There were several like Godric during the day, and Wynstan gave each the same treatment. If peasants were allowed to skip payments, they would all show up on quarter days with empty hands and sad stories.

Wynstan was also collecting rents for Wilwulf, and beside him Ithamar was carefully keeping the two sets of accounts separate. Wynstan took a modest rake-off from Wilf’s money. The bishop was keenly aware that his wealth and power were magnified by his relationship to the ealdorman, and he was not going to endanger that relationship.

At the end of the afternoon Wynstan summoned servants to transport Wilf’s rents in kind to the compound, but Wynstan carried the silver himself, liking to deliver it personally, so that it looked like a gift from him. He found Wilf in the great hall. “There’s not as much in the chest as there used to be, before you gave the Vale of Outhen to the lady Ragna,” he said.

“She’s there now,” Wilf said.

Wynstan nodded. This was the third quarter-day on which Ragna had collected her rents personally. After her showdown with him on Lady Day she clearly was in no hurry to delegate to an underling. “She’s remarkable,” he said, speaking as if he liked her. “So beautiful, and so smart. I understand why you seek her advice so often—even though she’s a woman.”

The compliment was barbed. A man who was dominated by his wife was subject to many jibes, most of them obscene. Wilf did not miss the nuance. He said: “I seek your advice, and you’re a mere priest.”

“True.” Wynstan smiled, acknowledging the riposte. He sat down, and a servant poured him a glass of wine. “She made a fool of your son over that ball game.”

Wilf made a sour face. “Garulf is a fool, I’m sorry to say. He showed that in Wales. He’s no coward—he’ll fight against any odds. But he’s no general either. His notion of strategy is to charge into battle yelling at the top of his voice. However, the men follow him.”

They moved on to talk about the Vikings. This year the raids had been farther east, in Hampshire and Sussex, and Shiring had largely escaped, by contrast with the previous year, when Combe and other places in Wilf’s domain had been ravaged. However, Shiring had suffered from this year’s unseasonal rain. “Perhaps God is displeased with the people of Shiring,” Wilf said.

“For not giving enough of their money to the church, probably,” said Wynstan, and Wilf laughed.

Before returning to his residence, Wynstan went to see his mother, Gytha. He kissed her and sat by her fire. She said: “Brother Aldred went to see Sheriff Den.”

Wynstan was intrigued. “Did he, now?”

“He went alone, and was quite discreet. He probably thinks no one noticed. But I heard about it.”

“He’s a sly dog. He went behind my back to the archbishop of Canterbury, and tried to take over my minster at Dreng’s Ferry.”

“Does he have a weakness?”

“There was an incident in his youth, an affair with another young monk.”

“Anything since?”

“No.”

“Useful ammunition, perhaps, but if the behavior hasn’t been repeated then it’s not enough to bring him down. Living without women, I should think half those monks are diddling one another in the dorm.”

“I’m not worried about Aldred. I squashed him once, I can do it again.”

Gytha was not reassured. “I don’t understand it,” she fretted. “What would a monk want with the sheriff?”

“I’m more worried about the Norman bitch.”

Gytha nodded agreement. “Ragna is smart and she’s bold.”

“She outmaneuvered me at Outhenham. Not many people can do that.”

“And she got Wilf to sack the head groom, Wignoth, who lamed her horse for me.”

Wynstan sighed. “It was such a mistake for us to let Wilf marry her.”

“When you negotiated that, you were hoping to reinforce the treaty with Count Hubert.”

“It was more because Wilf wanted her so badly.”

“You could have prevented the marriage.”

“I know,” Wynstan said ruefully. “I could have come home from Cherbourg saying we were too late, she was already engaged to marry Guillaume of Reims.” He considered his explanation. He could usually tell his mother the truth: she was on his side regardless. “Wilf had only just got me appointed bishop, and the sad fact is that I didn’t have the nerve. I was afraid he might guess what I’d done. I thought his wrath would be terrible. In fact I could almost certainly have got away with it. But I didn’t know that then.”

