Page 43 of The Evening and the Morning

The church was in a state of disrepair that shocked Aldred. Theentrance arch was propped up by a tree trunk, and the whole building seemed not quite straight. Degbert should have spent his money maintaining it. But of course a married man put his family first. That was why priests should be single.

They went inside.

Aldred noticed an inscription carved into the wall. The letters were timeworn, but he could make out the message. Lord Begmund of Northwood had built the church and was buried here, the inscription said, and he had left money in his will to pay for priests to say prayers for his soul.

Aldred had been dismayed by the lifestyle at the house, but the service shocked him. The hymns were a toneless chant, the prayers were gabbled, and two deacons argued throughout the ceremony about whether a wild cat could kill a hunting dog. By the final amen, Aldred was fuming.

It was no wonder that Dreng showed no shame about his two wives and his slave prostitute. There was no moral leadership in this hamlet. How could Dean Degbert reprove a man for defying the church’s teaching on marriage when he himself was just as bad?

Dreng had disgusted Aldred, but Degbert enraged him. These men were serving neither God nor their community. Clergymen took money from poor peasants and lived in comfort; the least they could do in return was to perform the services conscientiously and pray for the souls of the people who supported them. But these men were simply taking the church’s money and using it to support an idle life. They were worse than thieves. It was blasphemy.

But there was nothing to be gained, he told himself, by giving Degbert a piece of his mind and having a row.

He was now highly curious. Degbert was fearless in his transgression,probably because he had the protection of a powerful bishop—but that was not all. Normally, villagers were quick to complain about lazy or sinful priests; they liked moral leaders to have the credibility that came from obeying their own rules. But no one Aldred had spoken to today had criticized Degbert or the minster. In fact most people had been reluctant to answer questions. Only Mildred and her sons had been friendly and open. Aldred knew he did not have the common touch—he wished he could be like Lady Ragna of Cherbourg, and make everyone his friend—but he did not think his manner was bad enough to explain the taciturnity of Dreng’s Ferry residents. Something else was going on.

He was determined to find out what it was.

CHAPTER 6

Early August 997

he rusty old tools left behind by the previous tenant of the farm included a scythe, the long-handled reaping tool that enabled a person to cut the crop without stooping. Edgar cleaned the iron, sharpened the blade, and affixed a new wooden handle. The brothers took turns reaping the grass. The rain held off and the grass turned to hay, which Ma sold to Bebbe for a fat pig, a barrel of eels, a rooster, and six hens.

Next they reaped the oats, then came the threshing. Edgar made a flail from two sticks—a long handle and a short swipple—joined by a strip of leather that he had failed to return to Bebbe. On a breezy day he tried it out, watched by the dog, Brindle. He spread some ears of oats on a flat patch of dry ground and began to flog them. He was no farmer, and he was making this up as he went along, with Ma’s help. But the flail seemed to be doing what it should: the nutritious seeds became separated from the worthless husks, which blew away in the wind.

The grains left behind looked small and dry.

Edgar rested a moment. The sun was shining and he felt good. The eel meat in the family stew had made him stronger. Ma would smoke most of the creatures in the rafters of the house. When the smoked eel ran out they might have to kill the pig and make bacon. And they should get some eggs from the chickens before they had to eat them. It was not much to last four adults through a winter, but with the oats they probably would not die of starvation.

The house was habitable now. Edgar had mended all the holes in the walls and roof. There were fresh rushes on the ground, a stone hearth, and a pile of deadfalls from the forest for firewood. Edgar did not want to spend his life like this, but he was beginning to feel that he and his family had survived the emergency.

Ma appeared. “I saw Cwenburg a few minutes ago,” she said. “Was she looking for you?”

Edgar felt embarrassed. “Certainly not.”

“You seem very sure. I had the idea she was, well, interested in you.”

“She was, and I had to tell her frankly that I didn’t feel that way about her. Unfortunately, she took offense.”

“I’m glad. I was afraid you might do something foolish after losing Sungifu.”

“I wasn’t even tempted. Cwenburg is neither pretty nor good natured, but even if she were an angel I wouldn’t fall for her.”

Ma nodded sympathetically. “Your father was the same—a one-woman man,” she said. “His mother told me he never showed interest in any girl except me. He was the same after we were married, which is even more unusual. But you’re young. You can’t stay in love with a dead girl for the rest of your life.”

Edgar thought he might, but he did not want to argue the point with his mother. “Maybe,” he said.

“There will be someone else, one day,” she insisted. “It will probably take you by surprise. You’ll believe you’re still in love with the old one, and suddenly you’ll realize that all the time you’re thinking about a different girl.”

Edgar turned the tables on her. “Will you marry again?”

“Ah,” she said. “Clever you. No, I shan’t.”

“Why not?

She was silent for a long moment. Edgar wondered whether he had offended her. But no, she was just thinking. At last she said: “Your father was a rock. He meant what he said and he did what he promised. He loved me, and he loved you three, and that didn’t change in more than twenty years. He wasn’t handsome, and sometimes he wasn’t even good-tempered, but I trusted him utterly, and he never let me down.” Tears came to her eyes as she said: “I don’t want a second husband, but even if I did, I know I wouldn’t find another like him.” She had been speaking in a careful, considered way, but at the end her feelings broke through. She looked up at the summer sky and said: “I miss you so much, my beloved.”

Edgar felt like crying. They stood together for a minute, saying nothing. At last Ma swallowed, wiped her eyes, and said: “Enough of that.”