The Evening and the Morning

CHAPTER 42 October 1006

ing Ethelred held court in Winchester Cathedral, with a crowd of dignitaries wrapped in furs against the bite of approaching winter.

To Ragna’s delight, he confirmed everything Sheriff Den had proposed.

Garulf protested, his indignant whine echoing off the stone walls of the nave. “I am the son of Ealdorman Wilwulf and the nephew of Ealdorman Wigelm,” he said. “Den is merely a sheriff without noble blood.”

The assembled thanes might have been expected to agree with this, for they all wanted their sons to be rulers too; but their reaction was muted.

Ethelred said to Garulf: “You lost half my army in one foolish battle in Devon.”

Kings have long memories, thought Ragna. She heard a rumble of agreement from the noblemen, who also remembered Garulf’s defeat.

“That will never happen again,” Garulf promised.

The king was unmoved. “It won’t, because you’ll never lead my army again. Den is ealdorman.”

Garulf at least had the sense to know when his case was hopeless, and he shut up.

It was not just the battle, Ragna reflected. Garulf’s family had defied the king’s rule again and again for a decade, disobeying orders and refusing to pay fines. It had seemed that they would get away with it indefinitely, but now at last their insurrection had come to an end. There was justice, after all. A pity it took such a long time coming.

Queen Emma, sitting next to the king on a similar cushioned stool, leaned over and murmured in his ear. He nodded and spoke to Ragna. “I believe your son has been restored to you, Lady Ragna.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

He addressed the court. “Let no one take the lady Ragna’s child from her.”

It was a fait accompli, but she was glad to have royal approval publicly stated. It gave her security for the future. “Thank you,” she said.

After the court, the new bishop of Winchester gave a banquet. It was attended by the previous bishop, Alphage, who had come from Canterbury. Ragna was keen to speak to him. It was high time Wynstan was removed from his bishopric, and the only person who could dismiss him was the archbishop of Canterbury.

She wondered how she could contrive a meeting, but Alphage solved the problem by approaching her. “Last time we were here, I believe you did me a good turn,” he said.

“I’m not sure what you mean . . .”

“You discreetly revealed the news of Bishop Wynstan’s shameful illness.”

“I tried to keep my role secret, but Wynstan seems to have ferreted out the truth.”

“Well, I’m grateful to you, for you put an end to his bid to become archbishop of Canterbury.”

“I’m very glad to have been of service to you.”

“So now you’re living at King’s Bridge?” he said, changing the subject.

“It’s my base, though I travel a lot.”

“And is everything well at the priory there?”

“Absolutely.” Ragna smiled. “I passed through nine years ago, and the place was a hamlet called Dreng’s Ferry, with about five buildings. Now it’s a town, busy and prosperous. Prior Aldred has done that.”

“A fine man. You know it was he who first warned me of Wynstan’s scheme to become archbishop.”

Ragna wanted to ask Alphage to dismiss Wynstan, but she had to tread carefully. The archbishop was a man, and all men hated to be told what to do by a woman. In her life she had sometimes forgotten this, and found her wishes frustrated for that reason. Now she said: “I hope you’ll come to Shiring before you return to Canterbury.”

“Any particular reason?”

“The town would be thrilled by a visit from you. And you might want to observe Wynstan.”

“How is his health?”

“Poor, but it’s not really for me to give an opinion,” she said with false humility. “Your own judgment is undoubtedly best.” It was rare for a man to doubt that his judgment was good.

Alphage nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll visit Shiring.”

Getting him to visit was only the beginning.

Archbishop Alphage was a monk, so he lodged at Shiring Abbey. This disappointed Ragna, for she had wanted him to stay at the bishop’s residence and get a good long close-up look at Wynstan.

Wynstan should have invited Alphage to dine with him. However, Ragna heard that Archdeacon Degbert had delivered a transparently insincere message saying that Wynstan would love to entertain the archbishop but would not ask him for fear of interfering with his monkish devotions. Wynstan was mad only in phases, it seemed; and when he was in his right mind he could be as sly as ever.

Ragna got Sheriff Den to invite the archbishop to dinner at his compound, so that Den could speak about Wynstan; but the result was another disappointment: Alphage declined. He was a genuine ascetic, and he really did prefer to eat stewed eel with beans in the company of other monks while listening to a reading from the life story of Saint Swithin.

