The Evening and the Morning

by Ken Follett

  He had almost told her after the wedding, but he had hesitated. He wanted to be absolutely sure. He did not want to give her a false alert.

  Anyway, he had to go to Outhenham again. The walls of the brewhouse were finished and the timber rafters were in place, but he wanted to complete the roof with thin stone tiles that would not burn. He told Dreng he could get the material for half the price if he transported it himself, which was true, and Dreng agreed, always keen to keep money rather than spend it.

  Edgar built a simple raft of logs, long and broad. Last time he went to Outhenham he had followed the river upstream, so now he knew there were no major obstacles to craft, just two places where the water became shallow and the raft might have to be pulled along with ropes for a few yards.

  However, poling the raft upstream would be hard work, and roping it over the shallows even harder, so he persuaded Dreng to pay Erman and Eadbald a penny each to leave the farm for two days and help him.

  Dreng handed Edgar a small leather purse, saying: “There’s twelve pennies in there. That should be plenty.” Ethel gave them bread and ham for the journey, and Leaf added a flagon of ale to quench their thirst.

  They set off early. Brindle leaped onto the raft as they boarded. In dog philosophy it was always better to go somewhere than to be left behind. Edgar asked himself whether that was his philosophy, too, and was not sure of the answer.

  Erman and Eadbald were thin, and Edgar supposed he was, too. A year ago, when they had been living at Combe, no one would have called them even a little fat, but all the same they had shed weight over the winter. They were still strong, but lean, their cheeks concave, their muscles ropy, their waists narrow.

  It was a cold February morning, but they perspired as they deployed the poles and pushed the raft upstream. One person could propel the vessel but it was easier with two, one on each side, the third man resting. They did not normally talk much, but there was nothing else to do on the journey, and Edgar asked: “How are you getting on with Cwenburg?”

  Eadbald answered: “Erman lies with her on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and me on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.” He grinned. “Sunday is her day of rest.”

  They were both good-humored about it, and Edgar concluded that the unorthodox marriage was working surprisingly well.

  Erman said: “It’s lying and nothing more, now—she’s too pregnant for fucking.”

  Edgar calculated when the baby was due. They had arrived in Dreng’s Ferry three days before Midsummer, and Cwenburg had conceived more or less immediately. “The baby is due three days before Lady Day,” he said. Erman gave him a sour look. Edgar’s ability with numbers seemed almost miraculous to other people, and his brothers resented it.

  Erman said: “Anyway, Cwen can’t help with the spring ploughing. Ma will have to guide the ploughshare while we pull.”

  The soil at Dreng’s Ferry was light and loamy, but their mother was no longer young. Edgar said: “How is Ma with that?”

  “She finds field work hard.”

  Edgar saw his mother about once a week, but his brothers were with her every day. “Does she sleep well?” he asked. “Does she have a good appetite?”

  They were not very observant. Eadbald shrugged, and Erman said snappishly: “Look, Edgar, she’s old, and one day she will die, and only God knows when that will be.”

  After that they stopped talking.

  Looking ahead, Edgar reflected that it might not be easy to establish Gab’s cheating for certain. He needed to do it without arousing hostility. If he appeared too obviously inquisitive, Gab would become wary. And if he revealed his suspicions, Gab would be angry. It was curious, but a wrongdoer found out could often be morally indignant, as if the discovery were the offense, rather than the original transgression. More importantly, if Gab knew he was mistrusted he would have a chance to cover up.

  The raft moved faster than Edgar had when walking on the bank, and they reached the large village of Outhenham at midday. The soil here was clay, and an eight-ox team was pulling a heavy plough in the nearest field, the great clods of earth rising and falling like waves of mud breaking on a beach. In the distance men were sowing, trudging the furrows and throwing the seed, while small children followed, scaring off the birds with shrill cries.

  They pulled the raft up onto a beach, and to be doubly safe Edgar tied it to a tree. Then they walked into the village.

