Page 306 of The Evening and the Morning

Ragna was sure Edgar would disapprove of this. She said: “Cwenburg, you and Erman and Eadbald are already rich, with your fishpond and your water mill, and paid laborers who do all the work on your farm. Do you really want to rob a widow of her livelihood?”

Cwenburg was abashed.

Ethel said: “But I’m not very strong. I don’t think I can manage it.”

Blod said: “I’ll help you.”

Ethel came over to her. “Will you, really?”

“I’ll have to. You own me, now, as well as the house.”

Mairead stood the other side of Ethel. “You own me, too.”

“I’ll free you in my will, I promise. Both of you.”

There was a murmur of approval from the watching villagers: freeing slaves was considered an act of piety.

Aldred said: “A lot of witnesses have heard your generous promise, Ethel. If you want to change your mind you should probably do it now.”

“I will never change my mind.”

Blod put her arm around Ethel, and Mairead did the same from the other side. Blod said: “We three women can manage the alehouse and look after Mairead’s baby—and make more money than Dreng ever did.”

“Yes,” said Ethel. “Perhaps we can.”

Wynstan found himself in a strange place. Puzzled, he looked around. It was an unfamiliar market square on a summer day, withpeople buying and selling eggs and cheese and hats and shoes all around him. He could see a church, large enough to be a cathedral. Alongside it was a fine house. Opposite was what looked like a monastery. On a hill beyond the square was a fenced compound that suggested the residence of a wealthy thane, perhaps an ealdorman. He felt scared. How had he got so lost? He could not even remember how he had come here. He felt himself shaking with terror.

A stranger bowed to him and said: “Good morning, bishop.”

He thought: Am I a bishop?

The stranger looked more closely at him and said: “Are you all right, your reverence?”

Suddenly everything fell into place. He was the bishop of Shiring, the church was his cathedral, and the house next to it was his residence. “Of course I’m all right,” he snapped.

The stranger, whom Wynstan now recognized as a butcher he had known for twenty years, walked rapidly away.

Feeling bewildered and frightened, Wynstan hurried to his house.

Inside was his cousin, Archdeacon Degbert, and Ithamar, a deacon of the cathedral. Ithamar’s wife, Eangyth, was pouring a cup of wine.

Degbert said: “Ithamar has some news.”

Ithamar looked scared. He said nothing while the maid set the wine on the table in front of him.

Wynstan was angry about his episode of forgetfulness, and he said impatiently: “Well, come on, spit it out.”

Ithamar said: “Alphage has been made archbishop of Canterbury.”

Wynstan was expecting this. Nevertheless, he felt a mad rage rise within him. Unable to control himself, he picked up a cup from the table and dashed the contents in Ithamar’s face. Not satisfied with that,he overturned the table. Eangyth screamed, so he clenched his fist and hit her across the head as hard as he could. She lay still, and he thought he had killed her; then she stirred, got up, and ran out of the room. Ithamar followed her, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe.

Degbert said nervously: “Calm yourself, cousin. Sit down. Have a cup of wine. Are you hungry? Shall I get you something to eat?”

“Oh, shut up,” Wynstan said, but he sat down and drank the wine that Degbert gave him.

When he had calmed down, Degbert said accusingly: “You promised to make me bishop of Shiring.”

“I can’t, now, can I?” Wynstan said. “There’s no vacancy, you fool.”