And that was the puzzling thing, Aldred thought. Wynstan had not been forced into anything. Dreng’s Ferry seemed unimportant. Aldred had felt sure it was not worth fighting about. But that had been a mistake: Wynstan was ready to go to war.

Why? The minster paid Wynstan some of its earnings, though that could not be much. It gave Degbert a job, but not a very prestigious one. Degbert was not even a close relative, and anyway Wynstan could easily find him another post.

So what was so important about Dreng’s Ferry?

Wynstan was still raving. “This struggle will go on for years—unless you do the sensible thing today, Osmund, and back down.”

“What do you mean?”

“Write a reply to Elfric.” Wynstan’s tone become almost a parody of reasonableness. “Say that, in a Christian spirit, you do not wish to quarrel with your brother in Christ the bishop of Shiring, who has sincerely promised to put matters right at Dreng’s Ferry.”

Wynstan had made no such promise, Aldred noted.

Wynstan went on: “Explain that Elfric’s decision threatens to cause a scandal in the shire, and you do not think the little minster merits such upheaval.”

Osmund hesitated.

Aldred said indignantly: “God’s work always merits upheaval. Our Lord did not hesitate to cause a scandal when he threw the money changers out of the temple. The Gospel—”

This time it was Osmund who shut him up. “Leave this to your elders,” he snapped.

Wynstan said: “Yes, Aldred, keep your mouth shut. You’ve done enough damage.”

Aldred bowed his head, but inside he was boiling. Osmund had no need to back down—he had the archbishop on his side!

Osmund said to Wynstan: “I will consider your complaint prayerfully.”

That was not enough for Wynstan. “I’m going to write to Elfric today,” he said. “I shall tell him that his suggestion—his suggestion—is not welcome; that you and I have discussed the matter; and that I believe you agree with me, on mature reflection, that the minster should not become a monastery at this moment in time.”

“I’ve told you,” Osmund said peevishly. “I shall think about it.”

Wynstan ignored that, sensing that Osmund was weakening. “Brother Wigferth can take my letter with him.” He stared at the rows of monks, not knowing which one was Wigferth. “And by the way, if by any chance my letter should fail to reach the archbishop, I will personally take off Wigferth’s balls with a rusty knife.”

The monks were shocked to hear such violent language.

Osmund said: “Leave our church now, bishop, before you further besmear the House of God.”

“Write your letter, Osmund,” said Wynstan. “Tell Archbishop Elfric that you’ve changed your mind. Otherwise you’ll hear worse.” With that Wynstan turned and strode out of the church.

He thinks he’s won, Aldred said to himself.

And I think so, too.

CHAPTER 14

November 1, 997

agna married Wilf on All Saints’ Day, the first of November, a day of alternating sunshine and showers of rain.