“Very well,” said Wigelm reluctantly. Raising his voice, he said to the crowd: “Free timber, but only for Combe townspeople, only for houses, and only until Michaelmas.”

Wilf stood up. “That’s all we can do, for now,” he said. He turned to Wigelm. “Speak to that man Maccus. Find out if he’s willing to take me to Cherbourg, and what he might want by way of payment, and how long the voyage is likely to take, and so on.”

The crowd was muttering discontentedly. They were disappointed. That was the disadvantage of power, Wynstan thought; people expected miracles. Several people surged forward to demand some kind of special treatment. The men-at-arms moved to keep order.

Wynstan stepped away. At the church door he ran into Mags again. She had decided to change her tone, and instead of desperate she was wheedling. “Would you like me to suck your cock around the back of the church?” she said. “You always say I do it better than the young girls.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Wynstan said. A sailor or a fisherman might not care who saw him being sucked off, but a bishop had to be discreet. “Get to the point,” he said. “How much do you need?”

“What do you mean?”

“To replace the girls,” Wynstan said. He had had good times at Mags’s house, and he hoped to do so again. “How much money do you need to borrow from me?”

Mags was practiced at responding quickly to men’s changes of mood, and she adjusted her demeanor again, becoming businesslike. “If they’re young and fresh, slave girls cost about a pound each at Bristol market.”

Wynstan nodded. There was a big slave market at Bristol, several days’ journey from here. He made up his mind quickly, as always. “If I lend you ten pounds today, can you pay me back twenty a year from now?”

Her eyes lit up, but she pretended to be doubtful. “I don’t know whether custom will come back that fast.”

“There will always be visiting sailors. And fresh girls will attract more men. You’re in a profession that never lacks for clients.”

“Give me eighteen months.”

“Pay me twenty-five pounds at Christmas next year.”

Mags looked worried but she said: “All right.”

Wynstan summoned Cnebba, a big man in an iron helmet who was custodian of the bishop’s money. “Give her ten pounds,” he said.

“The chest is in the monastery,” Cnebba said to her. “Come with me.”

“And don’t cheat her,” Wynstan said. “You can fuck her if you like, but give her the full ten pounds.”

Mags said: “God bless you, my lord bishop.”

Wynstan touched her lips with a finger. “You can thank me later, when it gets dark.”

She took his hand and licked his finger lasciviously. “I can’t wait.”

Wynstan stepped away before anyone noticed.

He scanned the crowd. They were disconsolate and resentful, but nothing could be done about that. The boatbuilder’s son met his eye, and Wynstan beckoned him. Edgar came to the church door with a brown-and-white dog at his heel. “Fetch your mother,” Wynstan said. “And your brothers. I may be able to help you.”