  Seric was again in his orchard, pruning the trees this time. Edgar stopped to talk to him. “Am I going to have trouble with Dudda again?” he asked.

  Seric glanced at the sky to check the time of day. “Not this early,” he said. “Dudda hasn’t had his dinner yet.”

  “Good.”

  “Mind you, he’s no sweetheart even when sober.”

  “I can imagine.”

  They walked on, and came across Dudda a minute later, outside the alehouse. “Good day to you, lads,” he said. “What’s your business here?” His aggression was no doubt tempered by the sight of three strong young men. All the same Brindle growled, sensing underlying hostility.

  Edgar said to his brothers: “This is Dudda, headman of Outhenham.” To Dudda he said: “I’m here to buy stone at the quarry, same as last time.”

  Dudda looked blank. Clearly he had no memory of Edgar’s previous visit. He said: “Go to the east of the village and follow the track north.”

  Edgar knew the way, but he just said: “Thank you” and walked on.

  Gab and his family were working in the quarry as before. There was a large stack of cut stones in the middle of the clearing, suggesting that business was slow, which was probably a good thing for Edgar, the buyer. A handcart stood beside the stack.

  All I have to do, Edgar thought, is watch how Gab marks the tally stick after I buy the stones I need. If he cuts the correct number of notches, my suspicions are groundless. If not, I’ve proved him guilty.

  The slab that Gab was working on fell to the ground with a crash and a cloud of dust, and Gab coughed, put down his tools, and came to speak to the three brothers. He recognized Edgar and said: “Dreng’s Ferry, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m Edgar, and these are my brothers, Erman and Eadbald.”

  Gab adopted a facetious tone. “Did you bring them to protect you from Dudda?” Obviously he had heard about Edgar’s altercation with the headman on the last visit.

  Edgar did not find the joke funny. “I don’t need protection from a fat old drunk,” he said crisply. “I’m here to buy stones, and I’m going to transport them myself this time, so my brothers are here to help me. This way we’ll save a penny on every stone.”

  “Oh, you will, will you?” Gab said archly. He did not like Edgar knowing his prices in advance. “Who told you that?”

  Cuthbert had, but Edgar decided to ignore the question. “I need ten stones,” he said. He opened the purse Dreng had given him. To his surprise it contained more than the twelve pennies Dreng had said—in fact, he saw at a glance, twenty-four. Erman and Eadbald saw him hesitate and frown, and both could see the coins, but Edgar did not give them a chance to comment: he did not want to look indecisive in front of Gab. He postponed consideration of the mystery, and briskly counted out ten pennies.

  Gab counted them again and pocketed them but, to Edgar’s disappointment, he did not notch a stick. He just pointed at the stack of stones. “Help yourselves,” he said.

  Edgar did not have a plan for this contingency. He decided to move the stones while thinking about it. “We have to take them to the river,” he said to Gab. “Can we use your cart?”

  “No,” said Gab with a sly little smile. “You’ve decided to save money. You can carry the stones.” He walked away.

  Edgar shrugged. He unslung his ax and handed it to Erman. “You two go into the woods and cut two stout poles for carrying,” he said. “I’ll take a look at the stones.”

&n
bsp; While his brothers were away, he studied the pile. He had already tried cutting a stone into slim tiles, and had discovered that it was a delicate task. The thickness had to be just right: thin tiles sometimes fractured, thick ones would be too heavy for the rafters to bear. But he was confident his skill would improve.

  When his brothers came back, he trimmed the poles they brought then laid them parallel on the ground. He and Erman picked up a stone and placed it across the poles. Then they knelt on the ground, one in front of the stone and one behind, grasped the poles, and stood up, lifting the whole ensemble to hip height.

  They set off down the track to the river. Edgar called back to Eadbald: “Come with us—we’ll need to set a guard on the raft.”

  They took turns carrying, with the resting brother remaining at the riverside just in case some enterprising traveler should decide to make off with a stone or two. By the time the daylight began to fade they had sore shoulders and aching legs, and there was one more stone to move.

