Ragna wondered what to say. Could she reconcile with Agnes? Wilf would have scoffed at the idea, but he was a man.

From a practical point of view she would like to have Agnes back. It was difficult for Cat to manage Ragna’s three sons plus her own two daughters, all under the age of two. Since Agnes left, Ragna had been looking for a replacement, but she had not found the right sort of woman. If Agnes were to come back, that problem would be solved. And the children liked her.

Could she trust Agnes, after what had happened?

“You don’t know what it’s like, my lady, to find that you have chosen the wrong husband.”

Ah, but I do, Ragna thought; then she realized this was the first time she had admitted that to herself.

She felt a surge of compassion. Whatever sins Agnes had committed had been done under the strong influence of Offa. She had married a dishonest man, but that did not make her a dishonest woman.

“It would mean so much to me if you would just say a kind word before I go,” Agnes said, and she did seem pathetic. “Just say ‘God bless you,’ please, my lady.”

Ragna could not refuse her. “God bless you, Agnes.”

“May I just kiss the twins? I do miss them so.”

She did not have children of her own, Ragna reflected. “All right.”

Agnes expertly picked up both babies at the same time, holding one in each arm. “I do love you both,” she said.

Colinan, the younger twin by a few minutes, was the more advanced. He met Agnes’s eye, gurgled, and smiled.

Ragna sighed and said: “Agnes, do you want to come back?”

CHAPTER 27

    April 1001

rior Aldred had high hopes of Thane Deorman of Norwood. Deorman was rich. Norwood was a market town, and a market was always a big earner. And Deorman’s wife of many years had died a month ago. That would have put the thane in mind of the afterlife. The death of someone close often prompted a nobleman to make a pious donation.

Aldred needed donations. The priory was not as poor as it had been three years ago—it had three horses, a flock of sheep, and a small herd of milk cows—but Aldred had ambitions. He accepted that he would never take charge of Shiring Abbey, but he now believed he might turn the priory into a center of learning. For that he needed more than a few hamlets. He had to win something big, a prosperous village or a small town, or some moneymaking enterprise such as a port or the fishing rights to a river.

Thane Deorman’s great hall was richly furnished with wall hangings and blankets and cushions. His servants were preparing the table for a lavish midday meal, and there was a powerful aroma of roasting meat. Deorman was a middle-aged man with failing eyesight, unable to join Wilwulf in fighting the Vikings. Nevertheless, with him he had two women in brightly colored dresses who seemed too fond to be merely servants, and Aldred wondered disapprovingly what their exact status was. At least six small children ran in and out of the house, playing some game that involved much high-pitched squealing.

Deorman ignored the children and did not respond to the women’s touches and smiles, but gave his affection to a large black dog that sat beside him.

Aldred got right to the point. “I was sorry to hear of the death of your dear wife, Godgifu. May her soul rest in peace.”

“Thank you,” said Deorman. “I have two other women, but Godgifu was with me for thirty years, and I miss her.”

Aldred did not comment on Deorman’s polygamy. That might be a discussion for another time. Today he had to focus on his target. He spoke in a deeper, more emotional tone. “The monks of Dreng’s Ferry would be glad to give solemn daily prayers for the dear lady’s immortal soul, if you should wish to commission us.”

“I have a cathedral full of priests praying for her right here in Norwood.”

“Then you are truly blessed, or rather she is. But I’m sure you know that the prayers of celibate monks carry more weight, in that other world that awaits us all, than those of married priests.”

“So people say,” Deorman conceded.

Aldred changed his tone and became more brisk. “As well as Norwood, you’re lord of the little hamlet of Southwood, which has an iron mine.” He paused. It was time to make his request specific. With a quick, silent prayer of hope he said: “Would you consider making a pious gift of Southwood and its mine to the priory, in memory of Lady Godgifu?”

He held his breath. Would Deorman pour scorn on such a demand? Would he burst out laughing at Aldred’s effrontery? Would he be offended?

