“Buildings move, but there’s no looseness between mortared stones, so cracks appear. In some ways they’re useful, because they tell us what’s happening in the structure and forewarn us of problems.”

“Can you fill the crack with mortar?”

“Of course, but that’s not enough. The problem is that the tower is slowly tilting downhill, and leaving the chancel behind. I can fill the gap, but the tower will continue to move, and then the crack will reappear. But that’s the least of your problems.”

“What is the greatest of my problems?”

“The tower will fall down.”

“How soon?”

“I can’t tell.”

Aldred wanted to weep. As if his tribulations were not already as much as a man could bear, now his church was falling down.

Edgar saw the expression on his face, touched his arm lightly, and said: “Don’t despair.”

The touch heartened Aldred. “Christians never despair.”

“Good, because I can stop the tower falling down.”

“How?”

“By building buttresses to support it on the downhill side.”

Aldred shook his head. “I have no money for stone.”

“Well, perhaps I could get some free.”

Aldred brightened. “Could you, really?”

“I don’t know,” said Edgar. “I can try.”

Edgar went to ask Ragna for help. She had always been kind to him. Other people spoke of her as formidable, something of a dragon, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and was determined to get it. But she seemed to have a soft spot for Edgar. However, that did not mean she would give him anything he asked for.

He felt eager to see her, and he asked himself why. Of course he wanted to help Aldred out of the morass of gloom. But Edgar suspected himself of a desire he despised in others, the wish to be friends with aristocrats. He thought of the way Dreng acted around them, fawning on Wilwulf and Wynstan and constantly mentioning that he was related to them. He hoped his keenness to talk to Ragna was not part of a similar, shameful aspiration.

He went by river to Outhenham and spent a night at the home of Seric, the new headman, and his wife and grandchild. Perhaps it was Edgar’s imagination, but the village seemed a calmer, happier place with Seric in charge.

In the morning he left his raft in Seric’s care and walked on to Shiring. If his plan worked he would be able to return to Dreng’s Ferry with a load of stone on the raft.

It was a cold journey. Icy rain turned to sleet. Edgar’s leather shoes became sodden and his feet hurt. If ever I have money, he thought, I’m going to buy a pony.

His thoughts turned to Aldred. He felt sorry for the monk, a man who wanted only to do good. Aldred had been brave to go up against a bishop. Too brave, perhaps: justice might be something to hope for in the next world, not this one.