by Ken Follett
By afternoon he had sold them all and had a pocketful of change. He returned to his seat outside the alehouse and ordered a cup of ale.
Brindle’s behavior at Combe was peculiar. The dog seemed bewildered to be in the place she knew so well and find it different. She ran around the streets, renewing acquaintance with the town dogs, sniffing in a baffled way at rebuilt houses. She had yelped delightedly at coming across the stone-built dairy, which had survived the fire; then she had spent half a day sitting outside the place as if waiting for Sungifu to come.
“I know how you feel,” Edgar said to the dog.
Early that evening Wynstan, Wigelm, and Degbert emerged from Wigelm’s compound. Edgar was careful not to meet Wynstan’s eye: the bishop might well recognize him.
But Wynstan had his mind on pleasure tonight. His brothers were brightly dressed, and the bishop himself had changed his long black priestly robes for a short tunic under a light cloak secured with a gold pin. His tonsured head was covered with a jaunty cap. The three men zigzagged through the dusty streets in the evening light.
They went to the Sailors, the town’s largest and best-furnished alehouse. The place was always busy, and Edgar felt able to go inside and order a cup of ale while Wynstan called for a jug of the strong fermented-honey liquor called mead, and paid with pennies from a bulging leather purse.
Edgar drank his ale slowly. Wynstan did nothing remarkable. He drank and laughed, ordered a plate of shrimp, and put his hand up the skirt of a serving wench. He was making no serious attempt to keep his revelry secret, though he was taking care not to be ostentatious.
The daylight was fading, and no doubt Wynstan was getting drunker. When the three left the alehouse Edgar followed them out, feeling that the chances of his being noticed were diminishing. Nevertheless he maintained a discreet distance as he tailed them.
It occurred to him that if they spotted him they might pretend not to have, then ambush him. If that happened they would beat him half to death. He would not be able to defend himself against three of them. He tried not to feel scared.
They went to Mags’s house, and Edgar followed them in.
Mags had rebuilt the place and furnished it in a style as luxurious as that of any palace. There were tapestries on the walls, mattresses on the floor, and cushions on the seats. Two couples were shagging under blankets, and there were screens to hide those whose sexual practices were too embarrassing or too wicked to be seen. There seemed to be eight or ten girls and a couple of boys, some speaking with foreign accents, and Edgar guessed that most of them were slaves, bought by Mags at the market in Bristol.
Wynstan immediately became the center of attention, as the highest-ranking customer in the place. Mags herself brought him a cup of wine, kissed him on the lips, then stood beside him, pointing out the attractions of different girls: this one had big breasts, that one was expert at sucking off, and another had shaved all her body hair.
For a few minutes no one took any notice of Edgar, but eventually a pretty Irish girl showed him her pink breasts and asked him what would be his pleasure, and he muttered that he had come into the wrong house, and left quickly.
Wynstan was doing things a bishop ought not to do, and making only perfunctory attempts to be discreet, but again Edgar could not figure out what the great mystery might be.
It was full dark by the time the three merrymakers staggered out of Mags’s house, but their evening was not over yet. Edgar followed them with little fear now of being spotted. They went to a house near the beach that Edgar recognized as belonging to the wool trader Cynred, probably the richest man in Combe after Wigelm. The door was open to the evening air, and they went inside.
Edgar could not follow them into a private house. Looking through the open door he saw them settle around a table, chatting in a relaxed and amiable manner. Wynstan took out his purse.
Edgar concealed himself in a dark alley opposite.
Soon a well-dressed middle-aged man he did not recognize approached the house. Apparently not sure he was in the right place, the man put his head round the door. In the light from inside, Edgar saw that his clothes looked costly and possibly foreign. He asked a question Edgar did not hear. “Come in, come in!” someone shouted, and the man went in.
Then the door was closed.
However, Edgar could still hear something of what was going on inside, and soon the volume of conversation increased. He picked up the unmistakable rattle of dice in a cup. He heard shouted words:
“Ten pence!”
“Double six!”
“I win, I win!”
“The devil’s in those dice!”
Clearly Wynstan had had enough of drinking and whoring and had turned at last to gambling.
After a long wait in the alley, Edgar heard the monastery bell strike for the midnight service of nocturns, the first office of the new day. Soon afterward, the game seemed to come to an end. The players came out into the street, carrying branches from the fire to light their way. Edgar shrank back into his alley, but distinctly heard Wynstan say: “Luck was with you tonight, Monsieur Robert!”
“You take your losses in good spirit,” said a voice with an accent, and Edgar deduced that the foreign-looking stranger was a French or Norman trader.
“You must give me a chance to win it all back some time!”
“With pleasure.”
Edgar reflected ruefully that he had followed Wynstan all evening only to learn that the bishop was a good sport.
Wynstan, Wigelm, and Degbert turned toward Wigelm’s place, and Robert went in the opposite direction. On impulse, Edgar followed Robert.
The foreigner went to the beach. There he hitched up the skirts of his tunic and waded out into the water. Edgar watched him, following the flame, until he boarded a ship. By the light of the torch Edgar could see that it was a broad-beamed, deep-hulled vessel, almost certainly a Norman cargo ship.
