by Ken Follett
Aldred said nothing. It hardly needed pointing out that for a nobleman to threaten a monk with personal violence was undignified, to say the least.
Wilwulf seemed to realize he had lowered himself, and he changed his tone. “Our duty, Abbot Osmund,” he said, flattering the abbot by putting the two of them on the same level, “is to make sure this incident doesn’t damage the authority of the nobility or the Church.”
“Quite so,” said Osmund.
Aldred found this ominous. Wilwulf bullying was normal; Wilwulf sounding conciliatory was sinister.
Wilwulf said: “The forgery has ended. The dies have been confiscated by the sheriff. What is the point of a trial?”
Aldred almost gasped. The effrontery was astonishing. Not have a trial? It was outrageous.
Wilwulf went on: “The trial will achieve nothing except to bring disgrace to a bishop who is also my half brother. Think how much better it would be if no more were heard of this incident.”
Better for your evil brother, Aldred thought.
Osmund prevaricated. “I see your point, ealdorman.”
Aldred said: “You’re wasting your breath here, Wilwulf. Whatever we might say, the sheriff will never agree to your proposal.”
“Perhaps,” said Wilwulf. “But he might become discouraged if you were to withdraw your support.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“I presume he will want you to be one of his oath helpers. I’m asking you to refuse, for the sake of the Church and the nobility.”
“I must tell the truth.”
“There are times when the truth is best unsaid. Even monks must know that.”
Osmund spoke pleadingly. “Aldred, there’s a lot in what the ealdorman says.”
Aldred took a deep breath. “Imagine that Wynstan and Degbert were dedicated, self-sacrificing priests giving their lives to the service of God, and abstaining from the lusts of the flesh; but they had made one foolish mistake that threatened to end their careers. Then, yes, we would need to discuss whether the punishment would do more harm than good. But they aren’t priests of that kind, are they?” Aldred paused, as if waiting for Wilwulf to answer the question, but the ealdorman wisely said nothing. Aldred went on: “Wynstan and Degbert spend the Church’s money in alehouses and gambling dens and whorehouses, and an awful lot of people know it. If they were both unfrocked tomorrow it would do nothing but good for the authority of nobility and the Church.”
Wilwulf looked angry. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Brother Aldred.”
“I certainly don’t,” Aldred replied, with more sincerity than might have been apparent.
“Then do as I say, and withdraw your support.”
“No.”
Osmund said: “Take time to think about it, Aldred.”
“No.”
Hildred spoke for the first time. “Won’t you submit to authority, as a monk should, and show obedience to your abbot?”
“No,” said Aldred.
* * *
Ragna was pregnant.
She had not told anyone yet, but she was sure. Cat probably guessed, but no one else knew. Ragna hugged the secret to herself, a new body growing inside her. She thought about it as she walked around, ordering people to clear, tidy, and repair, keeping the place running, making sure there was nothing to bother Wilf.
It was bad luck to tell people too early, she knew. Many pregnancies ended in spontaneous abortion. In the six years between Ragna’s birth and her brother’s, their mother had suffered several miscarriages. Ragna would not make the announcement until the bulge became too large to be hidden by the drape of her dress.
She was thrilled. She had never daydreamed of having a baby, as many girls did, but now that it was happening, she found she longed to hold and love a tiny scrap of life.
She was also pleased to be fulfilling her role in English society. She was a noblewoman married to a nobleman, and it was her job to give birth to heirs. This would dismay her enemies and strengthen her bond with Wilf.
She was scared, too. Childbirth was dangerous and painful, everyone knew that. When a woman died young it was usually because of a difficult delivery. Ragna would have Cat at her side, but Cat had never given birth. Ragna wished her mother were here. However, there was a good midwife in Shiring: Ragna had met her, a calm, competent gray-haired woman called Hildithryth, known as Hildi.
Meanwhile, she was pleased that Wynstan’s sins were at last catching up with him. Forgery was undoubtedly only one of his crimes, but it was the one that had been exposed, and she hoped for a severe punishment. Perhaps the experience would puncture the bishop’s arrogance. Good for Aldred, she thought, for finding him out.
This would be the first major trial she had attended in England, and she was eager to learn more about the country’s legal system. She knew it would be different from Normandy’s. The biblical principle of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth did not apply here. The punishment for murder was normally a fine paid to the family of the victim. The murder price was called wergild, and it varied according to the wealth and status of the dead man: a thane was worth sixty pounds of silver; an ordinary peasant, ten pounds.
She learned more when Edgar came to see her. She was sorting apples on a table, picking out the bruised ones that would not last the winter, so that she could teach Gilda the kitchen maid the best way to make cider; and she saw Edgar coming through the main gate and across the compound, a sturdy figure with a confident stride.
“You’ve changed,” he said with a smile as soon as he saw her. “What happened?”
He was perceptive, of course, especially of shapes. “I’ve been eating too much English honey,” she said. It was true: she was always hungry.
“You look well on it.” Remembering his manners he added: “If I may be permitted to say so, my lady.”
