“Good!” said Aldred, though he also felt a shiver of trepidation.

Elfric was the archbishop of Canterbury, the leader of the Christian Church in the southern half of England. He had formerly been the bishop of Ramsbury, not far from Shiring, and Osmund knew him well.

Osmund picked up a sheet of parchment from the table and read aloud. “Thank you for your report on the distressing situation at Dreng’s Ferry.”

Aldred had written that report, though Osmund had signed it. Aldred had detailed the crumbling church, the perfunctory services, and the luxurious home of the married priests. Aldred had also written privately to Wigferth about Dreng, whose two wives and slave prostitute were condoned by his brother, Dean Degbert.

It was this letter that was going to infuriate Bishop Wynstan when he heard about it, for Wynstan had appointed Degbert, who was his cousin. That was why Osmund had decided to complain directly to Archbishop Elfric: there was no point in talking to Wynstan.

Osmund read on: “You say the problem can best be remedied by dismissing Degbert and his clergy and replacing them with monks.”

This, too, had been Aldred’s suggestion, but it was not an original idea. Elfric himself had done something similar when he arrived at Canterbury, expelling indolent priests and bringing in disciplined monks. Aldred had high hopes that Elfric would agree to do the same at Dreng’s Ferry.

“I agree with your proposal,” Osmund read.

“Excellent news!” Aldred said.

“The new monastery will be a cell of Shiring Abbey, with a prior under the authority of the abbot of Shiring.”

That had also been suggested by Aldred. He was pleased. The minster at Dreng’s Ferry was an abomination and now it had been condemned.

“Brother Wigferth also carries a letter to our brother in Christ Wynstan, telling him of my decision, as Dreng’s Ferry comes within his bishopric.”

Aldred said: “Wynstan’s reaction is going to be interesting.”

Hildred said: “He will be displeased.”

“To say the least.”

“But Elfric is the archbishop, and Wynstan must bow to his authority.” For Hildred, a rule was a rule, and that was the end of the matter.

Aldred said: “Wynstan thinks everyone should follow the rules—except himself.”

“True, but he also has a keen sense of church politics,” said Osmund comfortably. “I can’t imagine he’ll pick a quarrel with his archbishop over a hole in the wall like Dreng’s Ferry. If there were more at stake it might be a different matter.”

Aldred hoped he was right.

He said to Wigferth: “I’ll walk you over to the bishop’s palace.”

They went down the outside staircase. “Thank you for this news!” said Aldred as they crossed the square that formed the center of the town. “That dreadful minster made me angry.”

“The archbishop felt the same way when he heard about it.”

They passed Shiring Cathedral, a typical large English church with small windows set high in its thick walls. Next to it was Bishop Wynstan’s residence: this and the monastery were the only two-story edifices in Shiring. Aldred knocked at the door and a young clergyman appeared. Aldred said: “This is Brother Wigferth, come from Canterbury with a letter from Archbishop Elfric to Bishop Wynstan.”