by Ken Follett
He went by river to Outhenham and spent a night at the home of Seric, the new headman, and his wife and grandchild. Perhaps it was Edgar’s imagination, but the village seemed a calmer, happier place with Seric in charge.
In the morning he left his raft in Seric’s care and walked on to Shiring. If his plan worked he would be able to return to Dreng’s Ferry with a load of stone on the raft.
It was a cold journey. Icy rain turned to sleet. Edgar’s leather shoes became sodden and his feet hurt. If ever I have money, he thought, I’m going to buy a pony.
His thoughts turned to Aldred. He felt sorry for the monk, a man who wanted only to do good. Aldred had been brave to go up against a bishop. Too brave, perhaps: justice might be something to hope for in the next world, not this one.
The streets of Shiring were almost deserted: in this weather most people stayed indoors, huddled around their fires. But there was a small crowd outside Elfwine’s stone house, where silver pennies were made under the king’s license. Elfwine, the moneyer, stood outside, and his wife was beside him, weeping. Sheriff Den was there with his men, and Edgar saw that they were bringing Elfwine’s equipment out onto the street and smashing it up.
Edgar spoke to Den. “What’s going on?”
“King Ethelred ordered me to close the mint,” said Den. “He’s displeased about the forgery at Dreng’s Ferry, and believes the trial was a sham; and this is his way of showing it.”
Edgar had not foreseen this, and clearly Wilwulf and Wynstan had not either. All the most important towns in England had a mint. The closure would be a blow to Wilwulf. It was a loss of prestige, but worse, the mint drew business to the town, business that would now go elsewhere. A king did not have many ways of enforcing his will, but coinage was under his control, and closing the mint was a punishment he could inflict. However, Edgar guessed this would not be enough to change Wilwulf’s behavior.
Edgar found Ragna in a pasture next to the ealdorman’s compound. She had decided the weather was too bad for the horses to be out of doors, and was supervising the stable hands as they rounded up the beasts to bring them inside. She wore a coat of fox furs, red-gold like her hair, and she looked like a wild woman of the forest, beautiful but dangerous. Edgar found himself wondering whether her body hair was the same color. He quickly pushed the thought away: it was foolish for a working man to think such thoughts about a noblewoman.
She smiled at him and said: “Have you walked here in this weather? Your nose looks as if it could drop off at any moment! Come with me and have some hot ale.”
They entered the compound. Here, too, most people were staying indoors, though a handful of busy folk scurried from one building to another with their cloaks over their heads. Ragna led Edgar into her house. When she took her coat off he thought she had gained some weight.
They sat close to the fire. Her maid Cat heated a fire iron then plunged it into a tankard of ale. She offered it to Ragna, who said: “Give it to Edgar—he’s colder than me.”
Cat handed the cup to Edgar with a pleasant smile. Perhaps I should marry a girl like her, he thought. I could feed a wife, now that we have the fishpond, and it would be nice to have someone to sleep with. But as soon as he formed the idea, he knew it was wrong. Cat was a perfectly nice woman, but he did not feel about her the way he had felt about Sungifu. He was momentarily embarrassed, and hid his face by drinking from the cup. The ale warmed his belly.
Ragna said: “I had a nice little farm picked out for you in the Vale of Outhen, but in the end you didn’t need it. Aldred is your landlord now, so you should be safe.”
She seemed a little distracted, and Edgar wondered if she had something on her mind. “I’m grateful to you all the same,” he said. “You gave me the courage to be one of Aldred’s oath helpers.”
She nodded acknowledgment, but clearly was not interested in going back over the events of the trial. Edgar decided to get right to the point; he did not want to make her impatient. “I’m here to ask another favor,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“The church at Dreng’s Ferry is falling down, but Aldred can’t afford to repair it.”
“How could I help with that?”
“You could let us have the stone free of charge. I could quarry it myself, so it would cost you nothing. And it would be a pious gift.”
“So it would.”
“Will you do it?”
She looked into his eyes with an expression of amusement and something else he could not read. “Of course I will,” she said.
Her ready assent threatened to bring tears to his eyes, and he felt a surge of gratitude that was almost like love. Why were there not more people like this in the world? “Thank you,” he said.
She sat back, breaking the spell, and said briskly: “How much stone will you need?”
He suppressed his emotions and became practical. “About five raftloads of stones and rubble, I think. I’m going to have to build buttresses with deep foundations.”
“I’ll give you a letter to Seric saying you can take as much as you like.”
“You’re so kind.”
She shrugged. “Not really. There’s enough stone in Outhenham to last a hundred years.”
“Well, I’m very thankful.”
“There’s something you could do for me.”
“Name it.” There was nothing he would like better than to perform some service for her.
“I still have Gab as quarrymaster.”
“Why do you keep someone who stole from you?”
“Because I can’t find anyone else. But perhaps you could take over as quarrymaster, and supervise him.”
