They left the church and headed for the abbot’s house. One ally and one enemy, Aldred thought. Now it’s up to Abbot Elfweard.

As they walked, Leo said: “What’s Edgar like, Aldred?”

“A wonderful friend to the priory. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve mentioned his name three times.”

Aldred gave Leo a sharp look. “I’m fond of him, as you’ve cleverly guessed. He in turn is devoted to the lady Ragna.” Aldred was telling Leo, without saying it explicitly, that Edgar was not his lover.

Leo got the message. “All right, I understand.”

Abbot Elfweard lived in a great hall. It had two doors in its side, suggesting two separate rooms, and Aldred guessed the abbot slept in one and held meetings in the other. It was a luxury to sleep alone, but the abbot of Glastonbury was a great magnate.

Leo led them into what was clearly the meeting room. Because there was no fire here, the air was pleasantly fresh. On one wall hung a large tapestry of the Annunciation, with the Virgin Mary in a blue dress edged with costly gold thread. A young man who was apparently the abbot’s assistant said: “I’ll tell him you’re here.” A minute later Elfweard entered the room.

He had been abbot for a quarter of a century, and he was now an old man, walking with a cane held in a shaky hand. His expression was stern, but his eyes were bright with intelligence.

Leo introduced Aldred. “I remember you,” said Elfweard severely. “You were guilty of the sin of Sodom. I had to send you away, to separate you from your partner in iniquity.”

That was a bad start. Aldred said: “You told me that life is hard, and being a good monk makes it harder.”

“I’m glad you remember.”

“I’ve spent twenty years remembering, my lord abbot.”

“You’ve done well since you left us,” Elfweard said, softening. “I’ll give you credit for that.”

“Thank you.”

“Not that you’ve kept out of trouble.”

“But it was good trouble.”

“Perhaps.” Elfweard did not smile. “What brings you here today?”

Aldred told his story for the third time.

When he had finished, Elfweard turned to Theodric. “What does our sacrist say?”

Theodric said: “I can’t imagine that a saint would thank us for sending his remains to a tiny priory in the back of beyond.”

Leofric weighed in on Aldred’s side. “On the other hand, a saint who receives little attention here might be glad to work miracles somewhere else.”

Aldred watched Elfweard, but the abbot’s face was unreadable.

Aldred said: “I recollect, from my time here, that many treasures were never brought into the main body of the church, never shown to the monks, let alone the congregation.”

Theodric said disparagingly: “A few bones, some bloodstained clothing, a lock of hair. Precious, yes, but unimpressive when compared to a complete skeleton.”

Theodric’s scornful tone was a mistake. “Exactly!” said Aldred, seizing the advantage. “Unimpressive here at Glastonbury, as Brother Theodric says—but at Dreng’s Ferry such things would work miracles!”

Elfweard looked inquiringly at Theodric.

Theodric said: “I didn’t say ‘unimpressive,’ I feel sure.”

“Yes, you did,” said the abbot.

Theodric began to look defeated. He backtracked. “Then I should not have said that, and I withdraw it.”

Aldred sensed that he was close to success, and he pushed his advantage, at the risk of appearing grasping. “The abbey has a few bones of Saint Adolphus—the skull and an arm.”

“Adolphus?” said Elfweard. “Martyred for possessing the Gospel of Saint Matthew, if I remember rightly.”

“Yes,” said Aldred, delighted. “He was killed over a book. That’s why I remembered him.”

“He should be the patron saint of librarians.”

Aldred felt he was an inch away from triumph. He said: “It’s my dearest wish to create a great library at Dreng’s Ferry.”

“A creditworthy ambition,” Elfweard said. “Well, Theodric, the remains of Saint Adolphus certainly do not constitute the greatest treasure of Glastonbury.”

Aldred remained silent, afraid of breaking the spell.

Theodric said sulkily: “I don’t suppose anyone will even notice their absence.”

Aldred fought to conceal his glee.

