“Come in, monk,” said Wilwulf, as if he were at home and they were the visitors. With a note of complacency he added: “I believe my brother gave you that black eye.”

“Don’t worry,” Aldred said with a deliberate note of condescension. “If Bishop Wynstan confesses and begs forgiveness, God will have mercy on him for his unpriestly violence.”

“He was provoked!”

“God doesn’t accept that excuse, ealdorman. Jesus told us to turn the other cheek.”

Wilwulf grunted with exasperation and shifted his ground. “I’m highly displeased by what happened at Dreng’s Ferry.”

“So am I,” said Aldred, going on the offensive. “Such a wicked crime against the king! Not to mention the murder of the sheriff’s man, Godwine.”

Osmund said timorously: “Be quiet, Aldred, let the ealdorman speak.”

The door opened and Hildred came in.

Wilwulf was irritated by both interruptions. “I didn’t summon you,” he said to Hildred. “Who are you?”

Osmund answered the question: “This is Treasurer Hildred, whom I have made acting abbot during my illness. He should hear whatever you have to say.”

“All right.” Wilwulf picked up the conversation where it had left off. “A crime has been committed, and that is shameful,” he conceded. “But now the question is what should be done.”

“Justice,” said Aldred. “Obviously.”

“Shut up,” said Wilwulf.

Osmund spoke in a pleading tone. “Aldred, you’re only making things worse for yourself.”

“Making what worse?” Aldred said indignantly. “I’m not in trouble. I didn’t forge the king’s currency. That was Wilwulf’s brother.”

Wilwulf was on weak ground. “I’m not here to discuss the past,” he said evasively. “The question, as I said a moment ago, is what is to be done now.” He turned to Aldred. “And don’t say ‘justice’ again or I’ll knock your bald head off your skinny neck.”

Aldred said nothing. It hardly needed pointing out that for a nobleman to threaten a monk with personal violence was undignified, to say the least.

Wilwulf seemed to realize he had lowered himself, and he changed his tone. “Our duty, Abbot Osmund,” he said, flattering the abbot by putting the two of them on the same level, “is to make sure this incident doesn’t damage the authority of the nobility or the Church.”

“Quite so,” said Osmund.

Aldred found this ominous. Wilwulf bullying was normal; Wilwulf sounding conciliatory was sinister.

Wilwulf said: “The forgery has ended. The dies have been confiscated by the sheriff. What is the point of a trial?”

Aldred almost gasped. The effrontery was astonishing. Not have a trial? It was outrageous.

Wilwulf went on: “The trial will achieve nothing except to bring disgrace to a bishop who is also my half brother. Think how much better it would be if no more were heard of this incident.”

Better for your evil brother, Aldred thought.

Osmund prevaricated. “I see your point, ealdorman.”

Aldred said: “You’re wasting your breath here, Wilwulf. Whatever we might say, the sheriff will never agree to your proposal.”

“Perhaps,” said Wilwulf. “But he might become discouraged if you were to withdraw your support.”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“I presume he will want you to be one of his oath helpers. I’m asking you to refuse, for the sake of the Church and the nobility.”

“I must tell the truth.”

“There are times when the truth is best unsaid. Even monks must know that.”

Osmund spoke pleadingly. “Aldred, there’s a lot in what the ealdorman says.”

Aldred took a deep breath. “Imagine that Wynstan and Degbert were dedicated, self-sacrificing priests giving their lives to the service of God, and abstaining from the lusts of the flesh; but they had made one foolish mistake that threatened to end their careers. Then, yes, we would need to discuss whether the punishment would do more harm than good. But they aren’t priests of that kind, are they?” Aldred paused, as if waiting for Wilwulf to answer the question, but the ealdorman wisely said nothing. Aldred went on: “Wynstan and Degbert spend the Church’s money in alehouses and gambling dens and whorehouses, and an awful lot of people know it. If they were both unfrocked tomorrow it would do nothing but good for the authority of nobility and the Church.”

Wilwulf looked angry. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Brother Aldred.”

