The Evening and the Morning

by Ken Follett

  Sigefryth was offended. “Why would they speak to you?” he said. “Did you pretend to be our representative? You’re just a rent collector!”

  “Indeed I am,” said Wigferth. “But if people speak to me, I’m obliged to listen. It’s only good manners.”

  Wynstan had a bad feeling. “Never mind about that,” he said, impatient with this quarrel about mere etiquette. “What were they saying, Brother . . . Brother . . . ?” He could not think of the name of the monk who had gone to Winchester.

  “You know me well, bishop. My name is Wigferth.”

  “Of course, of course, what did they say?”

  Wigferth looked scared but determined. “People are saying that Bishop Wynstan is unfit to be archbishop of Canterbury.”

  Was that all? “It’s not up to people!” Wynstan said scornfully. “It’s the pope who awards the podium.”

  Wigferth said: “You mean the pallium.”

  Wynstan realized he had misspoken. The pallium was an embroidered sash given by the pope to new archbishops as a symbol of his approval. Embarrassed, Wynstan denied his error. “That’s what I said, the pallium.”

  Sigefryth said: “Brother Wigferth, did they say why they object to Bishop Wynstan?”

  “Yes.”

  The room went quiet, and Wynstan’s unease deepened. He did not know what was coming, and ignorance was dangerous.

  Wigferth seemed glad to have been asked that question. He looked around the chapter house and raised his voice to make sure everyone heard. “Bishop Wynstan has a disease called Whore’s Leprosy.”

  Pandemonium broke out. Everybody spoke at once. Wynstan jumped to his feet yelling: “It’s a lie! It’s a lie!”

  Sigefryth stood in the middle of the room saying: “Quiet, please, everyone, quiet, please,” until the others got tired of shouting. Then he said: “Bishop Wynstan, what do you say to this?”

  Wynstan knew he should stay calm but he was unnerved. “I say that Brother Wigferth has a wife and child in the west of England village of Trench, and that as a fornicating monk he has no credibility.”

  Wigferth said coolly: “Even if the accusation were true it would have no bearing on the question of the bishop’s health.”

  Wynstan realized immediately that he had taken the wrong tack. What he had said sounded like a tit-for-tat accusation, something he might have made up on the spot. He seemed to be losing his touch. He thought: what’s the matter with me?

  He sat down, to look less bothered, and said: “How would those people know anything about my health?”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized he had made another mistake. In an argument it was never good to ask a question: that simply gave the opponent an opening.

  Wigferth seized his chance. “Bishop Wynstan, your mistress, Agnes of Shiring, died of Whore’s Leprosy.”

  Wynstan was silenced. Agnes had never been his mistress, just an occasional indulgence. He knew she was dead—the news had reached him in a letter from Deacon Ithamar. But the deacon had not specified what had killed her, and Wynstan had not been interested enough to ask.

  Wigferth went on: “One of the symptoms is mental confusion: forgetting people’s names and mixing up words. Saying podium for pallium, for example. The sufferer’s mental state gets worse and eventually he goes mad.”

  Wynstan found his voice. “Am I to be condemned for nothing more than a sip of the tongue?”

  The monks burst out laughing, and Wynstan realized he had made another mistake: he had intended to say a slip of the tongue. He was humiliated and enraged. “I’m not going mad!” he roared.

  Wigferth had not finished. “The infallible sign of the disease is a large red lump on the face or neck.”

  Wynstan’s hand flew to his throat, covering the carbuncle; and a second later he realized he had given himself away.

  Wigferth said: “Don’t try to hide it, bishop.”

  “It’s just a boil,” Wynstan said. Reluctantly he moved his hand away.

  Forthred said: “Let me see.” He approached Wynstan. Wynstan was obliged to let him: anything else would have been an admission. He sat still while Forthred examined the lump.