Then the light was doused, and Edgar lost sight of the man.
* * *
Early next morning Edgar met with Aldred and confessed himself at a loss. “Wynstan spends the church’s money on wine, women, and dice, but there’s no mystery about that,” Edgar said.
But Aldred was intrigued by a detail Edgar had thought trivial. “Wynstan didn’t seem to mind having lost money, you say?”
Edgar shrugged. “If he did mind, he concealed it well.”
Aldred shook his head skeptically. “Gamblers always mind losing,” he said. “There would be no thrill otherwise.”
“He just shook the man’s hand and said he looked forward to a chance to win it back.”
“Something is wrong here.”
“I can’t think what it might be.”
“And afterward, Monsieur Robert boarded a ship, presumably his own.” Aldred drummed his fingers on the table. “I must talk to him.”
“I’ll take you.”
“Good. Tell me, is there a money changer in Combe? There must be, it’s a port.”
“Wyn the jeweler buys foreign money and melts it down.”
“Jeweler? He must have a balance and accurate weights for small amounts of precious metals.”
“I’m sure.”
“We may need him later.”
Edgar was intrigued. He did not follow Aldred’s thinking. He asked: “But why?”
“Be patient. It’s not clear in my own mind yet. Let’s go and talk to Robert.”
They left the monastery. Until now they had not been seen together in Combe, but Aldred seemed too excited to worry about that this morning. Edgar led the way to the beach.
Edgar was excited, too. Although he was baffled, he guessed they were nearer to solving the mystery.
The Norman cargo vessel was being loaded. On the beach was a small hill of iron ore. Men were shoveling the ore into barrels, carrying the barrels out to the sh
ip, and emptying them into the hold. Monsieur Robert was on the beach, supervising. Edgar noticed that a leather purse bulging with coins was securely attached to his belt. “That’s him,” Edgar said.
Aldred approached the man and introduced himself, then said: “I have something important and private to tell you, Monsieur Robert. I think you were cheated last night.”
“Cheated?” said Robert. “But I won.”
Edgar shared Robert’s mystification. How could he have been cheated when he came away with a purse full of cash?
Aldred said: “If you will come with me to the jeweler’s house, I will explain. I promise you won’t feel it a wasted journey.”
Robert looked hard at Aldred for a long moment, then appeared to decide to trust him. “Very well.”
Edgar led them to the home of Wyn, a stone house that had survived the Viking fire. They found the jeweler at breakfast with his family. Wyn was a small man of about fifty with receding hair. He had a young wife—his second, Edgar recalled—and two little children.
Edgar said: “Good morning, sir. I hope I find you well.”
Wyn was amiable. “Hello, Edgar. How is your mother?”
“Feeling her age, to tell the truth.”
“Aren’t we all? Have you come back to Combe?”
“Just a visit. This is Brother Aldred, the armarius of Shiring Abbey, who’s staying at Combe Priory for a few days.”
Wyn said politely: “I’m glad to meet you, Brother Aldred.” He was puzzled but patient, waiting to find out what was going on.
“And this is Monsieur Robert, the owner of a ship in the harbor.”
“Happy to meet you, monsieur.”
Aldred then took over. “Wyn, would you be so kind as to weigh some English pennies that Monsieur Robert has acquired?”
Edgar began to see where Aldred was heading, and he became riveted.
Wyn hesitated only for a moment. To do a good turn for an important monk was an investment that would be repaid one day. “Of course,” he said. “Come into my workshop.”
He led the way and the others followed, Robert looking mystified but not unwilling.
Wyn’s workshop was similar to that of Cuthbert at the minster, Edgar saw, with a hearth, an anvil, an array of small tools, and a stout, ironbound chest that probably contained precious metals. On the workbench was a delicate-looking balance, a T shape with trays dangling from each end of the crossbar.
Aldred said: “Monsieur Robert, may we weigh the pennies you won at Cynred’s house last night?”
Edgar said: “Ah.” He was beginning to see how Robert might have been cheated.
Robert took the purse from his belt and opened it. It held a mixture of English and foreign currency. The others waited patiently while he picked out the English coins, all with a cross on one side and the head of King Ethelred on the other. He closed the purse carefully and reattached it to his belt, then counted out the pennies. There were sixty-three.
Aldred said: “Did you win all these coins last night?”
“Most of them,” said Robert.
Wyn said: “Please put sixty pennies in a tray—it doesn’t matter which one.” As Robert did so, Wyn selected some small weights from a box. They were disc-shaped and looked, to Edgar, as if they were made of lead. “Sixty pence should weight exactly three ounces,” Wyn said. He placed three weights in the opposite tray. The tray immediately sank to the bench. Edgar gasped, shocked. Wyn said to Robert: “Your pennies are light.”
“What does that mean?” said Robert.
Edgar knew the answer, but he remained silent while Wyn explained.
