Page 39 of The Evening and the Morning
Dreng pointed to a thin young woman stirring the pot. Aldrednoticed that she wore an engraved silver disc on a leather thong around her neck. “That’s my wife, Ethel,” said Dreng. The woman glanced at Aldred without speaking. Dreng was surrounded by young women, Aldred thought, all of them appearing unhappy.
He said: “Do you get many travelers passing through this place?” The level of prosperity was surprising for such a little settlement, and the thought crossed his mind that it might be funded by robbery.
“Enough,” Dreng said shortly.
“Not far from here I encountered two men who looked like outlaws.” He watched Dreng’s face and added: “One of them wore an old iron helmet.”
“We call him Ironface,” said Dreng. “He’s a liar and a murderer. He robs travelers on the south side of the river, where the track runs mostly through forest.”
“Why hasn’t someone arrested him?”
“We’ve tried, believe me. Offa, the reeve of Mudeford, has offered two pounds of silver to anyone who can catch Ironface. Obviously he’s got a hideout somewhere in the woods, but we can’t find it. We’ve had the sheriff’s men down here and everything.”
It was plausible enough, Aldred thought, but he remained suspicious. Dreng with his limp could not be Ironface—unless the limp was faked—but he might benefit in some way from the robberies. Perhaps he knew where the hideout was and got paid for his silence.
“His voice is odd,” Aldred said, probing.
“He’s probably Irish or Viking or something. No one knows.” Dreng changed the subject. “You’d better have a flagon of ale, to refresh you after your journey. My wife makes very good ale.”
“Later, perhaps,” Aldred said. He did not spend the monastery’smoney in alehouses if he could help it. He spoke to Ethel. “What’s the secret of making good ale?” he asked.
“Not her,” said Dreng. “My other wife, Leaf, makes the ale. She’s in the brewhouse now.”
The church struggled with this. Most men who could afford it had more than one wife, or a wife and one or more concubines, and slave girls, too. The church did not have jurisdiction over marriage. If two people exchanged vows in front of witnesses, they were married. A priest might offer a blessing, but he was not essential. Nothing was written down unless the couple was wealthy, in which case there might be a contract about any exchange of property.
Aldred’s objection to this was not just moral. When a man like Dreng died there was often a rancorous quarrel over inheritance that turned on which of his children were legitimate. The informality of weddings left room for disputes that could fracture families.
So Dreng’s household was not exceptional. However, it was surprising to find this in a little hamlet adjacent to a minster. “The clergy at the church would be troubled if they knew about your domestic arrangements,” he said severely.
Dreng laughed. “Would they?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Well, you’re wrong. They know all about it. The dean, Degbert, is my brother.”
“That should make no difference!”
“That’s what you think.”
Aldred was too angry to continue the discussion. He found Dreng loathsome. To avoid losing his temper he went outside. He headed along the riverbank, trying to walk off his mood.
Where the cultivated land came to an end there was a farmhouseand barn, both old and much repaired. Aldred saw a group sitting outside the house: three young men and an older woman—a family with no father, he guessed. He hesitated to approach them for fear that all the residents of Dreng’s Ferry might be like Dreng. He was about to turn and walk back when one of them gave a cheery wave.
If they waved to strangers, perhaps they were all right.
Aldred walked up a slope to the house. The family evidently had no furniture, for they were sitting on the ground to eat their evening meal. The three boys were not tall, but broad-shouldered and deep-chested. The mother was a tired woman with a resolute look. The faces of all four were lean, as if they did not eat much. A brown-and-white dog sat with them; it, too, was thin.
The woman spoke first. “Sit with us and rest your legs, if you’re so inclined,” she said. “I am Mildred.” She pointed out the boys, eldest to youngest. “My sons are Erman, Eadbald, and Edgar. Our supper isn’t fancy, but you’re welcome to share it.”
Their meal certainly was not fancy. They had a loaf of bread and a large pot containing lightly boiled forest vegetables, probably lettuce, onions, parsley, and wild garlic. No meat was visible. It was no wonder they did not get fat. Aldred was hungry, but he could not take food from people who were so desperately poor. He refused politely. “It smells tempting, but I’m not hungry, and monks must avoid the sin of gluttony. However, I will sit with you, and thank you for your welcome.”
He sat on the ground, something monks did not often do, despite their vows. There was poverty, Aldred thought, and then there was real poverty.
Making conversation, he said: “The grass looks almost ready to reap. You’ll have a good harvest of hay in a few days’ time.”
Mildred answered. “I wasn’t sure we’d be able to make hay, because the riverside land is almost too marshy, but it dried up in the hot weather. I hope it does the same every year.”
“Are you new here, then?” Aldred asked.
