Page 205 of The Evening and the Morning
Leo said: “Perhaps you’re right, Theodric, but let’s ask the abbot himself, shall we?”
Theodric shrugged. “If you insist.”
They left the church and headed for the abbot’s house. One ally and one enemy, Aldred thought. Now it’s up to Abbot Elfweard.
As they walked, Leo said: “What’s Edgar like, Aldred?”
“A wonderful friend to the priory. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve mentioned his name three times.”
Aldred gave Leo a sharp look. “I’m fond of him, as you’ve cleverly guessed. He in turn is devoted to the lady Ragna.” Aldred was telling Leo, without saying it explicitly, that Edgar was not his lover.
Leo got the message. “All right, I understand.”
Abbot Elfweard lived in a great hall. It had two doors in its side, suggesting two separate rooms, and Aldred guessed the abbot slept in one and held meetings in the other. It was a luxury to sleep alone, but the abbot of Glastonbury was a great magnate.
Leo led them into what was clearly the meeting room. Because there was no fire here, the air was pleasantly fresh. On one wall hung a large tapestry of the Annunciation, with the Virgin Mary in a blue dress edged with costly gold thread. A young man who was apparently the abbot’s assistant said: “I’ll tell him you’re here.” A minute later Elfweard entered the room.
He had been abbot for a quarter of a century, and he was now an old man, walking with a cane held in a shaky hand. His expression was stern, but his eyes were bright with intelligence.
Leo introduced Aldred. “I remember you,” said Elfweard severely. “You were guilty of the sin of Sodom. I had to send you away, to separate you from your partner in iniquity.”
That was a bad start. Aldred said: “You told me that life is hard, and being a good monk makes it harder.”
“I’m glad you remember.”
“I’ve spent twenty years remembering, my lord abbot.”
“You’ve done well since you left us,” Elfweard said, softening. “I’ll give you credit for that.”
“Thank you.”
“Not that you’ve kept out of trouble.”
“But it was good trouble.”
“Perhaps.” Elfweard did not smile. “What brings you here today?”
Aldred told his story for the third time.
When he had finished, Elfweard turned to Theodric. “What does our sacrist say?”
Theodric said: “I can’t imagine that a saint would thank us for sending his remains to a tiny priory in the back of beyond.”
Leofric weighed in on Aldred’s side. “On the other hand, a saint who receives little attention here might be glad to work miracles somewhere else.”
Aldred watched Elfweard, but the abbot’s face was unreadable.
Aldred said: “I recollect, from my time here, that many treasures were never brought into the main body of the church, never shown to the monks, let alone the congregation.”
Theodric said disparagingly: “A few bones, some bloodstained clothing, a lock of hair. Precious, yes, but unimpressive when compared to a complete skeleton.”
Theodric’s scornful tone was a mistake. “Exactly!” said Aldred, seizing the advantage. “Unimpressive here at Glastonbury, as Brother Theodric says—but at Dreng’s Ferry such things would work miracles!”
Elfweard looked inquiringly at Theodric.
Theodric said: “I didn’t say ‘unimpressive,’ I feel sure.”
