Page 297 of The Evening and the Morning

After the chapter had been read, Sigefryth, who chaired the meetings, said: “We have to decide what to do about the riverside pasture. Local people are using it for grazing, even though it belongs to us.”

Wynstan had no interest in such a topic, but he put on an earnest expression. He had to pretend that anything affecting the monks was of concern to him.

Brother Forthred, the medical monk, said: “We don’t use that field. You can’t blame them.”

“True,” said Sigefryth, “but if we allow it to be treated as communal property, we may have trouble in the future when we need it for ourselves.”

Brother Wigferth, who had just returned from Winchester, spoke up. “My brethren, forgive me for interrupting, but there is something much more important that I believe we should talk about right away.”

Sigefryth could hardly refuse such a strong plea from Wigferth. “Very well,” he said.

Wynstan perked up. He had agonized over whether to go to Winchester for Easter. He hated to miss a royal court so close to home. But in the end he had decided it was more important to keep his finger on the pulse here in Canterbury. Now he was eager to learn what had gone on.

“I attended the Easter court,” Wigferth said. “Many people spoke to me about the question of who is to be the next archbishop of Canterbury.”

Sigefryth was offended. “Why would they speak to you?” he said. “Did you pretend to be our representative? You’re just a rent collector!”

“Indeed I am,” said Wigferth. “But if people speak to me, I’m obliged to listen. It’s only good manners.”

Wynstan had a bad feeling. “Never mind about that,” he said, impatient with this quarrel about mere etiquette. “What were they saying, Brother... Brother...?” He could not think of the name of the monk who had gone to Winchester.

“You know me well, bishop. My name is Wigferth.”

“Of course, of course, what did they say?”

Wigferth looked scared but determined. “People are saying that Bishop Wynstan is unfit to be archbishop of Canterbury.”

Was that all? “It’s not up topeople!” Wynstan said scornfully. “It’s the pope who awards the podium.”

Wigferth said: “You mean the pallium.”

Wynstan realized he had misspoken. The pallium was an embroidered sash given by the pope to new archbishops as a symbol of his approval. Embarrassed, Wynstan denied his error. “That’s what I said, the pallium.”

Sigefryth said: “Brother Wigferth, did they say why they object to Bishop Wynstan?”

“Yes.”

The room went quiet, and Wynstan’s unease deepened. He did not know what was coming, and ignorance was dangerous.

Wigferth seemed glad to have been asked that question. He looked around the chapter house and raised his voice to make sure everyone heard. “Bishop Wynstan has a disease called Whore’s Leprosy.”

Pandemonium broke out. Everybody spoke at once. Wynstan jumped to his feet yelling: “It’s a lie! It’s a lie!”

Sigefryth stood in the middle of the room saying: “Quiet, please, everyone, quiet, please,” until the others got tired of shouting. Then he said: “Bishop Wynstan, what do you say to this?”

Wynstan knew he should stay calm but he was unnerved. “I saythat Brother Wigferth has a wife and child in the west of England village of Trench, and that as a fornicating monk he has no credibility.”

Wigferth said coolly: “Even if the accusation were true it would have no bearing on the question of the bishop’s health.”

Wynstan realized immediately that he had taken the wrong tack. What he had said sounded like a tit-for-tat accusation, something he might have made up on the spot. He seemed to be losing his touch. He thought: what’s the matter with me?

He sat down, to look less bothered, and said: “How would thosepeopleknow anything about my health?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized he had made another mistake. In an argument it was never good to ask a question: that simply gave the opponent an opening.

Wigferth seized his chance. “Bishop Wynstan, your mistress, Agnes of Shiring, died of Whore’s Leprosy.”

Wynstan was silenced. Agnes had never been his mistress, just an occasional indulgence. He knew she was dead—the news had reached him in a letter from Deacon Ithamar. But the deacon had not specified what had killed her, and Wynstan had not been interested enough to ask.