The idea of working for Ragna thrilled Edgar. But how was it to be managed? He said: “And repair the church at the same time?”
“I’m thinking you could spend half your time at Outhenham and half at Dreng’s Ferry.”
He nodded slowly. That might work. “I’m going to be traveling often to Outhenham for stone.” But he would have to hand over the fishpond to his brothers, so he would lose the income from the fish market.
Ragna solved that problem with her next sentence. “I’ll pay you sixpence a week, plus a farthing per stone sold.”
This would amount to a lot more than the fish brought in. “You’re generous.”
“I want you to make sure Gab doesn’t get up to his old tricks again.”
“That’s easy enough. I can tell how much stone he’s removed just by looking at the quarry.”
“And he’s lazy. Outhenham could produce more stone if someone was willing to make the effort to sell it.”
“And that someone is me?”
“You can do anything—that’s the kind of person you are.”
He was surprised. Even if it was not true, he was pleased that she thought it.
She said: “Don’t blush!”
He laughed. “Thank you for having faith in me. I hope I can justify it.”
“Now, I have some news,” she said.
Ah, he thought; this will be the reason why she seemed distracted earlier.
She said: “I’m going to have a baby.”
“Oh!” The announcement took his breath away—which was strange, for it was hardly surprising that a healthy young bride should get pregnant. And he had even noticed that she had put on weight. “Baby,” he said stupidly. “My goodness.”
“It’s due in May.”
He did not know what to say. What question did people ask a pregnant woman? “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”
“A boy, to please Wilf. He wants an heir.”
“Of course.” A nobleman always wanted heirs.
She smiled. “Are you happy for me?”
“I am,” Edgar said. “Very happy.”
He wondered why that felt like a lie.
* * *
Edgar was there, unloading stones from his raft. “Ragna agreed to give us the stone free,” he said, smiling at his triumph.
“Great news! Well done.”
“I can’t start building yet—the mortar might freeze overnight. But I can get everything ready.”
“But I still can’t pay you.”
“I won’t starve.”
“Is there something I can do for you by way of reward, something that doesn’t require money?”
Edgar shrugged. “If I think of something, I’ll ask.”
“Good enough.” Aldred looked toward the alehouse. “I need to cross to the nunnery. Is Blod around?”
“I’ll take you.” Edgar untied the ferry as Aldred boarded, then picked up a pole and pushed the boat across the narrow channel to the island.
Edgar waited at the waterside while Aldred knocked at the door of the convent and Agatha came out in a cloak. She would not let men into the nunnery, but because of the cold she took Aldred into the church, which was empty.
At the east end, near the altar, was a chair carved from a block of stone, with a rounded back and a flat seat. “A sanctuary stool,” he commented. By tradition, anyone sitting on such a chair in a church was immune from prosecution, regardless of his or her crimes, and those who flouted that rule, and captured or killed someone who had taken refuge there, were themselves subject to the death penalty.
Agatha nodded. “It’s not easily accessible, of course, here on this island. But a fugitive who is innocent will show determination.”
“Has it often been used?”
“Three times in twenty years, each time by a woman who had decided to be a nun against the wishes of her family.”
They sat on a cold stone bench on the north wall, and Agatha said: “I admire you. It takes guts to stand up to a man such as Wynstan.”
“It takes more than guts to defeat him, though,” said Aldred ruefully.
“We have to try. It’s our mission.”
“I agree.”
Her tone became practical. “I have a suggestion to make,” she said. “A way of lifting our spirits in midwinter.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’d like to bring the nuns to the church tomorrow for the Christmas service.”
Aldred was intrigued. “What gave you that idea?”
Agatha smiled. “The fact that it was a woman who brought our Lord into the world.”
“That’s true. So we should have female voices joining in with our Christmas hymns.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“In addition, the women might improve the singing.”
“They might,” said Agatha, “especially if I leave Sister Frith behind.”
Aldred laughed, but said: “Don’t do that. Bring everyone.”
“I’m so glad you like the idea.”
“I love it.”
Agatha stood up, and Aldred did the same. It had been a short conversation, but she was not one for idle chatter. They walked out of the church.
Aldred saw that Edgar was talking to a man dressed in a filthy robe. He was barefoot despite the cold. He had to be one of the wretches the nuns fed.
Agatha said: “Oh, dear, poor Cuthbert has got lost again.”
Aldred was shocked. Coming closer he saw the dirty rag that bandaged the man’s eyes like a blindfold. Cuthbert must have been brought here from Shiring, by some kind soul, to join the community of lepers and other helpless people who depended on the nuns, Aldred thought; and then he felt guilty that he had not been that kind soul. He had been too occupied with his own troubles to think in a Christlike way about helping others.
Cuthbert was speaking to Edgar in low, harsh tones. “It’s your fault I’m like this,” he said. “Your fault!”
