by Ken Follett
He made his way to the abbey, where he planned to spend the night. It was a pale stone monument of peace in the middle of a town preparing for war. Aldred seemed pleased to see Edgar. The monks were about to go in procession to the church for the midafternoon services of Nones, but Aldred was allowed to skip it.
Edgar had had a long walk in the February cold, and Aldred said: “You need to warm up. There’s a fire in Osmund’s room—let’s sit there.” Edgar accepted gratefully.
All the other monks had left, and the monastery was silent. Edgar felt a moment of unease: Aldred’s affection for him was a little too intense. He hoped this was not going to be the scene of an embarrassing interaction. He did not want to offend Aldred, but nor did he want to be embraced by him.
He need not have worried. Aldred had other things on his mind. “It turns out that Ragna did not know about Wilf’s first wife, Inge,” he said.
Edgar remembered a conversation with Agnes the seamstress. “They thought she was dead,” he recalled.
“Until after they were married, and most of Ragna’s servants had gone back to Cherbourg; then Wilf moved Inge back into the compound, along with their son, Garulf.”
Dread settled like a weight in the pit of Edgar’s stomach. “How is she?”
“Distraught.”
He felt desperately sorry for her, a stranger far from home and family, cruelly tricked by the English. “Poor girl,” he said, but the phrase felt inadequate.
Aldred said: “But that’s not why I’m so keen to talk to you. It’s about Dreng’s Ferry.”
Edgar wrenched his thoughts away from Ragna.
Aldred went on: “After I saw the state of the minster, I proposed that it should be taken over by monks, and the archbishop agreed. But Wynstan kicked up a huge fuss, and Abbot Osmund backed down.”
Edgar frowned. “Why did Wynstan care so much?”
“That’s the question. It’s not a rich church, and Degbert is no more than a distant relation to him.”
“Why would Wynstan quarrel with his archbishop over something so minor?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you. You live at the alehouse, you operate the ferry, you see everyone who comes and goes. You must know most of what happens there.”
Edgar wanted to help Aldred, but did not know the answers to his questions. He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what’s in Wynstan’s mind.” Then a thought occurred to him. “He does visit, though.”
“Really?” said Aldred, intrigued. “How often?”
“Twice since I’ve been there. The first was a week after Michaelmas, the second just about six weeks ago.”
“You’re good with dates. So both visits came soon after the quarter day. For what purpose?”
“Nothing apparent to me.”
“Well, what does he do there?”
“At Christmas he gave every house a piglet.”
“Strange. He’s not normally openhanded. Rather the opposite.”
“And then he and Degbert went to Combe. Both times.”
Aldred scratched his shaved scalp. “Something is going on, and I can’t figure out what.”
Edgar had a notion, but he felt awkward about voicing it. “Wynstan and Degbert could be . . . I mean, they could be having some kind of . . .”
“Love affair? Possibly, but I don’t think so. I know a bit about that sort of thing, and neither man strikes me as the type.”
Edgar had to agree.
Aldred added: “They might hold orgies with slave girls at the minster, that would be more credible.”
It was Edgar’s turn to look dubious. “I don’t see how they could keep such a thing secret. Where would they hide the slaves?”
“You’re right. They might hold pagan rites, though; they wouldn’t necessarily need slaves for that.”
“Pagan rites? What’s in that for Wynstan?”
“What’s in it for anyone? But still there are pagans.”
Edgar was not convinced. “In England?”
“Perhaps not.”
Edgar was struck by a thought. “I vaguely remember Wynstan visiting Combe when we lived there. Young men aren’t very interested in the clergy, and I never took much notice, but he used to stay at the house of his brother, Wigelm—I remember my mother commenting that you’d expect a bishop to stay at the monastery.”
“And why would he go to Combe?”
“It’s a good place to indulge your lusts. At least it was before the Vikings burned it, and it probably recovered quickly. There’s a woman called Mags who keeps a bawdy house, several houses where men gamble for high stakes, and more alehouses than churches.”
“The fleshpots of Babylon.”
Edgar smiled. “Also a lot of ordinary people like me just pursuing a trade. But, yes, the town gets a lot of visitors, mostly sailors, and that gives it a certain character.”
There was a moment of quiet, and they both heard a soft sound from outside the room. Aldred jumped to his feet and threw the door wide.
Edgar saw the figure of a monk moving away.
“Hildred!” said Aldred. “I thought you were at Nones. Were you eavesdropping?”
“I had to come back for something.”
“What?”
Hildred hesitated.
“Never mind,” said Aldred, and he slammed the door.
* * *
The ealdorman’s compound was even busier than the town. The army was to leave at dawn, and all the men were getting ready, sharpening arrows and polishing helmets and loading saddlebags with smoked fish and hard cheese.
Edgar noticed that some of the women seemed dressed up, and he wondered why; then it occurred to him that they feared this night might be their last with their husbands, and they wanted to make it a memorable one.