Elfweard’s assistant reappeared carrying a cope, a wide-shouldered liturgical cloak made of white wool embroidered with biblical scenes in red. “It’s time for Nones,” he said.

Elfweard stood up and the assistant placed the cope over his shoulders and fastened it at the front. Dressed for the service, Elfweard turned to Aldred. “You realize, I’m sure, that the nature of the relic doesn’t matter as much as the use you make of it. You must create the circumstances in which miracles are likely.”

“I promise you, I will make the most of the bones of Saint Adolphus.”

“And you’ll have to transport them to Dreng’s Ferry with all due ceremony. You don’t want the saint to take against you from the start.”

“Never fear,” said Aldred. “I have great things planned.”

* * *

Bishop Wynstan stood at an upstairs window in his palace at Shiring, looking across the busy market square to the silent monastery on the opposite side. There was no glass in the window—glass was a luxury for kings—and the shutter had been thrown open to let in a fresh spring breeze.

A four-wheeled cart pulled by an ox was approaching along the Dreng’s Ferry road. It was escorted by a small group of monks led by Prior Aldred.

It was astounding that the penniless prior of a remote monastery could be so irritating. The man just did not know when he was defeated. Wynstan turned to Archdeacon Degbert, who was there with his wife, Edith. Between them, Degbert and Edith picked up most of the town gossip. “What the devil is that damned monk up to now?” he said.

Edith said: “I’m going out to look.” She left the room.

“I can guess,” said Degbert. “Two weeks ago he was at Glastonbury. The abbot gave him a partial skeleton of Saint Adolphus.”

“Adolphus?”

“He was martyred by a Saxon king.”

“Yes, I remember now.”

“Aldred is on his way to Glastonbury again, this time to perform the necessary rites for removal of the relics. But that’s only a box of bones. I don’t know why he needs a cart.”

Wynstan watched the cart pull up at the entrance to Shiring Abbey. A small crowd gathered, curious. He saw Edith join them. He said: “How could Aldred even pay for a four-wheel cart and an ox?”

Degbert knew the answer to that. “Thane Deorman of Norwood gave him three pounds.”

“More fool Deorman.”

The people crowded closely around. Aldred pulled away a covering of some kind, but Wynstan could not see what was on the cart. Then the covering was replaced, the cart entered the abbey, and the crowd dispersed.

Edith returned a minute later. “It’s a life-size effigy of Saint Adolphus!” she said excitedly. “He has a lovely face, holy and sad at the same time.”

Wynstan said contemptuously: “An idol for the ignorant to worship. I suppose it’s painted, too?”

“The face is white, and the hands and feet. The robe is gray. But the eyes are so blue you’d think they were looking at you!”

Blue was the most costly paint, being made with crushed gems of lapis lazuli. Wynstan said slowly: “I know what that sly devil is up to.”

Degbert said: “I wish you’d tell me.”

“He’s going to take the relics on a tour. He’ll stop at every church between Glastonbury and Dreng’s Ferry. He needs money, now that Hildred has stopped his subsidy, and he wants to use the saint to raise funds.”

“It will probably work,” said Degbert.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” said Wynstan.

CHAPTER 28

    May 1001

n the outskirts of the village of Trench, the monks began to sing.

All eight from the Dreng’s Ferry priory were present, including blind Cuthbert, plus Edgar to work the mechanism. They walked in solemn procession on each side of the cart, with Godleof leading the ox by the ring in its nose.

The effigy of the saint and the yew chest containing the bones were on the cart but covered by cloths that also prevented their shifting.

The villagers were working in the fields. They were busy, but it was the time for weeding, and that task was easy to abandon. As they heard the singing they unbent from the green shoots of barley and rye, stood upright rubbing their backs, saw the procession, and came across the fields to the road to find out what was going on.

Aldred had ordered the monks not to speak to anyone until afterward. They continued to sing, solemn-faced, looking straight ahead. The villagers joined the procession, following the cart, talking among themselves in excited whispers.

Aldred had planned everything carefully, but this was the first time he had tried it out. He prayed for success.