  Finally Forthred straightened up. “I have seen sores like this before,” he said. “On the faces of some of the most wretched and unfortunate sinners in this city. I’m sorry, my lord bishop, but what Wigferth says is true. You have Whore’s Leprosy.”

  Wynstan stood up. “I’m going to find out who started this filthy lie!” he yelled, and he had the small consolation of seeing fear on the faces of the monks. He walked to the door. “And when I find him—I will kill him! I will kill him!”

  * * *

  Wynstan fumed throughout the long journey back to Shiring. He abused Degbert, yelled at tavern keepers, slapped maids, and whipped his horse mercilessly. The fact that he kept forgetting the simplest things made him even more angry.

  When he got home he grabbed Ithamar by the front of his tunic, slammed him up against the wall, and yelled: “Someone has been going around saying I’ve got Whore’s Leprosy—who is it?”

  Ithamar’s childish face was white with terror. He managed to stutter: “No one, I swear it.”

  “Someone told Wigferth of Canterbury.”

  “He probably made it up.”

  “What did that woman die of? The reeve’s wife—what was her name?”

  “Agnes? The palsy.”

  “What kind of palsy, fool?”

  “I don’t know! She fell ill, then she got a huge pustule on her face, then she went mad and died! How should I know what kind?”

  “Who attended her?”

  “Hildi.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “The midwife.”

  Wynstan let go of Ithamar. “Bring the midwife to me, now.”

  Ithamar hurried off, and Wynstan took off his traveling clothes and washed his hands and face. This was the greatest crisis of his life. If everyone came to believe that he had a debilitating disease then power and wealth would slip away from him. He had to kill the rumors, and the first step was to punish whoever had started them.

  Ithamar returned in a few minutes with a small, gray-haired woman. Wynstan could not figure out who she was or why Ithamar had brought her.

  Ithamar said: “Hildi, the midwife who attended Agnes when she was dying.”

  “Of course, of course,” Wynstan said. “I know who she is.” Now he recalled that he had got to know her when he took her to the hunting lodge to check on Ragna’s pregnancy. She was prim but she possessed a calm confidence. She looked nervous, but not as frightened as most people were on being summoned by Wynstan. Bluster and bullying would not work with this woman, he guessed.

  He put on a sad face and said: “I am in mourning for beloved Agnes.”

  “Nothing could be done to save her,” said Hildi. “We prayed for her, but our prayers were not answered.”

  “Tell me how she died,” he said lugubriously. “The truth, please, I don’t want comfortable illusions.”

  “Very well, my lord bishop. At first she was tired and suffered headaches. Then she became confused. She developed a large lump on her face. Finally she lost her mind. At the end she caught a fever and died.”

  The list was horrifying. Most of the same symptoms had been mentioned by Wigferth.

  Wynstan suppressed the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. “Did anyone visit Agnes during her illness?”

  “No, my lord bishop. They were frightened of catching the disease.”

  “Who did you talk to about her symptoms?”

  “No one, my lord bishop.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  Wynstan suspected that she was lying. He decided to spring a surprise. “Did she have Whore’s Leprosy?” He saw just a flicker of fear in
Hildi’s expression.

  “There is no such disease, my lord bishop, to the best of my knowledge.”

  She had recovered quickly, but he had seen the reaction, and now he was sure she was lying. But he decided not to say so. “Thank you for consoling me in my grief,” he said. “You may go now.”

  Hildi seemed very self-possessed, he thought as she went out. “She doesn’t seem the type of woman to spread scandalous gossip,” he said to Ithamar.

  “No.”

  “But she told someone.”

  “She’s friendly with the lady Ragna.”

  Wynstan shook his head doubtfully. “Ragna and Agnes hated each other. Ragna sentenced Agnes’s husband to death, then Agnes took revenge by warning me of Ragna’s attempt to escape.”

  “Could there have been a deathbed reconciliation?”

  Wynstan considered that. “It’s possible,” he said. “Who would know?”

  “Her French maid, Cat.”