“I certainly don’t,” Aldred replied, with more sincerity than might have been apparent.

“Then do as I say, and withdraw your support.”

“No.”

Osmund said: “Take time to think about it, Aldred.”

“No.”

Hildred spoke for the first time. “Won’t you submit to authority, as a monk should, and show obedience to your abbot?”

“No,” said Aldred.

* * *

Ragna was pregnant.

She had not told anyone yet, but she was sure. Cat probably guessed, but no one else knew. Ragna hugged the secret to herself, a new body growing inside her. She thought about it as she walked around, ordering people to clear, tidy, and repair, keeping the place running, making sure there was nothing to bother Wilf.

It was bad luck to tell people too early, she knew. Many pregnancies ended in spontaneous abortion. In the six years between Ragna’s birth and her brother’s, their mother had suffered several miscarriages. Ragna would not make the announcement until the bulge became too large to be hidden by the drape of her dress.

She was thrilled. She had never daydreamed of having a baby, as many girls did, but now that it was happening, she found she longed to hold and love a tiny scrap of life.

She was also pleased to be fulfilling her role in English society. She was a noblewoman married to a nobleman, and it was her job to give birth to heirs. This would dismay her enemies and strengthen her bond with Wilf.

She was scared, too. Childbirth was dangerous and painful, everyone knew that. When a woman died young it was usually because of a difficult delivery. Ragna would have Cat at her side, but Cat had never given birth. Ragna wished her mother were here. However, there was a good midwife in Shiring: Ragna had met her, a calm, competent gray-haired woman called Hildithryth, known as Hildi.

Meanwhile, she was pleased that Wynstan’s sins were at last catching up with him. Forgery was undoubtedly only one of his crimes, but it was the one that had been exposed, and she hoped for a severe punishment. Perhaps the experience would puncture the bishop’s arrogance. Good for Aldred, she thought, for finding him out.

This would be the first major trial she had attended in England, and she was eager to learn more about the country’s legal system. She knew it would be different from Normandy’s. The biblical principle of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth did not apply here. The punishment for murder was normally a fine paid to the family of the victim. The murder price was called wergild, and it varied according to the wealth and status of the dead man: a thane was worth sixty pounds of silver; an ordinary peasant, ten pounds.

She learned more when Edgar came to see her. She was sorting apples on a table, picking out the bruised ones that would not last the winter, so that she could teach Gilda the kitchen maid the best way to make cider; and she saw Edgar coming through the main gate and across the compound, a sturdy figure with a confident stride.

“You’ve changed,” he said with a smile as soon as he saw her. “What happened?”

He was perceptive, of course, especially of shapes. “I’ve been eating too much English honey,” she said. It was true: she was always hungry.

“You look well on it.” Remembering his manners he added: “If I may be permitted to say so, my lady.”

He stood on the other side of the table and helped her sort the apples, handling the good ones gently, throwing the bad into a barrel. She sensed that he was worried about something. She said: “Has Dreng sent you here to buy supplies?”

“I am no longer Dreng’s servant. I was dismissed.”

Perhaps he wanted to work for her. She quite liked the idea. “Why were you dismissed?”

“When Blod was returned to him, he beat her so badly I thought he would kill her, so I intervened.”

Edgar always tried to do the right thing, she reflected. But how much trouble was he in? “Can you go back to the farm?” Perhaps this was what was on his mind. “As I recall, it isn’t very productive.”

“It’s not, but I made a fishpond, and now we have enough to eat and some left over to sell.”

“And is Blod all right?”

“I don’t know. I told Dreng I would kill him if he hurt her again, and perhaps that has made him think twice about beating her.”

“You know I tried to buy her, to save her from him? But Wynstan overruled me.”

He nodded. “Speaking of Wynstan . . .”

He had tensed up, Ragna saw, and she guessed that what he was about to say was the real reason for his visit. “Yes?”

“He sent Ithamar to threaten me.”

“What’s the threat?”

“If I testify at the trial, my family will be evicted from the farm.”

“On what grounds?”

“The Church needs tenants who support the clergy.”