  But Edgar had not achieved his other purpose. He had failed to confirm Gab’s dishonesty.

  The quarry was deserted. Gab and his sons had disappeared, presumably into their house. Edgar tapped on the door and went in. The family were eating their evening meal. Gab looked up with an annoyed expression.

  Edgar said: “Can we spend the night here? You were good enough to give me a place to sleep last time.”

  “No,” said Gab. “You’re too many. And besides, there are more pennies in that purse of yours—you can afford to stay at the alehouse.”

  Edgar was not surprised: the request was hardly reasonable. His question had been no more than a pretext for entering the house.

  Gab’s wife, Bee, said: “The alehouse can be rowdy, but the food is all right.”

  “Thank you.” Edgar turned around slowly, giving himself time to look carefully at the sticks hanging on the wall. There was a fresh-cut one, he observed, pale and new.

  He saw immediately that it had five notches.

  That proved it.

  He masked his satisfaction, trying to look disappointed and mildly resentful at being refused accommodation. “Good-bye, then,” he said, and walked out.

  He felt jubilant as he and Eadbald carried the last stone to the river. He was not sure why, but he was pleased to be able to do Ragna a good turn. He looked forward eagerly to telling her all about it.

  When the last stone had been added to the stack, Edgar said: “I think the stones will be safe for an hour, if I leave Brindle here, especially now that it’s getting dark. We can get our supper at the alehouse. You two can sleep there, but I’ll spend the night on the raft. The weather’s not too cold.”

  He tied up Brindle on a long string, then the three brothers walked to the alehouse. They got bowls of mutton stew and plenty of rye bread, and a pot of ale each. Edgar noticed Gab in a corner with Dudda, deep in conversation.

  Eadbald said: “I saw that there was too much money in that purse.”

  Edgar had been wondering when this would come up. He said nothing.

  Erman said: “What are we going to do with the extra?”

  Edgar noticed the use of “we” but did not comment on it. He said: “Well, I think we’re entitled to pay for our supper and beds for the night, but the rest goes back to Dreng, obviously.”

  “Why?” said Erman.

  Edgar disliked the question. “Because it’s his money!”

  “He said he was giving you twelve pennies. How many were there?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “How many extra is that?” Erman was not good with numbers.

  “Twelve.”

  “He made a mistake. So we can keep the extra twelve. We each get . . . a lot.”

  Eadbald, who was smarter than Erman, said: “Four each.”

  Edgar said: “So you’re asking me to steal twelve pennies and give eight away!”

  “We’re all in this together,” said Erman.

  “What if Dreng realizes his mistake?”

  “We’ll swear there were only twelve pennies in the purse.”

  Eadbald said: “Erman’s right. This is a chance.”

  Edgar shook his head firmly. “I’m giving the extra back.”

  Erman adopted a jeering tone. “You’ll get no thanks from Dreng.”

  “I never get any thanks from Dreng.”

  Eadbald said: “He’d steal from you if he could.”

  “He would, but I’m not like him—thank heaven.”

  They gave up.

  Edgar was not a thief, but Gab was. There had been only five notches on his stick, whereas Edgar had bought ten stones. If Gab recorded only half of what he sold, he would pay Ragna only half of what was due. But for that he would need the cooperation of the village headman, who was responsible for making sure the villagers paid the right dues. Dudda would betray Gab’s scam—unless he were paid to keep quiet. And right now in front of Edgar’s eyes Gab and Dudda were drinking together and talking seriously, as if they were discussing some important common interest.

  Edgar decided to speak to Seric about it. Seric was in the alehouse, talking to a shaven-headed man in a black robe who must be the village priest. Edgar waited until he left, then followed him, saying to his brothers: “I’ll see you at dawn.”

  He followed Seric to a house next to the orchard. Seric turned at the door and said: “Where are you off to?”

  “I’m going to spend the night on the riverbank. I want to guard my stones.”

