It was a fait accompli, but she was glad to have royal approval publicly stated. It gave her security for the future. “Thank you,” she said.

After the court, the new bishop of Winchester gave a banquet. It was attended by the previous bishop, Alphage, who had come from Canterbury. Ragna was keen to speak to him. It was high time Wynstan was removed from his bishopric, and the only person who could dismiss him was the archbishop of Canterbury.

She wondered how she could contrive a meeting, but Alphage solved the problem by approaching her. “Last time we were here, I believe you did me a good turn,” he said.

“I’m not sure what you mean . . .”

“You discreetly revealed the news of Bishop Wynstan’s shameful illness.”

“I tried to keep my role secret, but Wynstan seems to have ferreted out the truth.”

“Well, I’m grateful to you, for you put an end to his bid to become archbishop of Canterbury.”

“I’m very glad to have been of service to you.”

“So now you’re living at King’s Bridge?” he said, changing the subject.

“It’s my base, though I travel a lot.”

“And is everything well at the priory there?”

“Absolutely.” Ragna smiled. “I passed through nine years ago, and the place was a hamlet called Dreng’s Ferry, with about five buildings. Now it’s a town, busy and prosperous. Prior Aldred has done that.”

“A fine man. You know it was he who first warned me of Wynstan’s scheme to become archbishop.”

Ragna wanted to ask Alphage to dismiss Wynstan, but she had to tread carefully. The archbishop was a man, and all men hated to be told what to do by a woman. In her life she had sometimes forgotten this, and found her wishes frustrated for that reason. Now she said: “I hope you’ll come to Shiring before you return to Canterbury.”

“Any particular reason?”

“The town would be thrilled by a visit from you. And you might want to observe Wynstan.”

“How is his health?”

“Poor, but it’s not really for me to give an opinion,” she said with false humility. “Your own judgment is undoubtedly best.” It was rare for a man to doubt that his judgment was good.

Alphage nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll visit Shiring.”

* * *

Getting him to visit was only the beginning.

Archbishop Alphage was a monk, so he lodged at Shiring Abbey. This disappointed Ragna, for she had wanted him to stay at the bishop’s residence and get a good long close-up look at Wynstan.

Wynstan should have invited Alphage to dine with him. However, Ragna heard that Archdeacon Degbert had delivered a transparently insincere message saying that Wynstan would love to entertain the archbishop but would not ask him for fear of interfering with his monkish devotions. Wynstan was mad only in phases, it seemed; and when he was in his right mind he could be as sly as ever.

Ragna got Sheriff Den to invite the archbishop to dinner at his compound, so that Den could speak about Wynstan; but the result was another disappointment: Alphage declined. He was a genuine ascetic, and he really did prefer to eat stewed eel with beans in the company of other monks while listening to a reading from the life story of Saint Swithin.

Ragna was afraid that the two might not meet at all, which would scupper her plan. However, it was automatic that the visiting archbishop would celebrate Mass at the cathedral on Sunday, and Wynstan was obliged to attend, so to her relief the enemies were thrown together at last.

The whole town attended. Wynstan had deteriorated even since she had seen him the day after the death of Wigelm. His hair was graying, and he walked with a cane. Unfortunately that was not enough to get him unseated. Half the bishops Ragna had ever seen were old and gray and unsteady on their feet.

Ragna believed in the Christian faith and thanked God for its civilizing influence, but she did not spend much time thinking about it. However, the Mass always moved her, making her feel that she had a place in Creation that made sense.

Half her mind was on the service and half on Wynstan. She was worried, now, that he might get through the rite without revealing his insanity. He performed the motions mechanically, almost absent-mindedly, but he was not making any mistakes.

She watched the elevation of the Host with more than usual attention. Jesus had died so that sinners could be forgiven. Ragna had confessed her murder to Aldred, who was a priest as well as a monk. He had compared her to the Old Testament hero Judith, who had cut off the head of the Assyrian general Holofernes. The story proved that even a murderess could be pardoned. Aldred had assigned her a fasting penance and granted absolution.

