Page 307 of The Evening and the Morning

Degbert looked as if that was a poor excuse.

“It’s Ragna’s fault,” Wynstan said. “She started the stupid rumor that I had leprosy.” His rage began to return, and he seethed. “Her punishment was much too light. All we did was take away one of her children. She has three left to console her. I should have thought of something worse. I should have put her to work in Mags’s house until some filthy sailor gaveherWhore’s Leprosy.”

“You know she was in the room when my brother Dreng died? I suspect she killed him. They put it about that he had some kind of seizure while beating his slave girl, but I’m sure Ragna had something to do with it.”

“I don’t care who killed Dreng,” Wynstan said. “He may have been my cousin but he was a fool, and so are you. Get out.”

Degbert left, and Wynstan was alone.

Something was wrong with him. He had flown into a berserk rage on being given news that merely confirmed his expectations. He had nearly murdered a priest’s wife. Worse, a few minutes earlier he had forgotten not only where he was but who he was.

I’m going mad, he said to himself, and the thought filled him with terror. He could not be mad. He was clever, he was ruthless, he always got his way. His allies were rewarded and his enemies were destroyed. The prospect of insanity was so horrifying as to be unbearable. He closed his eyes tight and banged both fists on the table in front of him, saying: “No, no, no!” He had a sensation of falling, as if he had jumped off the roof of the cathedral. He was going to hit the ground any second, and he would be smashed up and then he would die. He struggled to restrain himself from screaming.

As the terror eased, he thought more about jumping off the roof. He would hit the ground, then suffer a moment of unbearable agony, then die. But how badly would he be punished for the sin of suicide?

He was a holy priest; he could expect forgiveness. But for suicide?

He could confess his sins, say Mass, and die in a state of grace, could he not?

He could not. He would die condemned.

Degbert came back carrying the embroidered cope that Wynstan wore for services. “You’re due in the cathedral,” he said. “Unless you would prefer me to say Mass?”

“No, I’ll do it,” said Wynstan, and he stood up.

Ithamar draped the vestment over Wynstan’s shoulders.

Wynstan frowned. “I was worrying about something a moment ago,” he said. “I can’t think what it was.”

Ithamar said nothing.

“Never mind,” said Wynstan. “It can’t have been important.”

Ethel was dying.

Ragna sat in the alehouse late at night, with Blod and Maireadand Mairead’s new baby, Brigid, long after the last customers had staggered out the door. The room was lit by a smoky rush light. Ethel lay still with her eyes closed. Her breathing was shallow and her face was gray. Sister Agatha had said that the angels were calling her, and she was getting ready to go.

Blod and Mairead were planning to raise the baby together. “We don’t want men and we don’t need them,” Blod said to Ragna. Ragna was not surprised by their feelings, after the lives they had been forced to lead; but there was something else. Ragna had a feeling that Blod’s passion for Edgar might have been transferred to Mairead. It was only a feeling, and she was not sure and certainly would not ask.

Not long after dawn Ethel passed gently away. There was no crisis: she simply stopped breathing.

Blod and Mairead undressed her and washed the body. Ragna asked the two slaves what they planned to do now. Ethel had said she would free them, and Aldred had assured them that she had made a will. They could return to their homes, if they wished; but it seemed they were planning to stay together.

“I can’t travel to Ireland with a baby in my arms and no money,” Mairead said. “Not that I would know where in Ireland my home is. It’s a hamlet on the coast, but that’s all I could tell you. If the place had a name I never heard it. I’m not even sure how many days I was on the Viking ship before we got to Bristol.”

Ragna would help her with a little money, of course, but money would not solve the problem. She said: “What about you, Blod?”

Blod looked thoughtful. “It’s ten years since I saw my home in Wales. All my young friends must now be married with children. I don’t know whether my parents are alive or dead. I’m not sure howmuch I can remember of the Welsh language. I never imagined I would ever say this, but I almost feel as if this place is home.”

Ragna was not convinced. Was there something else at work here? Had Blod and Mairead become so attached to each other that they did not want to part?

The news of Ethel’s death soon got around, and shortly after dawn Cwenburg showed up with her two husbands. The men looked sheepish but Cwenburg was aggressive. “How dare you wash the body?” she said. “That was my job—I’m her stepdaughter!”

Ragna said: “They were only being helpful, Cwenburg.”

“I don’t care. This alehouse is mine, now, and I want those slaves out of here.”

“They’re no longer slaves,” Ragna said.