As the congregation was leaving the little church, Ithamar approached Edgar, who was with his family: Erman, Eadbald, Cwenburg, and six-month-old baby Winnie. Ithamar did not bother with polite small talk. He said bluntly to Edgar: “You’re a friend of Brother Aldred from Shiring Abbey.”

Was this the real reason for Ithamar’s trip? Edgar felt a shiver of fear. He said: “I don’t know why you would say that.”

Erman put in stupidly: “Because you are, idiot.”

Edgar wanted to punch him in the face. He said: “No one’s speaking to you, Erman, so keep your fool mouth shut.” He turned back to the clerk. “I know the monk, certainly.”

“You bathed his wound after he was burned.”

“As anyone would. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been seen with Aldred here in Dreng’s Ferry, at Shiring, and at Combe; and I myself saw you with him at Outhenham.”

Ithamar was saying that Edgar knew Aldred, that was all. Ithamar did not seem to know that he had actually been Aldred’s spy. So what was this about? He decided to ask outright. “What point are you making, Ithamar?”

“Are you going to be one of Aldred’s oath helpers?”

So that was it. Ithamar’s mission was to find out who Aldred’s oath helpers were going to be. Edgar felt relieved. It could have been a lot worse.

He said: “I haven’t been asked to be an oath helper.”

This was true, but not completely honest. Edgar fully expected to be asked. When an oath helper had personal knowledge of the facts in the case, it added weight to his vow. And Edgar had been in the workshop and seen the metals, the dies, and the freshly minted coins, so his oath would be helpful to Aldred—and damaging to Wynstan.

Ithamar knew this. “You will be asked, almost certainly,” he said. His rather childish face twisted with malice. “And when that happens, I recommend you refuse.”

Erman spoke again. “He’s right, Edgar,” he said. “People like us should stay out of priests’ quarrels.”

“Your brother is wise,” said Ithamar.

Edgar said: “Thank you both for your advice, but the fact remains that I haven’t been summoned to appear at the trial of Bishop Wynstan.”

Ithamar was not satisfied. “Remember,” he said, wagging a finger, “that Dean Degbert is your landlord.”

Edgar was taken aback. He had not been expecting threats. “What do you mean by that”—he moved closer to Ithamar—“exactly?”

Ithamar looked intimidated and took a step back, but he put on a belligerent face and said defiantly: “We need our tenants to support the Church, not undermine it.”

“I would never undermine the Church. For example, I would not forge counterfeit coins in a minster.”

“Don’t get clever with me. I’m telling you that if you offend your landlord, he will evict you from your farm.”

Erman said: “Jesus save us. We can’t lose the farm. We’re only just getting straight. Edgar, listen to the man. Don’t be a fool.”

Edgar stared at Ithamar with incredulity. “We’re in a church, and you’ve just attended Mass,” he said. “Angels and saints surround us, invisible but real. They all know what you’re doing. You’re trying to prevent the truth being told, and you’re protecting a wicked man from the consequences of his crimes. What do you imagine the angels are whispering to one another now, as they watch you committing these sins, with the wine of the sacrament still on your lips?”