Ragna was afraid that the two might not meet at all, which would scupper her plan. However, it was automatic that the visiting archbishop would celebrate Mass at the cathedral on Sunday, and Wynstan was obliged to attend, so to her relief the enemies were thrown together at last.

The whole town attended. Wynstan had deteriorated even since she had seen him the day after the death of Wigelm. His hair was graying, and he walked with a cane. Unfortunately that was not enough to get him unseated. Half the bishops Ragna had ever seen were old and gray and unsteady on their feet.

Ragna believed in the Christian faith and thanked God for its civilizing influence, but she did not spend much time thinking about it. However, the Mass always moved her, making her feel that she had a place in Creation that made sense.

Half her mind was on the service and half on Wynstan. She was worried, now, that he might get through the rite without revealing his insanity. He performed the motions mechanically, almost absent-mindedly, but he was not making any mistakes.

She watched the elevation of the Host with more than usual attention. Jesus had died so that sinners could be forgiven. Ragna had confessed her murder to Aldred, who was a priest as well as a monk. He had compared her to the Old Testament hero Judith, who had cut off the head of the Assyrian general Holofernes. The story proved that even a murderess could be pardoned. Aldred had assigned her a fasting penance and granted absolution.

The service continued with no manifestation of Wynstan’s madness. Ragna felt frustrated. She had had some credit with Alphage, but now it seemed she might have spent it in vain.

The priests began the procession to the exit. Suddenly Wynstan stepped to one side and crouched down. Alphage looked at him, mystified. Wynstan lifted the skirt of his priestly robe and defecated on the stone floor.

Alphage’s face was a picture of horror.

It only took a few seconds. Wynstan stood up, rearranged his robes, and said: “That’s better.” Then he rejoined the procession.

Everyone stared at what he had left behind.

Ragna gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Good-bye, Wynstan,” she said.

Ragna rode to King’s Bridge in the company of Archbishop Alphage, who was returning to Canterbury. He was a joy to talk to: intelligent, educated, sincere in his religion yet tolerant of dissent. He even knew the romantic Latin poetry of Alcuin, which she had loved when she was growing up. She now realized that she had got out of the habit of reading poetry. It had been crowded out of her life by violence, childbirth, and imprisonment. Perhaps there would soon be a time when she could read poetry again.

Alphage had dismissed Wynstan immediately. Unsure what to do with the mad bishop, he had asked Ragna’s advice, and she had recommended locking Wynstan up for a while in the hunting lodge where she had spent a year imprisoned. She had been savagely pleased with the irony.

Riding into King’s Bridge felt to Ragna like coming home, which was odd, she thought, for she had spent relatively little of her life here. But somehow she felt safe. Perhaps it was because Aldred ruled the town. He respected law and justice, and did not judge every issue according to his own interests, not even the priory’s interests. If only the whole world could be like that.

She noticed a massive hole in the ground on the site of the projected new church. Large stacks of timber and stones stood around. Clearly Aldred was going ahead without Edgar.

She thanked Alphage for his company and turned aside to her own residence, right opposite the building site, while the archbishop rode a little farther to the cluster of buildings that formed the priory.

She had decided not to move into Wilf’s house in Shiring. She could live anywhere in the region, and she preferred King’s Bridge.

As she approached her home—which was looking more and more like an ealdorman’s compound—Astrid gave a happy snort of recognition, and a moment later the children came running out, Ragna’s four boys and Cat’s two girls. Ragna jumped out of the saddle and hugged them all.

She was filled with a strange emotion that at first she did not recognize. After a moment she realized that she was happy.

She had not felt like this for a long time.

The timber building that had once been the minster was now Aldred’s house and place of work. He welcomed Archbishop Alphage, who shook his hand warmly and thanked him again for his help in gaining the archbishopric. Aldred said: “You’ll forgive me, my lord archbishop, if I say I did it for God, not for you.”

“Which is even more flattering,” said Alphage with a smile.

He sat down, declined a cup of wine, and helped himself from a bowl of nuts. “You were so right about Wynstan,” he said. “He is now quite mad.”

Aldred raised an eyebrow.

Alphage said: “Wynstan took a shit in Shiring Cathedral during Mass.”

“In front of everyone?”

