Finally Forthred straightened up. “I have seen sores like this before,” he said. “On the faces of some of the most wretched and unfortunate sinners in this city. I’m sorry, my lord bishop, but what Wigferth says is true. You have Whore’s Leprosy.”

Wynstan stood up. “I’m going to find out who started this filthy lie!” he yelled, and he had the small consolation of seeing fear on the faces of the monks. He walked to the door. “And when I find him—I will kill him! I will kill him!”

* * *

Wynstan fumed throughout the long journey back to Shiring. He abused Degbert, yelled at tavern keepers, slapped maids, and whipped his horse mercilessly. The fact that he kept forgetting the simplest things made him even more angry.

When he got home he grabbed Ithamar by the front of his tunic, slammed him up against the wall, and yelled: “Someone has been going around saying I’ve got Whore’s Leprosy—who is it?”

Ithamar’s childish face was white with terror. He managed to stutter: “No one, I swear it.”

“Someone told Wigferth of Canterbury.”

“He probably made it up.”

“What did that woman die of? The reeve’s wife—what was her name?”

“Agnes? The palsy.”

“What kind of palsy, fool?”

“I don’t know! She fell ill, then she got a huge pustule on her face, then she went mad and died! How should I know what kind?”

“Who attended her?”

“Hildi.”

“Who’s she?”

“The midwife.”

Wynstan let go of Ithamar. “Bring the midwife to me, now.”

Ithamar hurried off, and Wynstan took off his traveling clothes and washed his hands and face. This was the greatest crisis of his life. If everyone came to believe that he had a debilitating disease then power and wealth would slip away from him. He had to kill the rumors, and the first step was to punish whoever had started them.

Ithamar returned in a few minutes with a small, gray-haired woman. Wynstan could not figure out who she was or why Ithamar had brought her.

Ithamar said: “Hildi, the midwife who attended Agnes when she was dying.”

“Of course, of course,” Wynstan said. “I know who she is.” Now he recalled that he had got to know her when he took her to the hunting lodge to check on Ragna’s pregnancy. She was prim but she possessed a calm confidence. She looked nervous, but not as frightened as most people were on being summoned by Wynstan. Bluster and bullying would not work with this woman, he guessed.

He put on a sad face and said: “I am in mourning for beloved Agnes.”

“Nothing could be done to save her,” said Hildi. “We prayed for her, but our prayers were not answered.”

“Tell me how she died,” he said lugubriously. “The truth, please, I don’t want comfortable illusions.”

“Very well, my lord bishop. At first she was tired and suffered headaches. Then she became confused. She developed a large lump on her face. Finally she lost her mind. At the end she caught a fever and died.”

The list was horrifying. Most of the same symptoms had been mentioned by Wigferth.

Wynstan suppressed the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. “Did anyone visit Agnes during her illness?”

“No, my lord bishop. They were frightened of catching the disease.”

“Who did you talk to about her symptoms?”

“No one, my lord bishop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

Wynstan suspected that she was lying. He decided to spring a surprise. “Did she have Whore’s Leprosy?” He saw just a flicker of fear in Hildi’s expression.

“There is no such disease, my lord bishop, to the best of my knowledge.”

She had recovered quickly, but he had seen the reaction, and now he was sure she was lying. But he decided not to say so. “Thank you for consoling me in my grief,” he said. “You may go now.”

Hildi seemed very self-possessed, he thought as she went out. “She doesn’t seem the type of woman to spread scandalous gossip,” he said to Ithamar.

“No.”

“But she told someone.”

“She’s friendly with the lady Ragna.”

Wynstan shook his head doubtfully. “Ragna and Agnes hated each other. Ragna sentenced Agnes’s husband to death, then Agnes took revenge by warning me of Ragna’s attempt to escape.”

“Could there have been a deathbed reconciliation?”

Wynstan considered that. “It’s possible,” he said. “Who would know?”

“Her French maid, Cat.”

“Is Ragna here in Shiring right now?”

“No, she went to Outhenham.”

“Then I shall go and see Cat.”

“She won’t tell you anything.”

Wynstan smiled. “Don’t you be so sure.”