  “Is Ragna here in Shiring right now?”

  “No, she went to Outhenham.”

  “Then I shall go and see Cat.”

  “She won’t tell you anything.”

  Wynstan smiled. “Don’t you be so sure.”

  He left his residence and walked up the hill to the ealdorman’s compound. He felt energized. For the moment his mind was clear of the confusion that sometimes afflicted him nowadays. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that there was a link from Agnes through Hildi and Ragna to Wigferth of Canterbury.

  Wigelm was still away from home, and the compound was quiet. Wynstan went straight to Ragna’s house and found the three maids taking care of the children.

  “Good day to you,” he said. The prettiest of the three was the important one, he knew, but he could not remember her name.

  She looked at him with fear. “What do you want?” she said.

  Her French accent reminded him who she was. “You’re Cat,” he said.

  “The lady Ragna isn’t here.”

  “That’s a shame, because I came to thank her.”

  Cat looked slightly less fearful. “Thank her?” she said skeptically. “What did she do for you?”

  “She visited my dear Agnes on her deathbed.”

  Wynstan waited for Cat’s reaction. She might say But my lady never visited her, in which case Wynstan would have to wonder whether she was telling the truth or not. But Cat said nothing.

  Wynstan said: “It was kind of her.”

  Another silence followed, then Cat said: “More kind than Agnes deserved.”

  There it was. Wynstan worked hard not to smile. His guess had been accurate. Ragna had gone to see Agnes. She must have observed the symptoms, which would then have been explained to her by Hildi. It was the French bitch who was behind the rumors.

  But he continued the pretence. “I am most grateful to her, especially as I myself was far away and unable to give dear Agnes comfort. Will you please tell your mistress what I said?”

  “I certainly will,” said Cat in a bemused tone.

  “Thank you,” said Wynstan. Nothing wrong with me, he thought; I’m as sharp as ever.

  Then he left.

  * * *

  Wigelm returned a week later and Wynstan went to see him the following morning.

  In the compound he saw Alain running around with Ragna’s other three sons, all of them clearly overjoyed to be together again. A moment later, Meganthryth came out of Wigelm’s house and called Alain to come for his dinner. The boy said: “I don’t want to.”

  She repeated the summons, and he ran away.

  She was obliged to run after him. He was not yet three, and could not outrun a healthy adult, so she soon caught him and picked him up. He threw a tantrum, yelling and wriggling and trying to hit her with his little fists. “I want mudder!” he screamed. Embarrassed and annoyed, Meganthryth carried him into Wigelm’s house.

  Wynstan followed.

  Wigelm was sharpening a long-bladed dagger on a whetstone. He looked up with irritation at the screaming child. “What is the matter with that boy?” he said angrily.

  Meganthryth replied with equally ill temper: “I don’t know, he’s not my son.”

  “This is Ragna’s fault. By God, I wish I’d never married her. Hello, Wynstan. You priests are wise to remain single.”

  Wynstan sat down. “I’ve been thinking that it may be time to get rid of Ragna,” he said.

  Wigelm looked eager. “Can we?”

  “Three years ago we needed her to join our family. It was a way of neutralizing any opposition to your becoming ealdorman. But you’re established now. Everyone has accepted you, even the king.”

  “And Ethelred still needs me,” Wigelm said. “The Vikings are back in force, raiding all along the south coast of England. There will be more battles this summer.”

  Meganthryth sat Alain at the table and put buttered bread in front of him, and he quieted down and started to eat.

  “So we no longer need Ragna,” said Wynstan. “In addition, she has become a nuisance. Alain won’t forget her while she’s still living in this compound. And she is a spy in our camp. I believe she’s the one spreading rumors that I’ve got Whore’s Leprosy.”

  Wigelm lowered his voice. “Can we kill her?”

  He had never learned subtlety.

  “It would cause trouble,” Wynstan said. “Why don’t you just set her aside?”

  “Divorce?”