“All the clergy and several hundred in the congregation.”

“Lord save us!” said Aldred. “Did he offer any excuse?”

“He just said: ‘That’s better.’”

Aldred let out a bark of laughter then apologized. “I’m sorry, archbishop, but it is almost funny.”

“I’ve dismissed him. Archdeacon Degbert will deputize for now.”

Aldred frowned. “I don’t have a high opinion of Degbert. He was dean here when this place was a minster.”

“I know, and I never thought well of him. I told him not to hope for promotion to bishop.”

Aldred was relieved. “Who then will take Wynstan’s place?”

“You, I hope.”

Aldred was astounded. He had not been expecting that. “I’m a monk,” he said.

“So am I,” said Alphage.

“But . . . I mean . . . my work is here. I’m the prior.”

“It may be God’s will for you to move on.”

Aldred wished he had been given more time to prepare for this conversation. It was a great honor to be made a bishop, and a tremendous opportunity to further God’s work. But he could not bear the thought of abandoning King’s Bridge. What about the new church? What about the growth of the town? Who would take his place?

He thought about Shiring. Could he realize his dream there? Could he turn Shiring Cathedral into a world-class center of learning? He would first have to deal with a group of priests who had become idle and corrupt under Wynstan. Perhaps he could dismiss all the priests and replace them with monks, following the example of Elfric, Alphage’s predecessor at Canterbury. But the Shiring monks were under the authority of Abbot Hildred, Aldred’s ancient enemy. No, a move to Shiring would set his project back years.

“I’m honored and flattered as well as surprised, my lord archbishop,” he said. “But I beg to be excused. I can’t leave King’s Bridge.”

Alphage looked cross. “That’s a great disappointment,” he said. “You’re a man of unusual potential—you might have my job, one day—but you’ll never rise in the church hierarchy if you remain merely prior of King’s Bridge.”

Once again Aldred hesitated. Few clergymen could be indifferent to the prospect that was being held out to him. But he was struck by a new thought. “My lord,” he said, thinking aloud, “is it impossible that the seat of the diocese could be moved to King’s Bridge?”

Alphage looked startled. Clearly it was a new thought to him, too. He spoke tentatively. “Certainly I have the power to do that. But you don’t have a big enough church here.”

“I’m building a new one, much bigger. I’ll show you round the site.”

“I noticed it as I rode in. But when will the church be ready?”

“We can start using it long before it’s finished. I’ve already begun work on the crypt. We could be holding services there in five years.”

“Who’s in charge of the design?”

“I asked Edgar, but he turned me down. However, I want a Norman master mason. They’re the best.”

Alphage looked doubtful. “In the interim, would you be willing to travel to Shiring for every major festival—Easter, Whitsun, Christmas—say six times a year?”

“Yes.”

“So I could give you a letter promising to make King’s Bridge the bishop’s seat as soon as you’re able to use the new church?”

“Yes.”

Alphage smiled. “You drive a hard bargain. Very well.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Aldred felt jubilant. Bishop of King’s Bridge! He was only forty-two.

Alphage became thoughtful again. “I wonder what I am to do with Wynstan.”

“Where is he now?”

“Locked up in Wigelm’s old hunting lodge.”

Aldred frowned. “It looks bad, a bishop imprisoned.”

“And there’s always the danger that Garulf or Degbert might try to break him out.”

Aldred’s face cleared. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know just the place for him.”

At the end of the evening Ragna stood on Edgar’s bridge, listening to the ever-present warble of the river, watching a red sun set downstream, remembering the day she had arrived here for the first time, cold and wet and muddy and miserable, and had looked with dismay at the settlement where she had to spend the night. What a change.

A heron stood on the bank of Leper Island, as still as a tombstone, gazing with intense concentration into the water. As Ragna watched the bird, a vessel appeared, coming upstream fast. She squinted into the sun, trying to make it out. It was a boat with four oarsmen and a passenger standing forward. King’s Bridge had to be their destination: it was too late to go farther.

The boat approached the beach in front of the alehouse. There was a black dog aboard, Ragna saw, sitting still in the prow, looking ahead, quiet but alert. Ragna recognized something familiar about the passenger, and her heart seemed to thud in her chest. He almost looked like Edgar. She could not tell: the sun was in her eyes. It might have been wishful thinking.

