“I won’t starve.”

“Is there something I can do for you by way of reward, something that doesn’t require money?”

Edgar shrugged. “If I think of something, I’ll ask.”

“Good enough.” Aldred looked toward the alehouse. “I need to cross to the nunnery. Is Blod around?”

“I’ll take you.” Edgar untied the ferry as Aldred boarded, then picked up a pole and pushed the boat across the narrow channel to the island.

Edgar waited at the waterside while Aldred knocked at the door of the convent and Agatha came out in a cloak. She would not let men into the nunnery, but because of the cold she took Aldred into the church, which was empty.

At the east end, near the altar, was a chair carved from a block of stone, with a rounded back and a flat seat. “A sanctuary stool,” he commented. By tradition, anyone sitting on such a chair in a church was immune from prosecution, regardless of his or her crimes, and those who flouted that rule, and captured or killed someone who had taken refuge there, were themselves subject to the death penalty.

Agatha nodded. “It’s not easily accessible, of course, here on this island. But a fugitive who is innocent will show determination.”

“Has it often been used?”

“Three times in twenty years, each time by a woman who had decided to be a nun against the wishes of her family.”

They sat on a cold stone bench on the north wall, and Agatha said: “I admire you. It takes guts to stand up to a man such as Wynstan.”

“It takes more than guts to defeat him, though,” said Aldred ruefully.

“We have to try. It’s our mission.”

“I agree.”

Her tone became practical. “I have a suggestion to make,” she said. “A way of lifting our spirits in midwinter.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’d like to bring the nuns to the church tomorrow for the Christmas service.”

Aldred was intrigued. “What gave you that idea?”

Agatha smiled. “The fact that it was a woman who brought our Lord into the world.”

“That’s true. So we should have female voices joining in with our Christmas hymns.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“In addition, the women might improve the singing.”

“They might,” said Agatha, “especially if I leave Sister Frith behind.”

Aldred laughed, but said: “Don’t do that. Bring everyone.”

“I’m so glad you like the idea.”

“I love it.”

Agatha stood up, and Aldred did the same. It had been a short conversation, but she was not one for idle chatter. They walked out of the church.

Aldred saw that Edgar was talking to a man dressed in a filthy robe. He was barefoot despite the cold. He had to be one of the wretches the nuns fed.

Agatha said: “Oh, dear, poor Cuthbert has got lost again.”

Aldred was shocked. Coming closer he saw the dirty rag that bandaged the man’s eyes like a blindfold. Cuthbert must have been brought here from Shiring, by some kind soul, to join the community of lepers and other helpless people who depended on the nuns, Aldred thought; and then he felt guilty that he had not been that kind soul. He had been too occupied with his own troubles to think in a Christlike way about helping others.

Cuthbert was speaking to Edgar in low, harsh tones. “It’s your fault I’m like this,” he said. “Your fault!”

“I know,” said Edgar.

Agatha raised her voice. “Cuthbert, you’ve wandered into the nuns’ zone again. Let me lead you back.”

Edgar said: “Wait.”

Agatha said: “What is it?”

Edgar said: “Aldred, a few minutes ago you asked if there was something you could do for me by way of reward for buttressing the church.”

“I did.”

“I’ve thought of something. I want you to take Cuthbert into the priory.”

Cuthbert gasped with shock.

Aldred was moved. For a few moments he could not speak. After a few moments he said in a choked voice: “Would you like to become a monk, Cuthbert?”

Cuthbert said: “Yes, please, Brother Aldred. I’ve always been a man of God—it’s the only life I know.”

“You’d have to learn our ways. A monastery is not like a minster, not really.”

“Would God want someone like me?”

“He cares especially for people like you.”

“But I’m a criminal.”

“Jesus said: ‘I come not to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance.’”

“This isn’t a joke, is it? A trick, to torture me? Some people are very cruel to the blind.”

“No trick, my friend. Come with me now, on the ferry.”

“Right away?”

“Right away.”

Cuthbert shook with sobs. Aldred put one arm around him, ignoring the dreadful smell. “Come,” he said. “Let’s get on board the boat.”

“Thank you, Aldred, thank you.”

“Thank Edgar. I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it myself.”

They waved to Agatha, who said: “God bless you.”

As they crossed the water Aldred reflected that even if he could not achieve his grand ambitions in this out-of-the-way priory, he might still do some good.

They disembarked and Edgar tied up the ferry. Aldred said: “This doesn’t count, Edgar. I still owe you a reward.”

Edgar said: “Well, there is something else I want.” He looked embarrassed.

“Out with it,” said Aldred.

“You used to talk about starting a school.”

“It’s my dream.”

Edgar hesitated again, then blurted it out. “Would you teach me to read?”

CHAPTER 25

    January 1001

agna was giving birth to her second child, and it was going badly. Bishop Wynstan could hear her screams from where he sat in the home of his mother, Gytha. A steady rain outside did little to muffle the noise. Ragna’s cries gave Wynstan hope. “If mother and child die, all our problems are over,” he said.

Gytha picked up a jug. “I was like that with you,” she said. “It took a day and a night to get you out. No one thought either of us would survive.”

It sounded to him like an accusation. “Not my fault,” he said.

She poured more wine into his cup. “And then you were born howling and waving your fists.”

Wynstan did not feel comfortable in his mother’s house. She always had sweet wine and strong ale, bowls of plums and pears in season, ham and cheese on a platter, and thick blankets for cold nights, but for all that he was never at ease. “I was a good child,” he protested. “A scholar.”

“Yes, when forced. But if I took my eye off you, you would sneak away from your lessons to play.”

A childhood memory struck Wynstan. “You wouldn’t let me see the bear.”

“What bear?”

“Someone brought a bear on a chain. Everyone went to look at it. But Father Aculf wanted me to finish copying the Ten Commandments first, and you backed him.” Wynstan had sat with a slate and a nail, hearing the other boys laughing and yelling outside. “I kept making mistakes in the Latin, and by the time I got it right the bear had gone.”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember that.”

Wynstan remembered it vividly. “I hated you for it.”

“And yet I did it out of love.”

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose you did.”

She picked up his doubt. “You had to become a priest. Let peasant brats play.”

“Why were you so sure I should be a priest?”

“Because you’re a second son, and I’m a second wife. Wilwulf was going to inherit your father’s wealth, and probably become ealdorman, and you might have been an unimportant person, only wanted just in case Wilf should die. I was determined not to let that happen to us. The church was your route to power and wealth and high status.”

“And yours.”

“I’m nothing,” she said.

Her modesty was utterly insincere and he ignored it. “After me, you had no offspring for five years. Was that deliberate? Because of my difficult birth?”

“No,” she said indignantly. “A noblewoman does not shirk childbirth.”

“Of course.”

“But I had two miscarriages between you and Wigelm, not to mention a stillbirth later.”

“I remember the arrival of Wigelm,” Wynstan mused. “When I was five years old, I wanted to murder him.”

“An older child often has such feelings. It’s a sign of spirit. He rarely does anything about it, but I kept you away from Wigelm’s cradle just the same.”

“What was his delivery like?”

“Not so bad, though childbirth is rarely easy. The second child is normally less agonizing than the first.” She glanced in the direction of the noise. “Though clearly that’s not so for Ragna. Something may be going wrong.”

“Death in childbirth is a common occurrence,” Wynstan said cheerfully; then he caught a black look from Gytha and realized he had gone too far. She was on his side, whatever he did, but she was still a woman. “Who is attending Ragna?” he asked.

“A Shiring midwife called Hildi.”

“Local woman with heathen remedies, I suppose.”