Page 11 of The Evening and the Morning
Wynstan stepped away. At the church door he ran into Mags again. She had decided to change her tone, and instead of desperate she was wheedling. “Would you like me to suck your cock aroundthe back of the church?” she said. “You always say I do it better than the young girls.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Wynstan said. A sailor or a fisherman might not care who saw him being sucked off, but a bishop had to be discreet. “Get to the point,” he said. “How much do you need?”
“What do you mean?”
“To replace the girls,” Wynstan said. He had had good times at Mags’s house, and he hoped to do so again. “How much money do you need to borrow from me?”
Mags was practiced at responding quickly to men’s changes of mood, and she adjusted her demeanor again, becoming businesslike. “If they’re young and fresh, slave girls cost about a pound each at Bristol market.”
Wynstan nodded. There was a big slave market at Bristol, several days’ journey from here. He made up his mind quickly, as always. “If I lend you ten pounds today, can you pay me back twenty a year from now?”
Her eyes lit up, but she pretended to be doubtful. “I don’t know whether custom will come back that fast.”
“There will always be visiting sailors. And fresh girls will attract more men. You’re in a profession that never lacks for clients.”
“Give me eighteen months.”
“Pay me twenty-five pounds at Christmas next year.”
Mags looked worried but she said: “All right.”
Wynstan summoned Cnebba, a big man in an iron helmet who was custodian of the bishop’s money. “Give her ten pounds,” he said.
“The chest is in the monastery,” Cnebba said to her. “Come with me.”
“And don’t cheat her,” Wynstan said. “You can fuck her if you like, but give her the full ten pounds.”
Mags said: “God bless you, my lord bishop.”
Wynstan touched her lips with a finger. “You can thank me later, when it gets dark.”
She took his hand and licked his finger lasciviously. “I can’t wait.”
Wynstan stepped away before anyone noticed.
He scanned the crowd. They were disconsolate and resentful, but nothing could be done about that. The boatbuilder’s son met his eye, and Wynstan beckoned him. Edgar came to the church door with a brown-and-white dog at his heel. “Fetch your mother,” Wynstan said. “And your brothers. I may be able to help you.”
“Thank you, lord!” said Edgar with eager enthusiasm. “Do you want us to build you a ship?”
“No.”
Edgar’s face fell. “What, then?”
“Fetch your mother and I’ll tell you.”
“Yes, lord.”
Edgar went away and came back with Mildred, who looked warily at Wynstan, and two young men who were evidently his brothers, both bigger than Edgar but lacking his look of inquiring intelligence. Three strong boys and a tough mother: it was a good combination for what Wynstan had in mind.
He said: “I know of a vacant farm.” Wynstan would be doing Wigelm a favor by ridding him of the seditious Mildred.
Edgar looked dismayed. “We’re boatbuilders, not farmers!”
Mildred said: “Shut your mouth, Edgar.”
Wynstan said: “Can you manage a farm, widow?”
“I was born on a farm.”
