Page 175 of The Evening and the Morning

“Good!”

“Wait, don’t celebrate. I have already taken that message to Wynstan, who said the matter was outside the archbishop’s jurisdiction.”

“In other words he will ignore the ruling.”

“That one, and another. Wynstan has made Degbert an archdeacon at Shiring Cathedral.”

“In effect, deputy to Wynstan, and his likely successor.”

“Exactly.”

“Some punishment.” The promotion, coming so swiftly after thetrial and Degbert’s demotion, told everyone that Wynstan’s people would always do well, and those who opposed him—such as Aldred—would suffer.

“The archbishop refused to ratify the appointment—and Wynstan ignored him.”

Aldred scratched his shaved head. “Wynstan defies the archbishop and Wilwulf defies the king. How long can this go on?”

“I don’t know. Maybe until the Day of Judgment.”

Aldred looked around. Two of the congregation were watching him expectantly. “We’ll talk more at dinner,” he said to Wigferth. “I must speak to the villagers. They’re a discontented lot.”

Wigferth left, and Aldred turned to the waiting couple. A woman called Ebba, with chapped hands, said: “The priest used to pay me to do their laundry. Why don’t you?”

“Laundry?” said Aldred. “We do our own.” There was not much. Monks usually washed their robes twice a year. Other people might have loincloths, strips of material wound around the waist and between the legs and tied in front. Women used them during the monthly flux, and washed them afterward; men wore them for riding, and probably never washed them at all. Babies were sometimes wrapped in something similar. Monks had no use for such things.

The woman’s husband, Cerdic, said: “I used to gather firewood for the priests, and rushes for their floor, and bring them fresh water from the river every day.”

“I have no money to pay you,” Aldred said. “Bishop Wynstan has stolen all the wealth of this church.”

“The bishop was a very generous man,” said Cerdic.

With the proceeds of forgery, Aldred thought; but there was no point in making such accusations to the villagers. Either they believedWynstan’s story of innocence or they would pretend to believe it: anything else would make them complicit. He had lost that argument in court and he was not going to rerun it for the rest of his life. So he said: “One day the monastery will be prosperous and bring employment and trade to Dreng’s Ferry, but that will require time and patience and hard work, for I have nothing else to offer.”

He left the disgruntled couple and moved on. What he had said to them depressed him. This was not the life he had dreamed of: struggling to make a new monastery viable. He wanted books and pens and ink, not a vegetable garden and a duck pond.

He approached Edgar, who still had the power to brighten his day. Edgar had created a weekly fish market in the hamlet. There were no large villages near Dreng’s Ferry, but there were many small settlements and lonely farms such as Theodberht Clubfoot’s sheepfold. Every Friday a handful of people, mostly women, showed up to buy Edgar’s fish. But Degbert had claimed he was entitled to one fish in three of Edgar’s catch. “You asked me about Degbert’s charter,” Aldred said. “It’s attached to that of the new monastery, since some of the rights are the same.”

“And did Degbert tell the truth about it?” Edgar asked.

Aldred shook his head. “There’s no mention of fish in the charter. He had no right to tax you.”

“I thought as much,” said Edgar. “The lying thief.”

“I’m afraid he is.”

“Everyone wants something for nothing,” Edgar complained. “My brother Erman said I should share the money with him. I made the pond, I make the traps, I empty the traps every morning, and I give my family all the fish they can eat. But they want money, too.”

“Men are greedy.”

“Women, too. My sister-in-law Cwenburg probably told Erman what to say. Never mind. Can I show you something?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me to the graveyard.”

They left the building and walked around to the north side. Edgar said conversationally: “My father taught me that in a well-made boat the joints should never be too tight. A small amount of movement between the timbers absorbs some of the shock of the endless buffeting of wind and waves. But there’s no looseness in a stone building.” Near the place where the little chancel extension joined the tower he pointed up. “See that crack?”

Aldred certainly did see it. Where the tower met the chancel was a gap he could have put his thumb into. “Good Lord,” he said.