“In my house.”

“Fetch it now, and bring it to me.”

Frigyth got to her feet.

“Quickly, run!”

She ran through the crowd and entered a nearby house.

Abbe said: “I thought I’d lost it.”

Aldred prayed again. “O holy saint, we thank you for touching the sinner’s heart and making her confess!”

Frigyth reappeared with a shiny knife having an elaborately carved bone handle. She passed it to Aldred. He called Abbe, and she stepped forward. She wore a faintly skeptical look: she was older than Frigyth, and perhaps not so ready to believe in miracles.

Aldred said: “Do you forgive your neighbor?”

“Yes,” said Abbe without enthusiasm.

“Then give her the kiss of mercy.”

Abbe kissed Frigyth’s cheek.

Aldred handed Abbe the knife then said: “All kneel!”

He began a prayer in Latin. This was the cue for the monks to go around with begging bowls. “A gift for the saint, please,” they said quietly to the villagers, who could not easily move away because they were on their knees. A few shook their heads and said: “No money, sorry.” Most fished in their belt purses and came up with farthings and halfpennies. Two men went to their houses and returned with silver. The alehouse keeper gave a penny.

The monks thanked each donor, saying: “Saint Adolphus gives you his blessing.”

Aldred’s spirits were high. The villagers had been awestruck. A woman had confessed a theft. Most people had given money. The event had achieved what he wanted, despite Wynstan’s attempt to undermine it. And if it worked in Trench it would work elsewhere. Perhaps the priory would survive after all.

Aldred’s plan had been that the monks would spend the night in the church, guarding the relics, but that had to be abandoned now. He made a quick decision. “We’ll leave the village in procession and find somewhere else to spend the night,” he said to Godleof.

Aldred had one more message for the villagers. “You may see the saint again,” he said. “Come to the church at Dreng’s Ferry on Whitsunday, the feast of Pentecost. Bring the sick and the troubled and the bereaved.” He thought of telling them to spread the word, then realized that was unnecessary: everyone would be telling the story of today for months to come. “I look forward to welcoming you all.”

The monks returned with their bowls. Edgar lowered the effigy slowly, then covered it with cloths. Godleof returned the ox to the shafts.

The beast lumbered into action. The monks began to sing, and slowly they left the village.

On Whitsunday Aldred led the monks to the church for the predawn service of Matins, as always. It was a cloudless May morning in the season of hope, when the world was full of promising green shoots, plump piglets, young deer, and fast-growing calves. Aldred’s hope was that the tour he had made with Saint Adolphus would achieve its object of attracting pilgrims to Dreng’s Ferry.