“Most silver coins contain some copper to make the disk more hard-wearing,” Wyn said. “English pennies have nineteen parts of silver to one part of copper. Just a moment.” He removed an ounce weight from the tray and began to replace it with smaller ones. “Copper is lighter than silver.” When the two sides balanced he said: “Your pennies contain about ten parts of copper to ten of silver. The difference is so small as to be imperceptible in normal use. But these are forgeries.”
Edgar nodded. That was the solution to the mystery: Wynstan was a forger. And furthermore, Edgar now realized, gambling was a way of changing bad coins for good. If Wynstan won at dice, he gained genuine silver pennies, but if he lost, he only sacrificed forgeries. Over the long run he was sure to come out ahead.
Robert’s face was flushed with anger. “I don’t believe you,” he said.
“I’ll prove it. Does anyone have a good penny?”
Edgar had Dreng’s money. He gave Robert a penny. Robert drew his belt knife and scratched the coin on the side with the head of Ethelred. The scratch was hardly visible.
Wyn said: “That coin is the same all the way through. No matter how deep you go, the color showing will be silver. Now scratch one of your own.”
Robert gave Edgar his penny back, took a coin of his own from the tray, and repeated the exercise. This time the scratch mark was brown.
Wyn explained: “The mixture of half silver, half copper is brown in color. Forgers make their coins look silver by washing them in vitriol, which removes the copper from the surface; but underneath the metal is still brown.”
Robert said furiously: “Those damned Englishmen were gambling with counterfeit money!”
Aldred said: “Well, one of them was.”
“I shall go and accuse Cynred now!”
“Cynred may not be the guilty one. How many were around the table?”
“Five.”
“Who will you accuse?”
Robert saw the problem. “So the cheat is going to get away with it?”
“Not if I can help it,” Aldred said resolutely. “But if you make a wild accusation now, they will all deny it. Worse, the villain will be forewarned and it will become difficult to bring him to justice.”
“What am I to do with all this false money?”
Aldred was unsympathetic. “You got it gambling, Robert. Have the forgeries melted down and made into a ring to wear to remind you not to gamble. Remember that the Roman soldiers at the Cross threw dice for our Lord’s clothes.”
“I’ll think about that,” Robert said sulkily.
Edgar doubted that Robert would melt down the counterfeit coins. More likely he would spend them in ones and twos so that their weight would not be noticed. But in fact that would suit Aldred’s purpose, Edgar saw. Robert would not tell anyone about the false money if he planned to spend it. So Wynstan would not know that his secret had been revealed.
Aldred turned to Wyn. “May I ask you to keep this to yourself, for the same reason?” he said.
“Very well.”
“I can assure you that I’m determined to bring the culprit to justice.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Wyn. “Good luck.”
Robert said: “Amen.”
* * *
Aldred was triumphant, but he soon realized the battle was not yet won. “All the clergy at the minster obviously know about this already,” he said thoughtfully, as Edgar poled the raft upriver. “It could hardly be hidden from them. But they keep quiet, and they’re rewarded for their silence with a life of idleness and luxury.”
Edgar nodded. “The villagers, too. They probably guess that something underhand goes on there, but they’re bribed by the gifts Wynstan brings four times a year.”
“And this explains why he was so furious about my proposal to transform his corrupt minster into a god-fearing monastery. He would have to recreate the setup in some other remote village—not an easy thing to do from scratch.”
“Cuthbert must be the forger. He’s the only person with the skill to engrave the dies to make the coins.” Edgar looked uncomfortable. “He’s not such a bad man, just weak. He could never stand up to a bully like Wynstan. I almost feel sorry for him.”
T
hey parted company at Mudeford Crossing, still keen to avoid calling attention to their association. Edgar continued upstream and Aldred rode Dismas toward Shiring by an indirect route. He was fortunate to join up with two miners driving a cartload of something that looked like coal but was in fact cassiterite, the mineral from which valuable tin was extracted. If the outlaw Ironface happened to be nearby, Aldred felt sure he would be deterred by the sight of the powerfully built miners with their iron-headed hammers.
Travelers loved to talk, but the miners did not have much to say, and Aldred was able to think at length about how he might bring Wynstan before a court and see him convicted of his crime and punished. Even with what Aldred now knew it would not be easy. The bishop would have no end of oath helpers to swear he was an honest man who told the truth.
When witnesses disagreed there was a procedure for settling the matter: one of them had to undergo an ordeal, either pick up a red-hot iron bar and carry it ten paces, or plunge his hands into boiling water and pull out a stone. In theory, God would protect a man who was telling the truth. In practice, Aldred had never known anyone to volunteer for the ordeal.
Often it was clear which side was telling the truth, and the court would believe the more credible witness. But Wynstan’s case would have to be heard in the shire court, which would be presided over by his brother. Ealdorman Wilwulf would be shamelessly biased in Wynstan’s favor. Aldred’s only chance would be to produce evidence so overwhelmingly clear, backed up by oaths from men of such high status, that even Wynstan’s brother could not pretend to believe in his innocence.
He wondered what drove a man like Wynstan to become a forger. The bishop had a life of ease and pleasure: what more did he need? Why risk losing everything? Aldred supposed that Wynstan’s greed was insatiable. No matter how much money and power he had, he would always crave more. Sin was like that.