It was this letter that was going to infuriate Bishop Wynstan when he heard about it, for Wynstan had appointed Degbert, who was his cousin. That was why Osmund had decided to complain directly to Archbishop Elfric: there was no point in talking to Wynstan.

Osmund read on: “You say the problem can best be remedied by dismissing Degbert and his clergy and replacing them with monks.”

This, too, had been Aldred’s suggestion, but it was not an original idea. Elfric himself had done something similar when he arrived at Canterbury, expelling indolent priests and bringing in disciplined monks. Aldred had high hopes that Elfric would agree to do the same at Dreng’s Ferry.

“I agree with your proposal,” Osmund read.

“Excellent news!” Aldred said.

“The new monastery will be a cell of Shiring Abbey, with a prior under the authority of the abbot of Shiring.”

That had also been suggested by Aldred. He was pleased. The minster at Dreng’s Ferry was an abomination and now it had been condemned.

“Brother Wigferth also carries a letter to our brother in Christ Wynstan, telling him of my decision, as Dreng’s Ferry comes within his bishopric.”

Aldred said: “Wynstan’s reaction is going to be interesting.”

Hildred said: “He will be displeased.”

“To say the least.”

“But Elfric is the archbishop, and Wynstan must bow to his authority.” For Hildred, a rule was a rule, and that was the end of the matter.

Aldred said: “Wynstan thinks everyone should follow the rules—except himself.”

“True, but he also has a keen sense of church politics,” said Osmund comfortably. “I can’t imagine he’ll pick a quarrel with his archbishop over a hole in the wall like Dreng’s Ferry. If there were more at stake it might be a different matter.”

Aldred hoped he was right.

He said to Wigferth: “I’ll walk you over to the bishop’s palace.”

They went down the outside staircase. “Thank you for this news!” said Aldred as they crossed the square that formed the center of the town. “That dreadful minster made me angry.”

“The archbishop felt the same way when he heard about it.”

They passed Shiring Cathedral, a typical large English church with small windows set high in its thick walls. Next to it was Bishop Wynstan’s residence: this and the monastery were the only two-story edifices in Shiring. Aldred knocked at the door and a young clergyman appeared. Aldred said: “This is Brother Wigferth, come from Canterbury with a letter from Archbishop Elfric to Bishop Wynstan.”

The clergyman said: “The bishop is out, but you can give the letter to me.”

Aldred remembered the young man’s name: Ithamar. He was a deacon and served as a secretary to Wynstan. He had a baby face and ash-blond hair, but Aldred felt sure he was no innocent. He said severely: “Ithamar, this man is a messenger from your master’s master. You must welcome him, invite him in, offer him food and drink, and ask if there is any other service you can do for him.”

Ithamar shot him a look of poisonous resentment, but he knew Aldred was right, and after a pause he said: “Please come in, Brother Wigferth.”

Wigferth remained where he stood and said: “How long do you think Bishop Wynstan will be away from home?”

“An hour or two.”

“I’ll wait.” Wigferth turned to Aldred. “I’ll return as soon as I’ve delivered the letter. I prefer to sleep at the abbey.”

Good decision, Aldred thought; life at a bishop’s residence might offer temptations that a monk would prefer not to struggle with.

They parted. Aldred turned back toward the abbey, then hesitated. It was past time he paid a call on Ealdorman Wilwulf’s bride-to-be. The lady Ragna had been welcoming to Aldred at Cherbourg and he wanted to do the same for her in Shiring. If he went now he could wish her well for the wedding.

He headed on through the stores and workshops of the town center.

The rapidly growing town of Shiring existed to serve three establishments: the ealdorman’s compound, with its men-at-arms and hangers-on; the cathedral and bishop’s palace, with priests and servants; and the abbey, with monks and lay brothers. The tradesmen included makers of pots, buckets, table knives, and other domestic hardware; weavers and tailors; saddlers and harness makers; woodcutters and carpenters; armorers making mail, swords, and helmets; bowyers and fletchers; dairymaids, bakers, brewers; and slaughterers who provided everyone else with meat.