She hurried along the bridge. As she descended the ramp to the shore she entered the long shadow of distant trees, and she was able to see the traveler more clearly. He jumped off the boat, followed by his dog, and bent to tie a rope to a post; and then she knew.

It was him.

In a flash of understanding so sweet that it hurt she recognized that broad-shouldered shape, the confident way he moved, the easy dexterity of those wide hands, the dip of his large head; and she felt so filled up with joy that she could hardly breathe.

She moved toward him, resisting the impulse to break into a mad run. Then she stopped, struck by a terrible thought. Her heart was telling her that her lover had returned and all would be well—but her head said otherwise. She remembered the two King’s Bridge monks who had found Edgar in Normandy. The elder, William, had said: “People in the town where he’s living say he will marry the daughter of the master mason and eventually become master himself.” Had he done so? It was possible. And Ragna knew Edgar, knew for certain that he would not forsake a woman once he had married her.

But if he was married, why had he come back?

Now her heart pounded with fear, not joy. She resumed walking toward him. She saw that his cloak was made of a fine wool cloth, dyed an autumnal red, obviously costly. He had continued to prosper in Normandy.

He finished roping the boat and looked up. She was close enough now to see the wonderfully familiar hazel color of his eyes. She watched his face as intently as the heron had watched the water. At first she saw anxiety, and realized that he had wondered, just as she had, whether their love could have survived three years of separation. Then he read her expression, and understood instantly how she felt; and at last he broke into a smile that lit up his whole face.

In a trice she was in his arms. He hugged her so hard it hurt. She pressed her palms to his cheeks and kissed his mouth passionately, taking in the old familiar smell and taste of him. She held him tightly for a long time, savoring the ecstatic feeling of his body pressed hard against hers.

At last she relaxed her hold to say: “I love you more than life.”

He said: “I’m very glad.”

That night they made love five times.

Edgar had not known it was possible, for him or anyone. They did it once, then a second time; then they dozed for a while and did it again. In the middle of the night Edgar’s mind wandered, and he thought about architecture and King’s Bridge and Wynstan and Wigelm; then he remembered that he was with Ragna at last and she was in his arms, and he wanted to make love again, and so did she, so they did it a fourth time.

Then they talked in low voices, not to wake the children. Edgar told Ragna about Clothild, the daughter of the master mason. “I was unkind to her, though I never meant to be,” he said sadly. “I should have told her about you right at the start. I was never going to marry her, even if they offered me the job of king. But now and again I was foolish enough to pretend to myself that I might, and I looked at her fondly, and she took that to mean more than it did.” He studied Ragna’s face in the firelight. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“We have to tell each other everything,” she said. “What made you come home?”

“It was your father. He was so angry about Wigelm setting you aside. He raged at me as if I were responsible. I was just glad you were divorced.”

“Why did it take you so long to get here?”

“My ship was blown off course and I ended up in Dublin. I was afraid the Vikings would kill me for my cloak, but they took me for a wealthy man and tried to sell me slaves.”

She hugged him hard. “I’m so glad they let you live.”

Edgar noticed that it was getting light outside. “Aldred will disapprove of us. By his standards we’re fornicators.”

“People sleeping in the same room aren’t necessarily having sex.”

“No, but in our case neither Aldred nor anyone else in King’s Bridge will have the least doubt.”

She giggled. “Do you think we’re that obvious?”

“Yes.”

She became serious again. “My beloved Edgar, will you marry me?”

He laughed happily. “Yes! Of course. Let’s do it today.”

“I want Ethelred’s approval. I don’t want to offend the king. I’m really sorry.”

“Sending a message to him, and getting a reply, could take weeks. Are you saying we have to live apart? I can’t stand it.”

“No, I don’t think so. If we’re promised to each other, and everyone knows it, no one will expect us to sleep apart, except for Aldred. He will still disapprove, but I don’t think he’ll make a fuss.”

“Will the king say yes to your request?”

“I think so, though it would help if you were a minor nobleman.”

“But I’m a builder.”

“You’re a wealthy man and a leading citizen, and I could grant you some lands with a compound so that you would be a thane. Thurstan of Lordsborough died recently, you could take his place.”

“Edgar of Lordsborough.”

“Do you like that idea?”

“Not as much as I like you,” he said.

Then they did it for the fifth time.