The service continued with no manifestation of Wynstan’s madness. Ragna felt frustrated. She had had some credit with Alphage, but now it seemed she might have spent it in vain.

The priests began the procession to the exit. Suddenly Wynstan stepped to one side and crouched down. Alphage looked at him, mystified. Wynstan lifted the skirt of his priestly robe and defecated on the stone floor.

Alphage’s face was a picture of horror.

It only took a few seconds. Wynstan stood up, rearranged his robes, and said: “That’s better.” Then he rejoined the procession.

Everyone stared at what he had left behind.

Ragna gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Good-bye, Wynstan,” she said.

* * *

Ragna rode to King’s Bridge in the company of Archbishop Alphage, who was returning to Canterbury. He was a joy to talk to: intelligent, educated, sincere in his religion yet tolerant of dissent. He even knew the romantic Latin poetry of Alcuin, which she had loved when she was growing up. She now realized that she had got out of the habit of reading poetry. It had been crowded out of her life by violence, childbirth, and imprisonment. Perhaps there would soon be a time when she could read poetry again.

Alphage had dismissed Wynstan immediately. Unsure what to do with the mad bishop, he had asked Ragna’s advice, and she had recommended locking Wynstan up for a while in the hunting lodge where she had spent a year imprisoned. She had been savagely pleased with the irony.

Riding into King’s Bridge felt to Ragna like coming home, which was odd, she thought, for she had spent relatively little of her life here. But somehow she felt safe. Perhaps it was because Aldred ruled the town. He respected law and justice, and did not judge every issue according to his own interests, not even the priory’s interests. If only the whole world could be like that.

She noticed a massive hole in the ground on the site of the projected new church. Large stacks of timber and stones stood around. Clearly Aldred was going ahead without Edgar.

She thanked Alphage for his company and turned aside to her own residence, right opposite the building site, while the archbishop rode a little farther to the cluster of buildings that formed the priory.

She had decided not to move into Wilf’s house in Shiring. She could live anywhere in the region, and she preferred King’s Bridge.

As she approached her home—which was looking more and more like an ealdorman’s compound—Astrid gave a happy snort of recognition, and a moment later the children came running out, Ragna’s four boys and Cat’s two girls. Ragna jumped out of the saddle and hugged them all.

She was filled with a strange emotion that at first she did not recognize. After a moment she realized that she was happy.

She had not felt like this for a long time.

* * *

The timber building that had once been the minster was now Aldred’s house and place of work. He welcomed Archbishop Alphage, who shook his hand warmly and thanked him again for his help in gaining the archbishopric. Aldred said: “You’ll forgive me, my lord archbishop, if I say I did it for God, not for you.”

“Which is even more flattering,” said Alphage with a smile.

He sat down, declined a cup of wine, and helped himself from a bowl of nuts. “You were so right about Wynstan,” he said. “He is now quite mad.”

Aldred raised an eyebrow.

Alphage said: “Wynstan took a shit in Shiring Cathedral during Mass.”

“In front of everyone?”

“All the clergy and several hundred in the congregation.”

“Lord save us!” said Aldred. “Did he offer any excuse?”

“He just said: ‘That’s better.’”

Aldred let out a bark of laughter then apologized. “I’m sorry, archbishop, but it is almost funny.”

“I’ve dismissed him. Archdeacon Degbert will deputize for now.”

Aldred frowned. “I don’t have a high opinion of Degbert. He was dean here when this place was a minster.”

“I know, and I never thought well of him. I told him not to hope for promotion to bishop.”

Aldred was relieved. “Who then will take Wynstan’s place?”

“You, I hope.”

Aldred was astounded. He had not been expecting that. “I’m a monk,” he said.

“So am I,” said Alphage.

“But . . . I mean . . . my work is here. I’m the prior.”