Another monk spoke up. “Alphage of Winchester,” he said.

The man was familiar. Wynstan looked more closely. He had seen that round face and brown beard before. “We know each other, don’t we, brother?” he said warily.

Degbert interrupted. “Brother Wigferth visits Shiring regularly. Canterbury owns property in the West Country, and he comes to collect rents.”

“Yes, of course, Brother Wigferth, it’s good to see you again.” Wynstan remembered that Wigferth was a friend of Prior Aldred’s, and resolved to be cautious. “Why do people assume that Alphage will succeed to the archbishopric?”

“Elfric is a monk, and so is Alphage,” Wigferth replied. “And Winchester is our senior cathedral after Canterbury and York.”

“Very logical,” said Wynstan, “although perhaps not decisive.”

Wigferth persisted. “And Alphage ordered the building of the famous church organ at Winchester. They say you can hear it a mile away!”

Wigferth was clearly an admirer of Alphage’s, Wynstan thought—or perhaps he was simply against Wynstan, being a friend of Aldred’s.

Wynstan said: “According to the Rule of Saint Benedict, the monks have the right to elect their abbot, don’t they?”

“Yes, but Canterbury doesn’t have an abbot,” Wigferth said. “We’re led by the archbishop.”

“Or, to put it another way, the archbishop is the abbot.” Wynstan knew that the monks’ privileges were not clear. The king claimed the right to appoint the archbishop, and so did the pope. As always, the rules did not matter as much as the men. There would be a struggle, and the strongest and smartest would win.

Wynstan went on: “In any case, it will take a great man to live up to the example set by Elfric. From all I hear, he has ruled wisely and fairly.” He left the hint of a question at the end of his sentence.

Eappa took the bait. “Elfric has strict ideas about bedding,” he said, and the others laughed.

“How so?”

“He thinks a monk should be denied the luxury of a mattress.”

“Ah.” Monks often slept on boards, sometimes without any kind of cushion. The bony Eappa must have found that uncomfortable. “I’ve always believed that monks need their sleep, so that they can be fully alert when they perform their devotions,” said Wynstan, and the monks nodded eagerly.

A monk called Forthred, who had medical knowledge, disagreed. “Men can sleep perfectly well on boards,” he said. “Self-denial is our watchword.”

Wynstan said: “You’re right, brother, though there is a balance to be struck, is there not? Monks should not eat meat every day, of course, but beef once a week helps to build up their strength. Monks should not indulge themselves by having pets, but sometimes a cat is needed to keep down the mice.”

The monks murmured their approval.

Wynstan had done enough for one day to establish himself as a lenient leader. Any more and they might begin to suspect that he was merely currying favor—which was the truth. He turned back into the church.

“We need to do something about Wigferth,” he murmured to Degbert as soon as they were out of earshot. “He might become the leader of an anti-Wynstan faction.”