Deorman’s response was mild. He looked startled, but also amused. “That’s a bold request,” he said noncommittally.

“Ask, and it shall be given you, Jesus told us; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” Aldred often remembered this verse from Matthew’s Gospel when he was soliciting gifts.

“You certainly don’t get much in this world if you don’t ask,” Deorman said. “But that mine makes me a lot of money.”

“It would transform the fortunes of the priory.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Deorman had not said no, but there was a negative undertone, and Aldred waited to find out what the problem was.

“How many monks are there at your priory?” Deorman asked after a moment.

He was playing for time, Aldred thought. “Eight, including me.”

“And are they all good men?”

“Most certainly.”

“Because, you see, there are rumors.”

Here it comes, Aldred thought. He felt a bubble of anger in his guts, and told himself to stay calm. “Rumors,” he repeated.

“To be frank, I’ve heard that your monks hold orgies with slaves.”

“And I know who you heard it from,” said Aldred. He could not completely hide his rage, but he managed to speak quietly. “Some years ago I had the misfortune to discover a powerful man committing a terrible crime, and I’m still being punished for doing so.”

“You’re being punished?”

“Yes, by this kind of slander.”

“You’re telling me the orgy story is a deliberate lie?”

“I’m telling you that the monks of Dreng’s Ferry follow the Rule of Saint Benedict strictly. We have no slaves, no concubines, no catamites. We are celibate.”

“Hmm.”

“But please don’t take my word for it. Pay us a visit—preferably with no forewarning. Surprise us, and you will see us as we are every day. We work, we pray, and we sleep. We will invite you to share our dinner of fish and vegetables. You will see that we have no servants, no pets, no luxuries of any kind. Our prayers could not be more pure.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Deorman was backing down, but was he convinced? “Meanwhile, let’s eat.”

Aldred sat at the table with Deorman’s family and senior servants. A pretty young woman sat next to him and engaged him in a teasing conversation. Aldred was polite, but flintily unresponsive to her flirting. He guessed he was being tested. It was the wrong test: he might have revealed a weakness if confronted with an alluring young man.

The food was good, suckling pig with spring cabbage, and the wine was strong. Aldred ate sparingly and drank one sip, as always.

At the end of the meal, as the bowls and platters were being cleared away, Deorman announced his decision. “I’m not going to give you Southwood,” he said. “But I’ll give you two pounds in silver to pray for the soul of Godgifu.”

Aldred knew he should not show his disappointment. “Your kindness is much appreciated, and you can be sure that God will hear our prayers,” he said. “But could you not make it five pounds?”

Deorman laughed. “I’ll make it three, to reward your persistence, on the condition you ask for no more.”

“I’m most grateful,” Aldred said, but in his heart he was angry and resentful. He should have got much more, but Wynstan’s slanders had sabotaged him. Even if Deorman did not really believe the lies, they gave him an excuse to be less generous.

Deorman’s treasurer got the money from a chest and Aldred stashed it in his saddlebag. “I won’t travel alone with this money,” he said. “I’ll go to the Oak alehouse and find companions for tomorrow’s journey.”

He took his leave. The town center was only a few steps from Deorman’s compound, so Aldred did not mount Dismas, but walked him to the stable of the tavern, brooding over his failure. He had hoped that Wynstan’s malign influence would not reach this far, for Norwood had its own cathedral and bishop, but he had been disappointed.

When he reached the Oak, he walked past the alehouse, from which came the sound of a boisterous group enjoying the drink, and went straight to the stable. As he arrived, he was surprised to see the familiar lean frame of Brother Godleof unsaddling a piebald. He looked anxious, and seemed to have hurried here. “What is it?” Aldred said.

“I thought you’d want to hear the news as soon as possible.”

“What news?”

“Abbot Osmund is dead.”

Aldred crossed himself and said: “May his soul rest in peace.”

“Hildred has been made abbot.”

“That was quick.”