“I’ll think about that,” Robert said sulkily.

Edgar doubted that Robert would melt down the counterfeit coins. More likely he would spend them in ones and twos so that their weight would not be noticed. But in fact that would suit Aldred’s purpose, Edgar saw. Robert would not tell anyone about the false money if he planned to spend it. So Wynstan would not know that his secret had been revealed.

Aldred turned to Wyn. “May I ask you to keep this to yourself, for the same reason?” he said.

“Very well.”

“I can assure you that I’m determined to bring the culprit to justice.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Wyn. “Good luck.”

Robert said: “Amen.”

* * *

Aldred was triumphant, but he soon realized the battle was not yet won. “All the clergy at the minster obviously know about this already,” he said thoughtfully, as Edgar poled the raft upriver. “It could hardly be hidden from them. But they keep quiet, and they’re rewarded for their silence with a life of idleness and luxury.”

Edgar nodded. “The villagers, too. They probably guess that something underhand goes on there, but they’re bribed by the gifts Wynstan brings four times a year.”

“And this explains why he was so furious about my proposal to transform his corrupt minster into a god-fearing monastery. He would have to recreate the setup in some other remote village—not an easy thing to do from scratch.”

“Cuthbert must be the forger. He’s the only person with the skill to engrave the dies to make the coins.” Edgar looked uncomfortable. “He’s not such a bad man, just weak. He could never stand up to a bully like Wynstan. I almost feel sorry for him.”

They parted company at Mudeford Crossing, still keen to avoid calling attention to their association. Edgar continued upstream and Aldred rode Dismas toward Shiring by an indirect route. He was fortunate to join up with two miners driving a cartload of something that looked like coal but was in fact cassiterite, the mineral from which valuable tin was extracted. If the outlaw Ironface happened to be nearby, Aldred felt sure he would be deterred by the sight of the powerfully built miners with their iron-headed hammers.

Travelers loved to talk, but the miners did not have much to say, and Aldred was able to think at length about how he might bring Wynstan before a court and see him convicted of his crime and punished. Even with what Aldred now knew it would not be easy. The bishop would have no end of oath helpers to swear he was an honest man who told the truth.

When witnesses disagreed there was a procedure for settling the matter: one of them had to undergo an ordeal, either pick up a red-hot iron bar and carry it ten paces, or plunge his hands into boiling water and pull out a stone. In theory, God would protect a man who was telling the truth. In practice, Aldred had never known anyone to volunteer for the ordeal.

Often it was clear which side was telling the truth, and the court would believe the more credible witness. But Wynstan’s case would have to be heard in the shire court, which would be presided over by his brother. Ealdorman Wilwulf would be shamelessly biased in Wynstan’s favor. Aldred’s only chance would be to produce evidence so overwhelmingly clear, backed up by oaths from men of such high status, that even Wynstan’s brother could not pretend to believe in his innocence.

He wondered what drove a man like Wynstan to become a forger. The bishop had a life of ease and pleasure: what more did he need? Why risk losing everything? Aldred supposed that Wynstan’s greed was insatiable. No matter how much money and power he had, he would always crave more. Sin was like that.

He arrived at Shiring Abbey late in the evening on the next day. The monastery was quiet and he could hear, from the church, the psalm singing of Compline, the service that signaled the end of the day. He stabled his horse and went straight to the dormitory.

In his saddlebag he had a gift from Combe Abbey, a copy of Saint John’s Gospel, with its profound opening words: “In principio erat Verbum, et Verbum erat apud Deum, et Deus erat Verbum.” In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Aldred felt he could spend his life trying to comprehend that mystery.

He would present the new book to Abbot Osmund at the first opportunity, he decided. He was unpacking his bag when Brother Godleof came out of Osmund’s room, which was at the end of the dorm.

Godleof was Aldred’s age, with dark skin and a wiry frame. His mother had been a milkmaid who was ravished by a passing nobleman. Godleof did not know the man’s name and hinted that his mother had never known it either. Like most of the younger monks, Godleof shared Aldred’s views and got impatient with the caution and parsimony of Osmund and Hildred.

Aldred was struck by Godleof’s worried look. “What’s happened?” he said. He realized that Godleof had something on his mind that he was reluctant to say. “Out with it.”

“I’ve been looking after Osmund.” Godleof had been a cowherd before he came to the monastery, and he used few words.

“Why?”

“He’s taken to his bed.”

Aldred said: “I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s not really a shock. He’s been ill for a while, and lately he’s had trouble walking down the stairs, never mind up.” He paused, studying Godleof. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“You better ask Osmund.”

“All right, I will.” Aldred picked up the book he had brought from Combe and went to Osmund’s room.

He found the abbot sitting up in bed with a pile of cushions behind him. He was not well but he looked comfortable, and Aldred guessed he would be content to stay in bed for the rest of his life, however long or short it might be. “I’m sorry to see you indisposed, my lord abbot,” said Aldred.

Osmund sighed. “God in his wisdom has not granted me the strength to carry on.”

Aldred was not sure it had been entirely God’s decision, but all he said was: “The Lord is all wise.”

“I must rely on younger men,” Osmund said.

Osmund looked faintly embarrassed. Like Godleof, he seemed to be burdened with something he might have preferred not to say. Aldred had a premonition of bad news. He said: “Are you perhaps thinking of appointing an acting abbot to manage the monastery during your illness?” It was an important point. The monk who was made acting abbot now had the best chance of becoming abbot when Osmund died.

Osmund did not answer the question, which was ominous. “The problem with young men is that they make trouble,” he said. This was obviously a dig at Aldred. “They are idealistic,” he went on. “They offend people.”

It was time to stop tiptoeing around. Aldred said bluntly: “Have you already appointed someone?”

“Hildred,” said Osmund, and he looked away.

“Thank you, my lord abbot,” said Aldred. He threw the book onto Osmund’s bed and left the room.

CHAPTER 20

    July 998

ilf was away three months longer than anyone expected, which was one third of the time Ragna had been married to him. There had been one message, six weeks ago, simply saying that he was penetrating deeper into Wales than he had originally planned, and that he was in good health.

Ragna missed him. She had grown to like having a man to talk to and discuss problems with and lie down beside at night. The shock of Inge had cast a shadow over that pleasure, but all the same she longed to have Wilf back.

Ragna saw Inge around the compound almost every day. Ragna was the official wife, and she held her head high and avoided speaking to her rival; but all the same she felt the humiliation constantly.

She wondered nervously how Wilf would feel about her when he returned. He would probably have lain with other women during his trip. He had made it brutally clear to her—not before the wedding, but after—that his love for her did not exclude sex with others. Had he met younger, more beautiful girls in Wales? Or would he return hungry for Ragna’s body? Or both?

She got one day’s notice of his return. He sent a messenger ahead on a fast horse to say he would be home tomorrow. Ragna threw the compound into action. The kitchen prepared a feast, slaughtering a young ox, building a fire for spit-roasting, tapping barrels of ale, baking bread. Those not needed in the kitchen were deployed mucking out the stables, putting new rushes and straw on the floors, beating mattresses and airing blankets.

Ragna went into Wilf’s house, where she burned rye to expel insects, took down shutters to let in fresh air, and made the bed inviting with lavender and rose petals. She set out fruit in a basket, a flagon of wine and a small barrel of ale, bread and cheese and smoked fish.

All this activity took her mind off her anxiety.