Ragna looked different. The last time Edgar had seen her had been at her wedding, when she had shone with gladness and hope. She was still beautiful, but in a different way. Now the light she radiated was more like that of a full moon, bright but cold. She was as poised and composed as ever, and beautifully dressed in the rich brown color that suited her so well; but a certain girlish enthusiasm had gone, to be replaced by an air of angry determination.
He looked carefully at her figure—never a burdensome task—and decided that she was not yet pregnant. She had been married for only a little more than three months, so it was early days yet.
She welcomed him into her house and gave him bread with soft cheese and a cup of ale. He wanted to know about Wilf and Inge, but he did not dare to ask her such personal questions. Instead he said: “I’ve just been to Outhenham.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Buying stone for the new brewhouse I’m building at Dreng’s Ferry.”
“I’m the new lord of the Vale of Outhen.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to see you. I think you’re being cheated.”
“Go on, please.”
He told her the story of Gab and his sticks. “I can’t prove that you’re being robbed, but I’m sure of it,” he said. “You may want to check.”
“I certainly do. If Dudda the headman is defrauding me that way he’s probably doing it in a dozen other ways, too.”
Edgar had not thought of that. Ragna had an instinct for government, he realized, just as he had an instinct for the construction of shapes in wood and stone. His respect for her rose higher.
She said thoughtfully: “What are the other villagers like? I’ve never been there.”
“There’s an elder called Seric who seems more sensible than most.”
“That’s useful to know. Thank you. And how are you?” Her tone became bright and somewhat brittle. “You’re old enough to be married. Is there a girl in your life?”
Edgar was taken aback. After their conversation at her wedding, w
hen he had told her about Sungifu, how could she ask him a lighthearted question about romance? “I’m not planning to marry,” he said shortly.
She sensed his reaction, and said: “I’m sorry. I forgot, for a moment, just how very serious you are, for someone your age.”
“I think we have that in common.”
She thought about that. He feared he had been impudent, but all she said was: “Yes.”
It was an intimate moment, and he was emboldened to say: “Aldred told me about Inge.”
A wounded look came over her lovely face. “It was a shock to me,” she said.
Edgar guessed she was not that frank with everyone, and he felt privileged. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I feel mortified that you’ve been so misled by the English.” In the back of his mind he was thinking that he was not as sad as he should have been. Somehow the idea that Wilf had turned out to be an unsatisfactory husband did not displease him as much as it ought to have. He put the ungenerous thought out of his mind and said: “That’s why I’m so cross about Gab the quarrymaster. You know that we English are not all the same, though, don’t you?”
“Of course. But I only married one.”
Edgar risked a bold question. “Do you still love him?”
She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
He was surprised.
He must have shown it for she said: “I know. He’s deceived me, and he’s unfaithful, but I love him.”
“I see,” he said, though he did not.
“You shouldn’t be shocked,” she said. “You love a dead woman.”
That was harsh, but they were having a frank conversation. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.
Suddenly she seemed to feel they had gone far enough. She stood up and said: “I have a lot to do.”
“I’m glad to have seen you. Thank you for the cheese.” He turned to go.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you for telling me about the quarrymaster at Outhenham. I appreciate it.”
He felt a glow of satisfaction.
To his surprise she kissed his cheek. “Good-bye,” she said. “I hope I see you again soon.”
* * *
In the morning Aldred and Edgar went out to see the army ride off.
Aldred was still chewing over the mystery of Dreng’s Ferry. The place had something to hide. He had wondered why the ordinary villagers there were hostile to strangers. It was because they were guarding a secret—all except Edgar and his family, who were not in on it.
Aldred was determined to get to the bottom of it.
Edgar had with him the sack of lime he was going to carry for the next two days. “It’s a good thing you’re strong,” Aldred said. “I’m not sure I could carry it for two hours.”
“I’ll manage,” said Edgar. “It was worth it for the chance to talk to Ragna.”
“You’re fond of her.”
Edgar’s hazel eyes twinkled in a way that made Aldred’s heart beat faster. “Not in the way you seem to imply,” Edgar said. “Which is just as well, since the daughters of counts never marry the sons of boatbuilders.”
Aldred was familiar with impossible love. He almost said so, but bit his tongue. He did not want his tendresse for Edgar to become embarrassing to them both. That might end their friendship, and friendship was all he had.
He glanced at Edgar and saw, with relief, that his expression was untroubled.
There was a noise from up the hill, hoofbeats and cheering. The sound got louder, then the army appeared. At its head was a big iron-gray stallion with a mad look in its eye. Its rider, in a red cloak, was surely Wilf, but his identity was hidden by a gleaming full-face helmet with a plume. Looking more closely, Aldred saw that the helmet was made of more than one metal, and was engraved with complex designs that could not be made out at a distance. It was decorative, Aldred guessed, intended to impress: Wilf would probably wear a less valuable one into battle.