  Seric shrugged. “Probably unnecessary, but I won’t discourage you. And it’s a mild night.”

  “May I ask you something in confidence?”

  “Come inside.”

  A gray-haired woman sat by the fire feeding a small child with a spoon. Edgar raised his eyebrows: Seric and his wife seemed too old to be the parents. Seric said: “My wife, Eadgyth, and our grandson, Ealdwine. Our daughter died in childbirth, and her husband went to Shiring to be a man-at-arms for the ealdorman.”

  That explained the household.

  “I wanted to ask you . . .” Edgar glanced at Eadgyth.

  Seric said: “You can speak freely.”

  “Is Gab honest?”

  Seric was not surprised by the question. “I can’t say. Has he tried to cheat you?”

  “Not me, no. But I bought ten stones, and I noticed a new stick with only five notches.”

  Seric said: “Let me put it this way: if I were asked to swear to Gab’s honesty, I would refuse.”

  Edgar nodded. That was enough. Seric could prove nothing, but he had little doubt. “Thank you,” said Edgar, and he took his leave.

  The raft was pulled up on the beach. The brothers had not loaded it: that would have made theft of the stones too easy. Edgar lay down on the raft and pulled his cloak around him. He might not sleep, but perhaps that was no bad thing when he was guarding something valuable.

  Brindle whimpered, and Edgar drew the dog under his cloak. Brindle would keep him warm, and warn him if anyone approached.

  Edgar now had to tell Ragna that she was being defrauded by Gab and Dudda. He could go to Shiring tomorrow, he figured. Erman and Eadbald could manage the raft on the downstream trip, and he could go home by road, via the town. He needed lime for the mortar, and he could buy it in Shiring and carry it home on his shoulder.

  Edgar slept fitfully and woke at first light. Soon afterward, Erman and Eadbald appeared, bringing Leaf’s flagon topped up with Outhenham ale and a big loaf of rye bread to eat on the way. Edgar told them he was going to Shiring to buy lime.

  “So we’ll have to pole the raft back without your help!” Erman said indignantly.

  “It won’t cost you much effort,” Edgar said patiently. “It’s downstream. All you’ll have to do is keep the raft away from the banks.”

  The three of them push
ed the raft into the water, still tied up, then loaded it with the stones. Edgar insisted on an interlocking pile, so that the cargo would not shift in transit, but in fact the river was so calm that it was not really necessary.

  “You’d better unload before you drag the raft across the shallows,” Edgar said. “Otherwise you might get stuck.”

  “Then reload again—that’s a lot of work,” Erman grumbled.

  Eadbald said: “And we’ll have to unload the stones again at the other end!”

  “You’d damn well better—you’re being paid to.”

  “All right, all right.”

  Edgar untied the raft and the three boarded. “Pole across and drop me on the opposite bank,” Edgar said.

  They crossed the river. Edgar got off in the shallows. His brothers returned the vessel to midstream, and slowly the current caught it and took it away.

  Edgar watched it out of sight, then set off on the road to Shiring.

  * * *

  The town was busy. The farriers were shoeing horses; the saddlers were sold out of tack; two men with rotating grindstones were sharpening every blade; and the fletchers were selling arrows as fast as they could make them. Edgar soon discovered the reason: Ealdorman Wilwulf was about to harry the Welsh.

  The wild men of the west had raided into Wilf’s territory in the autumn, but he had been busy with his wedding and had not retaliated. However, he had not forgotten, and now he was mustering a small army to punish them.

  An English attack would be devastating to the Welsh. It would disrupt the agricultural cycle. Men and women would be killed, so there would be fewer to plough and sow. Adolescent boys and girls would be captured and sold as slaves, making money for the ealdorman and his men-at-arms, and leaving fewer fecund couples, and therefore in the long term fewer Welsh raiders, theoretically.

  Harrying was meant to discourage raids, but since the Welsh generally raided only when they were starving, the punishment was a feeble deterrent, in Edgar’s opinion. Revenge was the real motive, he thought.