  “Yes. It’s easily done.”

  “King Ethelred won’t like it.”

  Wynstan shrugged. “What can he do? We’ve been defying him for years. All he does is impose fines that we don’t pay.”

  “I’d be glad to see the back of her.”

  “Then do it. And order her to leave Shiring.”

  “I could marry again.”

  “Not yet. Give the king time to get used to the divorce.”

  Meganthryth overheard this and said to Wigelm: “Will we be able to get married?”

  “We’ll see,” Wigelm prevaricated.

  Wynstan said to her: “Wigelm needs more sons, and you seem to be barren.”

  It was a cruel remark, and tears came to her eyes. “I might not be. And if I become the ealdorman’s wife you’ll have to treat me with respect.”

  “All right,” said Wynstan. “As soon as cows lay eggs.”

  * * *

  Ragna was free at last.

  She was sad, too. She would not have Alain, and she would not have Edgar. But she would not have Wigelm or Wynstan either.

  She had been under their domination for almost nine years, and now she realized how repressed she had felt for almost all that time. In theory English women had more rights than Norman women—control over their own property being the major one—but in practice it had proved difficult to enforce the law.

  She had told Wigelm that she would continue to rule the Vale of Outhen. She planned to stay in England at least until Aldred’s messengers returned from Normandy. When she knew what Edgar’s plans were she could make her own.

  She would write to her father, telling him what had happened, and entrust the letter to the couriers who brought her money four times a year. Count Hubert was going to be angry, she felt sure, though she did not know what he would do about it.

  Her maids packed. Cat, Gilda, and Winnie all wanted to go with Ragna.

  She asked Den to lend her a couple of bodyguards for the journey. As soon as she was settled she would hire her own.

  She was not allowed to say good-bye to Alain.

  They loaded the horses and left early in the morning, with little fuss. Many of the women in the compound came out of their houses to say quiet good-byes. Everyone felt that Wigelm’s behavior had been shameful.

  They rode out of the compound and took the road to
King’s Bridge.

  CHAPTER 40

  Summer 1006

  agna moved into Edgar’s house.

  It was Aldred’s idea. She asked him, as landlord, where she might set up home in King’s Bridge, and he told her he had been keeping the house empty in the hope that Edgar would return. Neither of them doubted that Edgar would want to live with Ragna—if he came home.

  The place was the same size and shape as most houses, just better built. The edge-to-edge upright planks were sealed with wool soaked in tar, as in the hull of a ship, so that rain could not enter even in the stormiest weather. There was a second door, at one end of the building, leading out into an animal pen. There were smoke holes in the gable ends that made the air in the room more pleasant.

  Edgar’s spirit was here, Ragna felt, in the combination of meticulousness and invention with which the house had been built.

  She had been here once before. That was the occasion on which he showed her the box he had made for the book she had given him. She remembered the neat rack of tools, the wine barrel and the cheese safe, and Brindle wagging her tail—all gone now. She also remembered how he had held her hands while she wept.

  She wondered where he was living now.

  As she settled in, she hoped every morning that this would be the day the messengers returned with news of him, but no word came. Normandy was a big region, and Edgar might not even be there: he could have moved on to Paris or even Rome. The messengers might well have got lost. They could have been robbed and murdered. They might even have liked France better than England and decided not to come home.

  Even if they found Edgar he might not want to return. He could be married. By now he could have a child learning to talk in Norman French. She knew she should not get her hopes up.

  However, she was not going to live like a poor rejected woman. She was wealthy and powerful and she would show it. She hired a dressmaker, a cook, and three bodyguards. She bought three horses and employed a groom. She began to build stables and storehouses and a second house on the neighboring plot for all her extra servants. She made a trip to Combe and bought tableware, cooking equipment, and wall hangings. While there she commissioned a boatbuilder to make her a barge to take her from King’s Bridge to Outhenham. She also ordered a great hall to be built for herself at Outhenham.