She was wary, but nevertheless Aldred was not sure she fully understood what she had let herself in for. He said: “It’s unusual for two brothers to be bishop and ealdorman in the same territory. It gives a great deal of power to one family.”

“It makes sense. Wilf needs someone he can trust as bishop.”

Aldred hesitated. “I wouldn’t say he exactly trusts Wynstan.”

Ragna looked interested.

Aldred had to be careful of his words. To him, Wilwulf and his family were wild cats in a cage, always on the brink of attacking one another, kept from violence only by self-interest; but he did not want to say so bluntly to Ragna, for fear of demoralizing her. He needed to warn her without scaring her. “I’d say his brothers are less likely to surprise him, that’s all.”

“The king must like the family, to have given them such power.”

“Perhaps he did, once.”

“What do you mean?”

She did not know, Aldred realized. “Wilwulf is out of favor with King Ethelred because of the treaty with your father. He should have asked the king’s permission.”

“He told us that permission would be readily forthcoming.”

“It wasn’t.”

“My father was worried about that. Was Wilf punished?”

“He was fined by the king. But he hasn’t paid the fine. He thinks Ethelred is being unreasonable.”

“What will happen?”

“Nothing much, in the short term. If a nobleman boldly defies the royal court, there’s not much a king can do immediately. In the long run, who knows?”

“Is there anyone who acts as a counterbalance to the family’s power? Any post Wilf was unable to fill with his own appointee?”

It was the key question, and Ragna went up in Aldred’s estimation for asking it. She had learned everything her father had to teach her, Aldred guessed, and perhaps she had even added wisdom of her own. “Yes,” he said. “The sheriff, Denewald.”

“Sheriff? We don’t have such a thing in Normandy.”

“He’s the shire reeve, the king’s representative in the locality. Wilwulf wanted Wigelm to have the job, but King Ethelred refused and put in his own man. They may call him Ethelred the Misled, but he’s not completely stupid.”

“Is it an important role?”

“Sheriffs have recently grown more powerful.”

“How come?”

“It has to do with the Vikings. Twice in the last six years Ethelred has bought off a Viking invasion with a cash payment—but it’s hugely expensive. Six years ago he paid ten thousand pounds; three years ago it was sixteen thousand.”

“We heard about that in Normandy. My father said it was like feeding a lion in the hope that it would stop him eating you.”

“Many people here said something similar.”

“But how did it make sheriffs powerful?”

“They had to collect the money. That meant they had to have the power of enforcement. A sheriff now has his own military force, small but well paid and well armed.”

“And that makes him a countervailing power to Wilf.”

“Exactly.”

“Doesn’t the sheriff’s role clash with that of the ealdorman?”

“All the time. The ealdorman is responsible for justice, but the sheriff must deal with offenses against the king, which include not paying tax. Obviously there are borderline cases that cause friction.”

“How interesting.”

She was like a musician putting her fingers on the strings of a lyre, Aldred thought, trying it out before playing it. She was going to be a force in the region. She might do a lot of good. On the other hand, she might be destroyed.

If Aldred could help her he would. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” he said. “Come to the abbey.” It occurred to him that the sight of a woman like Ragna might be more than some of the young monks could bear. “Or just send a message.”

“Thank you.”

As he turned to the door, his eye was again caught by the large frame and busted nose of Offa. As a minor servant of the ealdorman, the reeve had a house in the town, but as far as Aldred knew he had no business with Ragna.

She saw his glance and said: “Do you know Offa, the reeve of Mudeford?”

“Yes, of course.” Aldred saw Ragna glance at Agnes, who dropped her eyes shyly, and he saw immediately that Offa was there to court Agnes, evidently with Ragna’s approval. Perhaps Ragna was keen for some of her servants to put down roots in England.

He took his leave and walked out of the compound. In the center of the town, crossing the square between the cathedral and the abbey church, he ran into Wigferth emerging from the bishop’s residence. “Did you deliver the letter to Wynstan?” he said.

“Yes, a few moments ago.”

“Did he boil over?”

