Page 218 of The Evening and the Morning

“Very well,” said Agnes, and she left.

Ragna said to Cat: “Let’s see if Wilf will drink some soup. Warm, not hot.”

There was a pot of mutton bones simmering over the fire. Cat ladled some of the juice into a wooden bowl, and Ragna inhaled the fragrance of rosemary. She broke a few morsels of bread from the inside of a loaf and dropped them in the soup, then knelt beside Wilf with a spoon. She took a piece of soaked bread, blew on it to cool it, and put it to his lips. He swallowed it with some sign of relish and opened his mouth for another.

By the time Ragna had finished feeding him, Agnes was back, and Den followed a few minutes later. He looked at Wilf and shook his head pessimistically. Ragna reported what Hildi had said. Then she told him of Wilf’s instruction to appoint a new army commander. “It’s you or Wigelm, and I want you,” she finished.

“I’d be better than Wigelm,” he said. “And he can’t do it anyway.”

Ragna was surprised. “Why not?”

“He’s indisposed. He hasn’t taken part in any action for two weeks. That’s why he’s not here—he stayed down near Exeter.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Piles—hemorrhoids—exacerbated by months of campaigning. They hurt so much that he can’t sit on a horse.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been talking to the thanes.”

“Well, that makes it easy,” said Ragna. “I’ll pretend to favor Wigelm, then, when his debility is revealed, you will reluctantly agree to step into the gap.”

Den nodded. “Wynstan and his friends will oppose me, but most of the thanes will support me. I’m not their favorite person, of course, because I make them pay their taxes, but they know I’m competent.”

Ragna said: “I will hold court tomorrow morning after breakfast. I want to make it clear from the start that I’m still in charge.”

“Good,” said Den.

The next day was warm, even first thing in the morning, but the cathedral was as cool as ever when Wynstan celebrated early Mass. He went through the ceremony with maximum solemnity. He liked to do what was expected of a bishop: it was important to maintain appearances. Today he prayed for the souls of the men who had died fighting the Vikings, and he begged for the healing of those wounded, especially Ealdorman Wilwulf.

All the same his mind was not on the liturgy. Wilwulf’s incapacity had upset the balance of power in Shiring, and Wynstan was desperate to learn Ragna’s intentions. This could be a chance to weaken her position or even get rid of her altogether. He had to be alert to all possibilities, and he needed to find out what she was up to.

The congregation was larger than usual for a weekday, swollen by the bereaved families of the men who had not returned from the fighting. Looking into the nave, Wynstan noticed Agnes among them, a small, thin woman in the drab clothes of a housemaid. She looked unremarkable, but her eyes met Wynstan’s with a clear message: she was here to see him. His hopes rose.

It was half a year since Ragna had condemned Agnes’s husband to death, half a year since Agnes had agreed to be Wynstan’s spyin Ragna’s house. In that time she had brought him no useful information. Nevertheless he had continued to speak to her at least once a month, feeling sure that one day she would justify his efforts. Fearing that her desire for revenge might fade, he had engaged Agnes emotionally, treating her as an intimate rather than a servant, speaking to her in conspiratorial tones, thanking her for her loyalty. He was subtly taking the place of her late husband, being affectionate but dominant, expecting to be obeyed without question. His instinct told him this was the way to control her.

Today he might be rewarded for his patience.

When the service was over Agnes lingered, and as soon as the other worshippers had gone Wynstan beckoned her into the chancel, put his arm around her bony shoulders, and drew her into a corner. “Thank you for coming to see me, my dear,” he said, making his voice quiet but intense. “I was hoping you would.”

“I thought you’d like to know what she’s planning.”

“I would, I would.” Wynstan tried to sound keen but not needy. “You are my pet mouse, creeping on silent feet into my room at night, lying on my pillow, and whispering secrets into my ear.”

She flushed with pleasure. He found himself wondering what she would do if he put his hand up her skirt right there in the church. He would do no such thing, of course: she was driven by desire for what she could not have, the strongest of all human motives.

She stared at him for a long moment, and he felt the need to break the spell. “Tell me,” he said.

She collected herself. “Ragna will hold court today, after breakfast.”

“Moving fast,” Wynstan said. “Characteristic. But what’s her agenda?”

“She will appoint a new commander for the army.”

“Ah.” He had not thought of that.

“She will say she wants Wigelm.”