Page 139 of The Evening and the Morning
“Very well,” she said. “Let us continue.”
CHAPTER 19
June 998
ldred left Shiring on the pony Dismas, heading for Combe. There was safety in numbers, and he traveled with Offa the reeve, who was going to Mudeford. Aldred was carrying a letter from Abbott Osmund to Prior Ulfric. The letter was about a routine matter of business having to do with some land that, awkwardly, was jointly owned by the two monasteries. In Aldred’s saddlebag, carefully wrapped in linen, was a precious volume of theDialoguesof Pope Gregory the Great, copied and illuminated in Aldred’s scriptorium, a gift to Combe Priory. Aldred was hoping to receive a reciprocal present, another book that would enlarge the library at Shiring. Books were sometimes bought and sold, though exchange of gifts was more usual. But Aldred’s real reason for going to Combe was neither the letter nor the book. He was investigating Bishop Wynstan.
He wanted to be in Combe immediately after Midsummer Day, at the time when Wynstan and Degbert would visit, if they followed their usual routine. He was determined to find out what the corrupt cousins did there and whether it had any connection with themystery of Dreng’s Ferry. He had been firmly ordered to drop the whole thing, but he was determined to disobey.
The minster at Dreng’s Ferry affected him profoundly. It made him feel stained. It was hard to take pride in being a man of God when others who wore the robes behaved like libertines. Degbert and his crew seemed to cast a shadow over everything Aldred did. Aldred was willing to break his vow of obedience if he could put an end to the minster.
Now that he was on his way, he had misgivings. Just how was he going to find out what Wynstan and Degbert were up to? He could follow them around, but they might notice. Worse, there were houses in Combe that a man of God should not enter. Wynstan and Degbert might go to such places discreetly, or perhaps not care if they were seen, but Aldred would find it impossible to act the part of a habitué, and he would surely be spotted. And then he would be in all kinds of trouble.
His route lay via Dreng’s Ferry, and he decided to ask Edgar’s help.
On arriving at the hamlet he went first to the minster. He walked in with his head high. He had been unwelcome there before, but now he was hated. It was not surprising. He had tried to have the priests ejected and deprived of their life of comfort and idleness, and they would never forget it. Forgiveness and mercy were among the many Christian virtues they lacked. All the same, Aldred insisted that they offer him the hospitality they owed to all clergy. He was not prepared to skulk in the alehouse. He was not the one who should feel ashamed. Degbert and his priests had given such offense by their behavior that the archbishop had agreed to expel them: they should feel unable to hold up their heads. They were still here onlybecause they had some clandestine usefulness to Bishop Wynstan—and that was the secret Aldred was determined to uncover.
He did not want to reveal that he was on his way to Combe and would be there at the same time as Wynstan and Degbert, so he told a white lie and said he was going to Sherborne, which was several days’ journey from Combe.
After a begrudged evening meal and a perfunctory service of collatio, Aldred went in search of Edgar. He found him outside the alehouse, dandling a baby on his knee in the warm evening air. They had not met since their triumph at Outhenham, and Edgar seemed pleased to see Aldred.
But Aldred was startled by the baby. “Yours?” he said.
Edgar smiled and shook his head. “My brother’s. Her name is Wynswith. We call her Winnie. She’s almost three months old. Isn’t she beautiful?”
To Aldred she looked like every other baby: round-faced, bald as a priest, dribbling, charmless. “Yes, she’s beautiful,” he said. That was his second white lie today. He would have to pray for clemency.
“What brings you here?” said Edgar. “It can’t be the pleasure of visiting Degbert.”
“Is there somewhere we can talk without fear of being overheard?”
“I’ll show you my brewhouse,” Edgar said eagerly. “Just a minute.” He stepped inside the alehouse and came out again without the baby.
The brewhouse was close to the river, so that water did not have to be carried too far, and it was on the upstream side. As in all riverside settlements, the villagers dipped their buckets upstream and disposed of waste downstream.
The new building had a roof of oak tiles. “I thought you planned a stone roof,” Aldred said.
“I made a mistake,” Edgar said. “I found I couldn’t cut stone into tiles. They were either too fat or too thin. I had to change my design.” He looked a bit abashed. “In the future I need to remember that not every bright idea I get is practicable.”
Inside, a strong, spicy odor of fermentation came from a big bronze cauldron suspended over a square stone-walled hearth. Barrels and sacks were stacked in a separate room. The stone floor was clean. “It’s a little palace!” said Aldred.
Edgar smiled. “It’s designed to be fireproof. Why did you want to talk privately? I’m eager to know.”
“I’m on my way to Combe.”
Edgar understood immediately. “Wynstan and Degbert will be there in a few days.”
“And I want to see what they get up to. But I have a problem. I can’t follow them around without being noticed, especially if they go into houses of ill fame.”
“What’s the answer?”
“I want you to help me keep an eye on them. You’re less likely to attract attention.”
Edgar grinned. “Is it really a monk who is asking me to visit Mags’s house?”
Aldred grimaced with distaste. “I can hardly believe it myself.”
Edgar turned serious again. “I can go to Combe to buy supplies. Dreng trusts me.”
