Edgar drank his ale slowly. Wynstan did nothing remarkable. He drank and laughed, ordered a plate of shrimp, and put his hand up the skirt of a serving wench. He was making no serious attempt to keep his revelry secret, though he was taking care not to be ostentatious.

The daylight was fading, and no doubt Wynstan was getting drunker. When the three left the alehouse Edgar followed them out, feeling that the chances of his being noticed were diminishing. Nevertheless he maintained a discreet distance as he tailed them.

It occurred to him that if they spotted him they might pretend not to have, then ambush him. If that happened they would beat him half to death. He would not be able to defend himself against three of them. He tried not to feel scared.

They went to Mags’s house, and Edgar followed them in.

Mags had rebuilt the place and furnished it in a style as luxurious as that of any palace. There were tapestries on the walls, mattresses on the floor, and cushions on the seats. Two couples were shagging under blankets, and there were screens to hide those whose sexual practices were too embarrassing or too wicked to be seen. There seemed to be eight or ten girls and a couple of boys, some speaking with foreign accents, and Edgar guessed that most of them were slaves, bought by Mags at the market in Bristol.

Wynstan immediately became the center of attention, as the highest-ranking customer in the place. Mags herself brought him a cup of wine, kissed him on the lips, then stood beside him, pointing out the attractions of different girls: this one had big breasts, that one was expert at sucking off, and another had shaved all her body hair.

For a few minutes no one took any notice of Edgar, but eventually a pretty Irish girl showed him her pink breasts and asked him what would be his pleasure, and he muttered that he had come into the wrong house, and left quickly.

Wynstan was doing things a bishop ought not to do, and making only perfunctory attempts to be discreet, but again Edgar could not figure out what the great mystery might be.

It was full dark by the time the three merrymakers staggered out of Mags’s house, but their evening was not over yet. Edgar followed them with little fear now of being spotted. They went to a house near the beach that Edgar recognized as belonging to the wool trader Cynred, probably the richest man in Combe after Wigelm. The door was open to the evening air, and they went inside.

Edgar could not follow them into a private house. Looking through the open door he saw them settle around a table, chatting in a relaxed and amiable manner. Wynstan took out his purse.

Edgar concealed himself in a dark alley opposite.

Soon a well-dressed middle-aged man he did not recognize approached the house. Apparently not sure he was in the right place, the man put his head round the door. In the light from inside, Edgar saw that his clothes looked costly and possibly foreign. He asked a question Edgar did not hear. “Come in, come in!” someone shouted, and the man went in.