Wilf’s brother Wigelm and son, Garulf, came next, riding side by side; then the men-at-arms, dressed less finely but still showing some bright colors. After them came a crowd of young men on foot, peasant boys and poor town lads, dressed in the usual worn brown tunics, most armed with homemade wooden spears, others having nothing more than a kitchen knife or a hand ax, all hoping to change their fortunes in battle and come home with a bag of looted jewelry or a valuable pair of teenage captives to sell as slaves.
They all crossed the square, waving at the townspeople, who clapped and cheered as they went by; then they disappeared to the north.
Edgar was going east. He shouldered his sack and took his leave.
Aldred returned to the abbey. It was almost time for the service of Terce, but he was summoned to Abbot Osmund.
As usual, Hildred was with the abbot.
Aldred thought: What now?
Osmund said: “I’ll get right to the point, Brother Aldred. I don’t want you to make an enemy of Bishop Wynstan.”
Aldred understood immediately, but pretended not to. “The bishop is our brother in Christ, of course.”
Osmund was too smart to be diverted by this sort of platitude. “You were overheard talking to that lad from Dreng’s Ferry.”
“Yes. I caught Brother Hildred eavesdropping.”
Hildred said: “And a good thing, too! You were plotting against your abbot!”
“I was asking questions.”
Osmund said: “Listen to me. We had a difference of opinion with Wynstan about Dreng’s Ferry, but the matter has been resolved and is now closed.”
“Not really. The minster is still an abomination in the sight of the Lord.”
“That’s as may be, but I have decided not to quarrel with the bishop. I don’t accuse you of plotting against me, despite Hildred’s hot words, but really, Aldred, you must not undermine me.”
Aldred felt shame mixed with indignation. He had no wish to offend his kindly but lazy superior. On the other hand, it was wrong for a man of God to overlook wickedness. Osmund would do anything for a quiet life, but a monk was obliged to do more than seek a quiet life.
However, this was not the time to make a stand. “I’m sorry, my lord abbot,” he said. “I will try harder to remember my vow of obedience.”
“I knew you’d see sense,” said Osmund.
Hildred looked skeptical. He did not believe that Aldred was sincere.
And he was right.
* * *
Edgar arrived back in Dreng’s Ferry on the afternoon of the following day. He was dead beat. It had been a mistake to carry a sack of lime that distance. He was strong, but not superhuman. He had a crippling backache.
The first thing he saw was a pile of stones on the bank of the river. His brothers had unloaded the raft but had not carried the stones to the site of the brewhouse. At that moment he felt he could have murdered them both.
He was too tired even to walk into the tavern. He dumped his sack by the stones and lay on the ground right there.
Dreng came out and saw him. “So you’re back,” he said superfluously.
“Here I am.”
“The stones have arrived.”
“So I see.”
“What have you brought?”
“A sack of lime. I saved you the cost of horse transport, but I’ll never do it again.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Dreng smiled with an odd look of malicious satisfaction.
Edgar said: “Except for one thing.” He took out the purse. “You gave me too much money.”
Dreng looked startled.
Edgar said: “The stones were a penny each. We paid a penny at the alehouse in Outhenham for supper and beds. The lime was four pence. There are nine pennies left.”
Dreng took the purse and counted the coins. “So there are,”
he said. “Well, well.”
Edgar was puzzled. A man as mean as Dreng should have been horrified to learn that he had handed over more money than necessary. But he was just mildly surprised.
“Well, well,” Dreng said again, and he went back into the alehouse.
Lying supine, waiting for his back to stop hurting, Edgar mused. It was almost as if Dreng knew he had given too much and was surprised to get some back.
Of course, Edgar thought; that was it.
He had been given a test. Dreng had deliberately put temptation in his way, to see what he would do.
His brothers would have swallowed the bait. They would have stolen the money and been found out. But Edgar had simply given it back.
All the same, Erman and Eadbald had been right about one thing. They had said that Edgar would get no thanks from Dreng. And no thanks was just what he had got.
CHAPTER 18
March 998
t should have been a simple matter for Ragna to go to the Vale of Outhen.
She had mentioned it to Wilf the day before he left for Wales, and he had nodded agreement without hesitation. But after the army had left, Wynstan had come to her house. “This is not a good moment for you to visit Outhen,” he said, using the soft voice and insincere smile he deployed when pretending to be reasonable. “It’s the time of spring ploughing. We don’t want to distract the peasants.”
Ragna was wary. Wynstan had never before shown an interest in agricultural matters. “Naturally I don’t want to do anything that would interfere with their work,” she said, temporizing.
“Good. Postpone your visit. Meanwhile, I’ll collect your rents and hand the proceeds over to you, as I did at Christmas.”
It was true that Wynstan had given her a large sum of money a few days after Christmas, but he had offered no accounting, so she had no way of knowing whether she had received what was due to her. At the time she had been too distraught about Inge to care, but she did not intend to let this laxness continue. As he turned to leave, she put a hand on his arm. “When would you suggest?”