“He took the letter and said he would read it later.”

“Hmm.” Aldred almost wished Wynstan had raged: the suspense was becoming unbearable.

The two monks returned to the abbey. The kitchener was serving the midday meal: eel boiled with onions and beans. While they were eating, Brother Godleof read the prologue to the Rule of Saint Benedict: “Obsculta, o fili, praecepta magistri, et incline aurem cordis tui.” Listen, my son, and turn the ear of your heart to the precepts of your master. Aldred loved the phrase aurem cordis, the ear of the heart. It suggested a way of listening more intense and thoughtful than the norm.

Afterward, the monks filed along the covered walkway to the church for the afternoon service of Nones. It was larger than the church at Dreng’s Ferry, but smaller than Shiring Cathedral. It consisted of two rooms, a nave about twelve yards long, and a smaller chancel, separated by a narrow arch. The monks entered by a side door. The senior men went into the chancel and took their places around the altar, while the rest stood in three neat rows in the nave, where the congregation would also stand, though there was rarely much of a congregation.

As Aldred stood alongside his brethren, chanting the prayers, he began to feel at peace with himself, with the world, and with God. On his travels he had missed this.

However, today the peace did not last long.

A few minutes into the service he heard the opening creak of the west door, the main entrance that was rarely used. All the younger monks turned to see who was coming in. Aldred recognized the pale-blond hair of Bishop Wynstan’s young secretary, Deacon Ithamar.

The older monks determinedly carried on with the prayer. Aldred decided that someone had to find out what Ithamar wanted. He stepped out of the line and spoke to Ithamar in a whisper. “What is it?”

The deacon looked nervous but spoke loudly. “Bishop Wynstan summons Wigferth of Canterbury.”

Aldred involuntarily glanced at Wigferth, who looked back with a frightened expression on his chubby face. Aldred was scared himself, but decided he was not going to let Wigferth go alone to confront an angry Wynstan: there were still men who responded to an unwelcome message by sending back the messenger’s head in a sack. For Wynstan to do such a thing was unlikely, but not impossible.

Aldred faked a confident tone. “Be so good as to apologize to the bishop and say that Brother Wigferth is at prayer.”

Ithamar clearly did not want to return with that reply. “The bishop will not be pleased to be told to wait.”

Aldred knew that. He kept his voice calm and reasonable. “I’m sure Wynstan would not want to interrupt a man of God at prayer.”

Ithamar’s expression said clearly that Wynstan had no such scruples, but the young deacon hesitated to voice the thought.

Not all monks were priests, but Aldred was both, and he outranked Ithamar, who was merely a deacon, so Ithamar had to give in to him sooner or later. After a long moment of thought Ithamar came to the same conclusion and reluctantly left the church.

First blood to the monks, Aldred thought giddily. But his feeling of triumph was muted by the thought that this was surely not over.

He returned to prayer, but his mind was elsewhere. What would happen after the service, when Wigferth would no longer have an excuse? Would Aldred and Wigferth go to the bishop’s palace together? Aldred was not suited to the role of bodyguard, but perhaps he was better than nothing. Could he persuade Abbot Osmund to accompany them? Wynstan would surely hesitate to molest an abbot. On the other hand, Osmund was not a brave man. It would be typical of Osmund to say pusillanimously that Elfric of Canterbury had written the message and sent Wigferth, so it was up to Elfric to protect his messenger.

However, the explosion came sooner.

The main door opened again, this time with a bang. The chanting stopped instantly, and every monk turned to look behind. Bishop Wynstan strode in, his cloak flying. He was followed by Cnebba, one of his men-at-arms. Wynstan was a big man, but Cnebba was bigger.

Aldred was terrified, but he managed to hide it.

Wynstan roared: “Which one of you is Wigferth of Canterbury?”

Aldred could not have said why, but he was the one who stepped forward to confront Wynstan. “My lord bishop,” he said, “you are interrupting the monks at the service of Nones.”

“I’ll interrupt whoever I like,” Wynstan shouted.

“Even God?” said Aldred.