He stood on the other side of the table and helped her sort the apples, handling the good ones gently, throwing the bad into a barrel. She sensed that he was worried about something. She said: “Has Dreng sent you here to buy supplies?”
“I am no longer Dreng’s servant. I was dismissed.”
Perhaps he wanted to work for her. She quite liked the idea. “Why were you dismissed?”
“When Blod was returned to him, he beat her so badly I thought he would kill her, so I intervened.”
Edgar always tried to do the right thing, she reflected. But how much trouble was he in? “Can you go back to the farm?” Perhaps this was what was on his mind. “As I recall, it isn’t very productive.”
“It’s not, but I made a fishpond, and now we have enough to eat and some left over to sell.”
“And is Blod all right?”
“I don’t know. I told Dreng I would kill him if he hurt her again, and perhaps that has made him think twice about beating her.”
“You know I tried to buy her, to save her from him? But Wynstan overruled me.”
He nodded. “Speaking of Wynstan . . .”
He had tensed up, Ragna saw, and she guessed that what he was about to say was the real reason for his visit. “Yes?”
“He sent Ithamar to threaten me.”
“What’s the threat?”
“If I testify at the trial, my family will be evicted from the farm.”
“On what grounds?”
“The Church needs tenants who support the clergy.”
“That’s outrageous. What will you do?”
“I want to defy Wynstan, and testify for Aldred. But my family needs a farm. I’ve got a sister-in-law and a baby niece now, as well as my brothers.”
Ragna could see that he was torn, and she felt sympathy for him. “I understand.”
“That’s why I’ve come to you. In the whole of the Vale of Outhen it must happen that a farm becomes vacant quite often.”
&nb
sp; “Several times a year. Usually there’s a son or a son-in-law to take it over, but not always.”
“If I knew I could rely on you to give my family a farm, I would be one of Aldred’s oath helpers, and defy Wynstan.”
“I’ll give you a farm if you’re evicted,” she said without hesitation. “Of course I will.”
She saw his shoulders slump with relief. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve no idea how much . . .” To her surprise, his hazel eyes filled with tears.
She reached across the table and took his hand. “You can rely on me,” she said. She held his hand a moment longer, then let it go.
* * *
Hildred ambushed Aldred in the chapter meeting.
Chapter was the hour of the day in which the monks remembered their democratic origins. They were all brothers, alike in the sight of God and equals in the running of the abbey. This conflicted directly with their vow of obedience, so neither principle was obeyed fully. Day to day, the monks did what the abbot told them to do; but at the chapter meeting they sat in a circle and decided major issues of principle as equals—including the election of a new abbot when the old one died. If no consensus emerged, they would hold a vote.
Hildred began by saying that he had to bring before the monks an issue that grieved both him and poor Abbot Osmund upstairs on his sick bed. He then reported Wilwulf’s visit. As he told the story, Aldred looked around at the faces of the monks. None of the older ones looked surprised, and Aldred realized that Hildred had secured their support in advance. The younger ones looked surprised and shocked. They had not been forewarned for fear that they would give Aldred a chance to prepare his defense.
Hildred finished by saying that he had raised this in chapter because Aldred’s role in the investigation of Wynstan and the upcoming trial was an issue of principle. “Why is the abbey here?” he said. “What is our role? Are we here to play a part in power struggles among the nobility and the higher priesthood? Or is it our duty to withdraw from the world, and worship God in tranquillity, ignoring the storms of earthly life that rage around us? The abbot has asked Aldred to take no part in the trial, and Aldred has refused. I believe the brothers here assembled have the right to consider what the will of God is for our monastery.”
Aldred saw that there was a measure of general agreement. Even those who had not been previously buttonholed by Hildred thought that monks ought not to get involved in politics. Most monks liked Aldred better than Hildred, but they also liked a quiet life.
They were waiting for him to speak. It was like a gladiatorial contest, he thought. He and Hildred were the two leading monks under the abbot. One of them would take Osmund’s place sooner or later. This tussle could make a difference to the final battle.
He would give his point of view, but he feared too many of the monks had already made up their minds. Rationality might not be enough.
He decided to raise the stakes.
“I agree with much of what Brother Hildred says,” he began. In an argument it was always wise to show respect for your opponent: people disliked antipathy. “This is indeed an issue of principle, a question of the role of monks in the world. And I know Hildred is sincere in his concern for our abbey.” This was going to the far edge of generosity, and Aldred decided it was enough. “However, let me put forward a slightly different point of view.”
The room was quiet now, and they were all agog.
“Monks must be concerned with this world as well as the next. We’re told to store up treasure in heaven, but we do so by good works here on earth. We live in a world of cruelty and ignorance and pain, but we make it better. When evil is done in front of our eyes we cannot remain silent. At least . . . I cannot.” He paused for effect.
“I have been asked to withdraw from the trial. I refuse. It is not God’s will for me. I ask you, my brothers, to respect my decision. But if you decide to expel me from this abbey, then of course I will have to leave.” He looked around the room. “For me that would be a sad day.”