But the most lucrative industry was embroidery. A dozen women in the town spent their days interlacing designs in colored wool on sheets of pale linen. Their work usually depicted Bible stories and scenes from the lives of the saints, often decorated with strange birds and abstract borders. The linen, or sometimes pale wool, was eventually incorporated into priestly vestments and royal robes, and sold all over Europe.

Aldred was well known, and folk greeted him on the street. He was obliged to stop and talk to several individuals on his way: a weaver who leased his house from the abbey and was behind with his rent; Abbot Osmund’s wine supplier, who had trouble getting money out of Treasurer Hildred; and a woman who wanted the monks to pray for her sick daughter, because everyone knew that the prayers of celibate monks were more efficacious than those of regular priests.

When finally he reached the compound, he found it busy with preparations for the wedding. The gateway was jammed with carts delivering barrels of ale and sacks of flour. Servants were setting up long lines of trestle tables outside: clearly there would be too many guests for them all to dine in the great hall. A butcher was slaughtering animals ready for the spit, and an ox hung by its hind legs from a stout oak tree, hot blood from its mighty neck splashing into a barrel.

Aldred found Ragna in the house that had formerly been occupied by the youngest of the three brothers, Wigelm. The door was open. Ragna was there with three of her servants from Cherbourg: the pretty maid, Cat; the seamstress, Agnes; and the red-bearded bodyguard called Bern. Also present was Offa, the reeve of Mudeford, and Aldred wondered briefly what he was doing there, but quickly turned his attention to Ragna. With her two maids she was examining silk slippers of different colors, but she looked up and smiled broadly as she recognized Aldred.

“Welcome to England,” he said. “I’ve come to see if you’re settling into your new home.”

“There’s so much to do!” she said. “But it’s all exciting.”

He studied her animated face. He recalled thinking that she was beautiful, but the memory was a pale imitation of the real thing. His mind had not retained the unique sea-green color of her eyes, the graceful curve of her high cheekbones, or the luxuriant thickness of her red-gold hair, peeping out now from beneath a brown silk head scarf. Unlike most men he was not led to the sin of lust by the allure of women’s breasts, but even he could see that she had a marvelous figure.

He said: “And how do you feel about the wedding?”

“Impatient!” she said, and then she blushed.

Aldred thought: So that’s all right, then. “I expect Wilf is impatient, too,” he said.

“He wants a son,” Ragna said.

Aldred changed the subject to save her blushes. “I imagine Wigelm was displeased to be ousted from his house.”

“He could hardly claim priority over the ealdorman’s bride,” Ragna said. “Besides, he’s on his own—his wife is still at Combe—so he doesn’t really need it.”

Aldred looked around. The house was a high-quality timber construction, but not as comfortable as it might have been. Wooden houses needed major repairs after about twenty years and fell apart completely after fifty. He could see a misaligned shutter at the window, a bench with a broken leg, and a leak in the roof. “You need a carpenter in here,” he said.

She sighed. “They’re all busy making benches and tables for the wedding. And the head carpenter, Dunnere, is usually drunk by afternoon.”

Aldred frowned. The ealdorman’s bride surely ought to have priority. “Can’t you get rid of Dunnere?”

“He’s Gytha’s nephew. But yes, shaking up the maintenance crew here is high on my list.”

“There was a boy at Dreng’s Ferry who seemed to be a good craftsman: Edgar.”

“I remember him. Could I ask him to fix up this house?”

“You don’t need to ask when you can command. Edgar’s master is Dreng, Wilwulf’s cousin. Just order Dreng to send his servant to you.”

She smiled. “I’m still not sure what I’m entitled to here. But I’ll take your advice.”

A vague thought was nagging at Aldred. He had the sense that Ragna had said something important, but he had missed its significance. Now he could not recall it.

He said: “How do you like Wilwulf’s family?”

“I’ve talked to Gytha, and she has accepted that I’m to be mistress here; but I have a lot to learn and I wish I could depend on her help.”

“I feel sure you’ll win everyone’s affection. I’ve seen you do it.”

“I hope you’re right.”