“Don’t worry about Ragna,” said Gytha. “We can handle her. She has no idea of the forces she’s up against.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“In any case, we’d be foolish to move against her now. She holds his heart in her hand.” Gytha smiled with a twisted mouth. “But a man’s love is temporary. Give Wilf time to tire of her.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know. Be patient. The time will come.”

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, too, my son.”

* * *

Some mornings the fish trap was full, sometimes half full, occasionally empty but for a few tiddlers, but in any week there was more than the family could eat. They hung fish from the rafters to smoke until it seemed to be raining eels. One Friday when the trap came up full Edgar decided to sell some.

He found a stick a yard long and attached twelve fat eels to it, using green twigs as cords, then went to the alehouse. He found Ethel, Dreng’s younger wife, sitting outside in the late summer sun, plucking doves for the pot, her bony hands red and greasy from the work. “Do you want some eels?” he said. “A farthing for two.”

“Where did you get them?”

“From our flooded hayfield.”

“Well done. They’re nice and plump. Yes, I’ll have two.”

She went inside to ask Dreng for the money, and he came out with her. “Where did you get them?” he asked Edgar.

“I found an eel’s nest in a tree,” Edgar said.

“Impertinent as always,” Dreng said, but he gave Edgar a quarter of a silver penny, and Edgar walked on.

He sold two to the laundress, Ebba, and four to Fat Bebbe. Elfburg, who did the cleaning at the minster, said she did not have any money, but her husband, Hadwine, had gone into the forest for the day to collect nuts, and she knew another way to pay Edgar. He declined the offer but gave her two eels anyway.

With four farthings in his belt pouch, Edgar took the remaining fish to the priests.

Degbert’s wife, Edith, was breastfeeding a baby outside the house. “They look nice,” she said.

“You can have all four for half a penny,” he said.

“You’d better ask him,” Edith said, with a jerk of her head toward the open door.

Degbert heard the voices and came out. “Where did you get those?” he said to Edgar.

Edgar suppressed a sarcastic answer. “The flooding has made a fishpond in our hayfield.”

“And who said you could take eels from it?

“The fish didn’t ask permission to swim to our farm.”

Degbert looked at Edgar’s stick. “You seem to have sold some already.”

Reluctantly, Edgar said: “I’ve sold eight.”

“You forget that I’m the landlord here. You rent the farm, not the river. If you want to make a fishpond, you need my agreement.”

“Do I? I thought you were lord of the land, not lord of the river.”

“You’re an uneducated peasant who doesn’t know anything. The minster has a charter that gives me fishing rights.”

“In the time I’ve been here you’ve never caught a single fish.”

“Makes no difference. What’s written is written.”

“Where is this charter?”

Degbert smiled. “Wait there.” He went inside and returned holding a folded sheet of parchment. “Here it is,” he said, pointing at a paragraph. “If any man take fish from the river he shall owe the dean one fish in three.” He grinned.

Edgar did not look at the parchment. He could not read, and Degbert knew it. The charter might say anything. He felt humiliated. It was true, he was an ignorant peasant.

Degbert said triumphantly: “You took twelve eels, so you owe me four.”

Edgar handed over his stick of eels.

Then he heard hoofbeats.

He looked up the hill, and Degbert and Edith did the same. Half a dozen horsemen thundered down to the minster and reined in. Edgar recognized their leader as Bishop Wynstan.

While Degbert was welcoming his distinguished cousin, Edgar walked briskly away. He passed the tavern and crossed the field. His brothers were tying reaped stalks of oats into sheaves, but he did not speak to them. He bypassed the farmhouse and quietly slipped into the forest.

He knew his way. He followed a barely visible deer track through stands of oak and hornbeam for a mile and came to a clearing. Sheriff Den was there with Brother Aldred and twenty men and horses. They made a formidable group, the men heavily armed with swords, shields, and helmets, the horses powerfully muscled. Two men drew weapons as Edgar appeared, and he recognized them: the short, nasty-looking one was Wigbert, the big man Godwine. Edgar raised his hands to show that he was unarmed.

Aldred said: “It’s all right, he’s our spy in the hamlet,” and the men sheathed their blades.