He left his residence and walked up the hill to the ealdorman’s compound. He felt energized. For the moment his mind was clear of the confusion that sometimes afflicted him nowadays. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that there was a link from Agnes through Hildi and Ragna to Wigferth of Canterbury.

Wigelm was still away from home, and the compound was quiet. Wynstan went straight to Ragna’s house and found the three maids taking care of the children.

“Good day to you,” he said. The prettiest of the three was the important one, he knew, but he could not remember her name.

She looked at him with fear. “What do you want?” she said.

Her French accent reminded him who she was. “You’re Cat,” he said.

“The lady Ragna isn’t here.”

“That’s a shame, because I came to thank her.”

Cat looked slightly less fearful. “Thank her?” she said skeptically. “What did she do for you?”

“She visited my dear Agnes on her deathbed.”

Wynstan waited for Cat’s reaction. She might say But my lady never visited her, in which case Wynstan would have to wonder whether she was telling the truth or not. But Cat said nothing.

Wynstan said: “It was kind of her.”

Another silence followed, then Cat said: “More kind than Agnes deserved.”

There it was. Wynstan worked hard not to smile. His guess had been accurate. Ragna had gone to see Agnes. She must have observed the symptoms, which would then have been explained to her by Hildi. It was the French bitch who was behind the rumors.

But he continued the pretence. “I am most grateful to her, especially as I myself was far away and unable to give dear Agnes comfort. Will you please tell your mistress what I said?”

“I certainly will,” said Cat in a bemused tone.

“Thank you,” said Wynstan. Nothing wrong with me, he thought; I’m as sharp as ever.

Then he left.

* * *

Wigelm returned a week later and Wynstan went to see him the following morning.

In the compound he saw Alain running around with Ragna’s other three sons, all of them clearly overjoyed to be together again. A moment later, Meganthryth came out of Wigelm’s house and called Alain to come for his dinner. The boy said: “I don’t want to.”

She repeated the summons, and he ran away.

She was obliged to run after him. He was not yet three, and could not outrun a healthy adult, so she soon caught him and picked him up. He threw a tantrum, yelling and wriggling and trying to hit her with his little fists. “I want mudder!” he screamed. Embarrassed and annoyed, Meganthryth carried him into Wigelm’s house.

Wynstan followed.

Wigelm was sharpening a long-bladed dagger on a whetstone. He looked up with irritation at the screaming child. “What is the matter with that boy?” he said angrily.

Meganthryth replied with equally ill temper: “I don’t know, he’s not my son.”

“This is Ragna’s fault. By God, I wish I’d never married her. Hello, Wynstan. You priests are wise to remain single.”

Wynstan sat down. “I’ve been thinking that it may be time to get rid of Ragna,” he said.

Wigelm looked eager. “Can we?”

“Three years ago we needed her to join our family. It was a way of neutralizing any opposition to your becoming ealdorman. But you’re established now. Everyone has accepted you, even the king.”

“And Ethelred still needs me,” Wigelm said. “The Vikings are back in force, raiding all along the south coast of England. There will be more battles this summer.”

Meganthryth sat Alain at the table and put buttered bread in front of him, and he quieted down and started to eat.

“So we no longer need Ragna,” said Wynstan. “In addition, she has become a nuisance. Alain won’t forget her while she’s still living in this compound. And she is a spy in our camp. I believe she’s the one spreading rumors that I’ve got Whore’s Leprosy.”

Wigelm lowered his voice. “Can we kill her?”

He had never learned subtlety.

“It would cause trouble,” Wynstan said. “Why don’t you just set her aside?”

“Divorce?”

“Yes. It’s easily done.”

“King Ethelred won’t like it.”

Wynstan shrugged. “What can he do? We’ve been defying him for years. All he does is impose fines that we don’t pay.”

“I’d be glad to see the back of her.”

“Then do it. And order her to leave Shiring.”

“I could marry again.”

“Not yet. Give the king time to get used to the divorce.”

Meganthryth overheard this and said to Wigelm: “Will we be able to get married?”

“We’ll see,” Wigelm prevaricated.

Wynstan said to her: “Wigelm needs more sons, and you seem to be barren.”