The woman’s husband, Cerdic, said: “I used to gather firewood for the priests, and rushes for their floor, and bring them fresh water from the river every day.”

“I have no money to pay you,” Aldred said. “Bishop Wynstan has stolen all the wealth of this church.”

“The bishop was a very generous man,” said Cerdic.

With the proceeds of forgery, Aldred thought; but there was no point in making such accusations to the villagers. Either they believed Wynstan’s story of innocence or they would pretend to believe it: anything else would make them complicit. He had lost that argument in court and he was not going to rerun it for the rest of his life. So he said: “One day the monastery will be prosperous and bring employment and trade to Dreng’s Ferry, but that will require time and patience and hard work, for I have nothing else to offer.”

He left the disgruntled couple and moved on. What he had said to them depressed him. This was not the life he had dreamed of: struggling to make a new monastery viable. He wanted books and pens and ink, not a vegetable garden and a duck pond.

He approached Edgar, who still had the power to brighten his day. Edgar had created a weekly fish market in the hamlet. There were no large villages near Dreng’s Ferry, but there were many small settlements and lonely farms such as Theodberht Clubfoot’s sheepfold. Every Friday a handful of people, mostly women, showed up to buy Edgar’s fish. But Degbert had claimed he was entitled to one fish in three of Edgar’s catch. “You asked me about Degbert’s charter,” Aldred said. “It’s attached to that of the new monastery, since some of the rights are the same.”

“And did Degbert tell the truth about it?” Edgar asked.

Aldred shook his head. “There’s no mention of fish in the charter. He had no right to tax you.”

“I thought as much,” said Edgar. “The lying thief.”

“I’m afraid he is.”

“Everyone wants something for nothing,” Edgar complained. “My brother Erman said I should share the money with him. I made the pond, I make the traps, I empty the traps every morning, and I give my family all the fish they can eat. But they want money, too.”

“Men are greedy.”

“Women, too. My sister-in-law Cwenburg probably told Erman what to say. Never mind. Can I show you something?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me to the graveyard.”

They left the building and walked around to the north side. Edgar said conversationally: “My father taught me that in a well-made boat the joints should never be too tight. A small amount of movement between the timbers absorbs some of the shock of the endless buffeting of wind and waves. But there’s no looseness in a stone building.” Near the place where the little chancel extension joined the tower he pointed up. “See that crack?”

Aldred certainly did see it. Where the tower met the chancel was a gap he could have put his thumb into. “Good Lord,” he said.