so that their weight would not be noticed. But in fact that would suit Aldred’s purpose, Edgar saw. Robert would not tell anyone about the false money if he planned to spend it. So Wynstan would not know that his secret had been revealed.

Aldred turned to Wyn. “May I ask you to keep this to yourself, for the same reason?” he said.

“Very well.”

“I can assure you that I’m determined to bring the culprit to justice.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Wyn. “Good luck.”

Robert said: “Amen.”

Aldred was triumphant, but he soon realized the battle was not yet won. “All the clergy at the minster obviously know about this already,” he said thoughtfully, as Edgar poled the raft upriver. “It could hardly be hidden from them. But they keep quiet, and they’re rewarded for their silence with a life of idleness and luxury.”

Edgar nodded. “The villagers, too. They probably guess that something underhand goes on there, but they’re bribed by the gifts Wynstan brings four times a year.”

“And this explains why he was so furious about my proposal to transform his corrupt minster into a god-fearing monastery. He would have to recreate the setup in some other remote village—not an easy thing to do from scratch.”

“Cuthbert must be the forger. He’s the only person with the skill to engrave the dies to make the coins.” Edgar looked uncomfortable. “He’s not such a bad man, just weak. He could never stand up to a bully like Wynstan. I almost feel sorry for him.”

They parted company at Mudeford Crossing, still keen to avoid calling attention to their association. Edgar continued upstream and Aldred rode Dismas toward Shiring by an indirect route. He was fortunate to join up with two miners driving a cartload of something that looked like coal but was in fact cassiterite, the mineral from which valuable tin was extracted. If the outlaw Ironface happened to be nearby, Aldred felt sure he would be deterred by the sight of the powerfully built miners with their iron-headed hammers.

Travelers loved to talk, but the miners did not have much to say, and Aldred was able to think at length about how he might bring Wynstan before a court and see him convicted of his crime and punished. Even with what Aldred now knew it would not be easy. The bishop would have no end of oath helpers to swear he was an honest man who told the truth.

When witnesses disagreed there was a procedure for settling the matter: one of them had to undergo an ordeal, either pick up a red-hot iron bar and carry it ten paces, or plunge his hands into boiling water and pull out a stone. In theory, God would protect a man who was telling the truth. In practice, Aldred had never known anyone to volunteer for the ordeal.

Often it was clear which side was telling the truth, and the court would believe the more credible witness. But Wynstan’s case would have to be heard in the shire court, which would be presided over by his brother. Ealdorman Wilwulf would be shamelessly biased in Wynstan’s favor. Aldred’s only chance would be to produce evidence so overwhelmingly clear, backed up by oaths from men of such high status, that even Wynstan’s brother could not pretend to believe in his innocence.

He wondered what drove a man like Wynstan to become a forger. The bishop had a life of ease and pleasure: what more did he need? Why risk losing everything? Aldred supposed that Wynstan’s greed was insatiable. No matter how much money and power he had, he would always crave more. Sin was like that.

He arrived at Shiring Abbey late in the evening on the next day. The monastery was quiet and he could hear, from the church, the psalm singing of Compline, the service that signaled the end of the day. He stabled his horse and went straight to the dormitory.

In his saddlebag he had a gift from Combe Abbey, a copy of Saint John’s Gospel, with its profound opening words: “In principio erat Verbum, et Verbum erat apud Deum, et Deus erat Verbum.” In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Aldred felt he could spend his life trying to comprehend that mystery.

He would present the new book to Abbot Osmund at the first opportunity, he decided. He was unpacking his bag when Brother Godleof came out of Osmund’s room, which was at the end of the dorm.

Godleof was Aldred’s age, with dark skin and a wiry frame. His mother had been a milkmaid who was ravished by a passing nobleman. Godleof did not know the man’s name and hinted that his mother had never known it either. Like most of the younger monks, Godleof shared Aldred’s views and got impatient with the caution and parsimony of Osmund and Hildred.

Aldred was struck by Godleof’s worried look. “What’s happened?” he said. He realized that Godleof had something on his mind that he was reluctant to say. “Out with it.”

“I’ve been looking after Osmund.” Godleof had been a cowherd before he came to the monastery, and he used few words.

“Why?”

“He’s taken to his bed.”

Aldred said: “I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s not really a shock. He’s been ill for a while, and lately he’s had trouble walking down the stairs, never mind up.” He paused, studying Godleof. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“You better ask Osmund.”

“All right, I will.” Aldred picked up the book he had brought from Combe and went to Osmund’s room.

He found the abbot sitting up in bed with a pile of cushions behind him. He was not well but he looked comfortable, and Aldred guessed he would be content to stay in bed for the rest of his life, however long or short it might be. “I’m sorry to see you indisposed, my lord abbot,” said Aldred.

Osmund sighed. “God in his wisdom has not granted me the strength to carry on.”

Aldred was not sure it had been entirely God’s decision, but all he said was: “The Lord is all wise.”

“I must rely on younger men,” Osmund said.

Osmund looked faintly embarrassed. Like Godleof, he seemed to be burdened with something he might have preferred not to say. Aldred had a premonition of bad news. He said: “Are you perhaps thinking of appointing an acting abbot to manage the monastery during your illness?” It was an important point. The monk who was made acting abbot now had the best chance of becoming abbot when Osmund died.

Osmund did not answer the question, which was ominous. “The problem with young men is that they make trouble,” he said. This was obviously a dig at Aldred. “They are idealistic,” he went on. “They offend people.”

It was time to stop tiptoeing around. Aldred said bluntly: “Have you already appointed someone?”

“Hildred,” said Osmund, and he looked away.

“Thank you, my lord abbot,” said Aldred. He threw the book onto Osmund’s bed and left the room.