They were shocked. They had not expected him to make this a resigning issue. No one wanted it to go that far—except Hildred, perhaps.
There was a long silence. What Aldred needed was for one of his friends to suggest a compromise. But he had had no chance to prearrange this, so he had to hope that one of them would work something out on his own.
In the end it was Brother Godleof, the taciturn ex-cowherd, who figured it out. “No need for expulsion,” he said with characteristic brevity. “Man shouldn’t be forced to do what he thinks wrong.”
Hildred said indignantly: “But what about your vow of obedience?”
Godleof was economical with words but he did not lack intelligence, and he could match Hildred in an argument. “There are limits,” he said simply.
Aldred saw that many of the monks agreed with that. Their obedience was not absolute. He sensed the mood moving to his side.
To Aldred’s surprise his colleague in the scriptorium, the old scribe Tatwine, raised his hand. Aldred could not remember him speaking in chapter before. “I haven’t been outside the precincts of this abbey for twenty-three years,” Tatwine said. “But Aldred went to Jumièges. That isn’t even in England! And he brought back marvelous volumes, books we’d never seen before. Marvelous. There are more ways than one to be a monk, you see.” He smiled and nodded, as if agreeing with himself. “More ways than one.”
The older monks were moved by this intervention, the more so because it was so rare. And Tatwine worked with Aldred daily: that made his opinion more weighty.
Hildred knew that he was beaten, and he did not push the matter to a vote. “If the chapter is minded to pardon Aldred’s disobedience,” he said, trying to hide his annoyance under a mask of tolerance, “then I feel sure Abbot Osmund would not want to insist otherwise.”
Most of the monks nodded assent.
“Then let us move on,” Hildred said. “I understand there has been a complaint about moldy bread . . .”
* * *
The day before the trial, Aldred and Den shared a cup of ale and reviewed their prospects. Den said: “Wynstan has done his best to undermine our oath helpers, but I don’t think he’s succeeded.”
Aldred nodded. “He sent Ithamar to threaten Edgar with eviction, but Edgar persuaded Ragna to promise him a farm if necessary, so he’s solid now.”
“And I gather you prevailed in chapter.”
“Wilwulf tried to bully Abbot Osmund, but in the end the chapter backed me, just.”
“Wynstan isn’t liked in the religious community. He brings them all into disrepute.”
“There’s a lot of interest in this case, not just in Shiring. There will be several bishops and abbots present, and I would expect them to support us.”
Den offered Aldred more ale. Aldred declined, but Den took another cupful.
Aldred said: “How will Wynstan be punished?”
“One law says that a forger’s hand should be cut off and nailed over the door to the mint. But another prescribes the death penalty for forgers who work in the woods, which might include Dreng’s Ferry. And anyway judges don’t always read the books of law. Often do as they please, especially men such as Wilwulf. But we have to get Wynstan convicted first.”
Aldred frowned. “I don’t see how the court can fail to convict. Last year King Ethelred made every ealdorman swear an oath with his twelve leading magnates. They had to vow not to conceal any guilty person.”
Den shrugged. “Wilwulf will break that oath. So will Wigelm.”
“The bishops and abbots will keep theirs.”
“And there’s no reason why other thanes, unrelated to Wilwulf, should imperil their immortal souls to save Wynstan.”
“God’s will be done,” said Aldred.
CHAPTER 23
November 1, 998
uring the predawn service of Matins, Aldred
’s mind wandered. He tried to concentrate on the prayers and their meaning, but all he could think about was Wynstan. Aldred had caught a lion by the tail, and if he did not kill the beast then it would kill him. Failure in court today would be a catastrophe. Wynstan’s revenge would be brutal.
The monks returned to bed after Matins, but got up again soon afterward for Lauds. They crossed the courtyard in the cold November air and entered the church shivering.
Aldred found that every hymn, psalm, and reading had something in it that reminded him of the trial. One of today’s psalms was number seven, and Aldred chanted the words with feeling: “Save me from them that persecute me, and deliver me, lest he tear my soul like a lion.”
He ate little at breakfast but drained his cup of ale and wished for more. Before the service of Terce, which was about the Crucifixion, Sheriff Den knocked on the abbey door, and Aldred put on his cloak and went out.
Den was accompanied by a servant carrying a basket. “It’s all in there,” he said. “The dies, the adulterated metal, the false coins.”
“Good.” Physical evidence could be important, especially if someone was prepared to swear to its authenticity.
They headed for the ealdorman’s compound, where Wilwulf normally held court in front of the great hall; but as they passed the cathedral, they were stopped by Ithamar. “The trial will be held here,” he said smugly. “At the west door of the church.”
Den said indignantly: “Who decided that?”
“Ealdorman Wilwulf, of course.”
Den turned to Aldred. “This is Wynstan’s doing.”
Aldred nodded. “It will remind everyone of Wynstan’s high status as a bishop. They will be reluctant to convict him in front of the cathedral.”
Den looked at Ithamar. “He’s still guilty, and we can prove it.”
“He is God’s representative on earth,” said Ithamar, and he walked away.