“I know,” said Edgar.
Agatha raised her voice. “Cuthbert, you’ve wandered into the nuns’ zone again. Let me lead you back.”
Edgar said: “Wait.”
Agatha said: “What is it?”
Edgar said: “Aldred, a few minutes ago you asked if there was something you could do for me by way of reward for buttressing the church.”
“I did.”
“I’ve thought of something. I want you to take Cuthbert into the priory.”
Cuthbert gasped with shock.
Aldred was moved. For a few moments he could not speak. After a few moments he said in a choked voice: “Would you like to become a monk, Cuthbert?”
Cuthbert said: “Yes, please, Brother Aldred. I’ve always been a man of God—it’s the only life I know.”
“You’d have to learn our ways. A monastery is not like a minster, not really.”
“Would God want someone like me?”
“He cares especially for people like you.”
“But I’m a criminal.”
“Jesus said: ‘I come not to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance.’”
“This isn’t a joke, is it? A trick, to torture me? Some people are very cruel to the blind.”
“No trick, my friend. Come with me now, on the ferry.”
“Right away?”
“Right away.”
Cuthbert shook with sobs. Aldred put one arm around him, ignoring the dreadful smell. “Come,” he said. “Let’s get on board the boat.”
“Thank you, Aldred, thank you.”
“Thank Edgar. I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it myself.”
They waved to Agatha, who said: “God bless you.”
As they crossed the water Aldred reflected that even if he could not achieve his grand ambitions in this out-of-the-way priory, he might still do some good.
They disembarked and Edgar tied up the ferry. Aldred said: “This doesn’t count, Edgar. I still owe you a reward.”
Edgar said: “Well, there is something else I want.” He looked embarrassed.
“Out with it,” said Aldred.
“You used to talk about starting a school.”
“It’s my dream.”
Edgar hesitated again, then blurted it out. “Would you teach me to read?”
CHAPTER 25
January 1001
agna was giving birth to her second child, and it was going badly. Bishop Wynstan could hear her screams from where he sat in the home of his mother, Gytha. A steady rain outside did little to muffle the noise. Ragna’s cries gave Wynstan hope. “If mother and child die, all our problems are over,” he said.
Gytha picked up a jug. “I was like that with you,” she said. “It took a day and a night to get you out. No one thought either of us would survive.”
It sounded to him like an accusation. “Not my fault,” he said.
She poured more wine into his cup. “And then you were born howling and waving your fists.”
Wynstan did not feel comfortable in his mother’s house. She always had sweet wine and strong ale, bowls of plums and pears in season, ham and cheese on a platter, and thick blankets for cold nights, but for all that he was never at ease. “I was a good child,” he protested. “A scholar.”
“Yes, when forced. But if I took my eye off you, you would sneak away from your lessons to play.”
A childhood memory struck Wynstan. “You wouldn’t let me see the bear.”
“What bear?”
“Someone brought a bear on a chain. Everyone went to look at it. But Father Aculf wanted me to finish copying the Ten Commandments first, and you backed him.” Wynstan had sat with a slate and a nail, hearing the other boys laughing and yelling outside. “I kept making mistakes in the Latin, and by the time I got it right the bear had gone.”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember that.”
Wynstan remembered it vividly. “I hated you for it.”
“And yet I did it out of love.”
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose you did.”
She picked up his doubt. “You had to become a priest. Let peasant brats play.”
“Why were you so sure I should be a priest?”
“Because you’re a second son, and I’m a second wife. Wilwulf was going to inherit your father’s wealth, and probably become ealdorman, and you might have been an unimportant person, only wanted just in case Wilf should die. I was determined not to let that happen to us. The church was your route to power and wealth and high status.”
“And yours.”
“I’m nothing,” she said.
Her modesty was utterly insincere and he ignored it. “After me, you had no offspring for five years. Was that deliberate? Because of my difficult birth?”
“No,” she said indignantly. “A noblewoman does not shirk childbirth.”
“Of course.”
“But I had two miscarriages between you and Wigelm, not to mention a stillbirth later.”
“I remember the arrival of Wigelm,” Wynstan mused. “When I was five years old, I wanted to murder him.”
“An older child often has such feelings. It’s a sign of spirit. He rarely does anything about it, but I kept you away from Wigelm’s cradle just the same.”
“What was his delivery like?”
“Not so bad, though childbirth is rarely easy. The second child is normally less agonizing than the first.” She glanced in the direction of the noise. “Though clearly that’s not so for Ragna. Something may be going wrong.”
“Death in childbirth is a common occurrence,” Wynstan said cheerfully; then he caught a black look from Gytha and realized he had gone too far. She was on his side, whatever he did, but she was still a woman. “Who is attending Ragna?” he asked.
“A Shiring midwife called Hildi.”
“Local woman with heathen remedies, I suppose.”