Page 16 of The Evening and the Morning

The others boarded and Cwenburg pushed off. Brindle jumped into the river without hesitation and swam after the boat. Away from the shade of the forest, the sun was hot on Edgar’s head.

He asked Cwenburg: “What’s on the island?”

“A nunnery.”

Edgar nodded. That would be the stone building he had glimpsed.

Cwenburg added: “There’s a gang of lepers, too. They live in shelters they make out of branches. The nuns feed them. We call the place Leper Island.”

Edgar shuddered. He wondered how the nuns survived. People said that if you touched a leper you could catch the disease, though he had never heard of anyone who had actually done that.

They reached the north bank, and Edgar helped Ma out of the boat. He smelled the strong brown odor of fermenting ale. “Someone’s brewing,” he said.

Cwenburg said: “My mother makes very good ale. You should come into the house and refresh yourselves.”

“No, thanks,” Ma said immediately.

Cwenburg persisted. “You may want to sleep here while you fix up the farm buildings. My father will give you dinner and breakfast for a halfpenny each. That’s cheap.”

Ma said: “Are the farm buildings in bad condition, then?”

“There were holes in the roof of the house last time I walked past.”

“And the barn?”

“Pigsty, you mean.”

Edgar frowned. This did not sound good. Still, they had thirty acres: they would be able to make something of that.

“We’ll see,” said Ma. “Which house does the dean live in?”

“Degbert Baldhead? He’s my uncle.” Cwenburg pointed. “The big one next to the church. All the clergy live there together.”

“We’ll go and see him.”

They left Cwenburg and walked a short distance up the slope. Ma said: “This dean is our new landlord. Act nice and friendly. I’ll be firm with him if necessary, but we don’t want him to take against us for any reason.”

The little church looked almost derelict, Edgar thought. The entrance arch was crumbling, and was prevented from collapse only by the support of a stout tree trunk standing in the middle of the doorway. Next to the church was a timber house, double the normal size, like the alehouse. They stood outside politely, and Ma called: “Anyone home?”

The woman who came to the door carried a baby on her hip and was pregnant with another, and a toddler hid behind her skirts. She had dirty hair and heavy breasts. She might have been beautiful once, with high cheekbones and a straight nose, but now she looked as if she were so tired she could barely stand. It was the way many women looked in their twenties. No wonder they died young, Edgar thought.

Ma said: “Is Dean Degbert here?”

“What do you want with my husband?” said the woman.

Clearly, Edgar thought, this was not the stricter kind of religious community. In principle the Church preferred priests to be celibate, but the rule was broken more often than it was kept, and even married bishops were not unheard of.

Ma said: “The bishop of Shiring sent us.”

The woman shouted over her shoulder: “Degsy? Visitors.” She stared at them a moment longer then disappeared inside.

The man who took her place was about thirty-five, but had a head like an egg, without even a monkish fringe. Perhaps his baldness was due to some illness. “I’m the dean,” he said, with his mouth full of food. “What do you want?”

Ma explained again.

“You’ll have to wait,” Degbert said. “I’m in the middle of my dinner.”

Ma smiled and said nothing, and the three brothers followed her example.