“He has a wife and three children in Trench,” Degbert said. “The peasants there don’t know he’s a monk, they think he’s a regular priest. If we revealed his secret here in Canterbury that would undermine him.”

Wynstan reflected for a moment then shook his head. “Ideally Wigferth should be absent from Canterbury when the monks make their decision. I’ll have to think about that. Meanwhile, we should talk to the treasurer.”

Treasurer Sigefryth was the most senior monk under the archbishop, and Wynstan needed to get him on his side.

“He has the timber house just outside the west end of the church,” Degbert said.

They walked down the nave and passed through the great west doorway. Wynstan pulled his hood over his head to keep the rain off. They hurried across the muddy ground to the nearest building.

The treasurer was a small man with a large bald head. He greeted Wynstan warily but without fear. Wynstan said: “There’s no change in the condition of our beloved archbishop.”

Sigefryth said: “Perhaps we may be blessed with his presence a little longer.”

“Not much, sadly,” Wynstan said. “I think the monks here are thankful to God that you are here, Sigefryth, to watch over the affairs of Canterbury.”

Sigefryth acknowledged the compliment with a nod.

Wynstan smiled and spoke in a light tone. “I always think a treasurer has an impossible job.”

Sigefryth looked intrigued. “How so?”

“He is supposed to make sure there is always enough money, but he has no control over the spending of it!”

Sigefryth at last permitted himself a smile. “That is true.”

Wynstan went on: “I think an abbot—or prior, or whoever fulfills the role—should consult the treasurer about expenditure, not just about income.”

“It would prevent a lot of problems,” Sigefryth said.

That was enough, Wynstan thought again. He needed to ingratiate himself, but in a way that was not too obvious. Now to deal with Wigferth. “This year of all years a treasurer has reason to look anxious.” There had been a poor harvest, and people had starved.

“Dead men pay no rent.”

An unsentimental man, Wynstan thought. I like that. He said: “And the bad weather is continuing. There’s flooding all over southern England. On my way here I kept having to make long diversions.” This was much exaggerated. There had been heavy rain, but it had not delayed him more than a few days.

Sigefryth tutted sympathetically.

“And it seems to be getting worse. I hope you’re not planning a journey.”

“Not for a while. We’ll have rents to collect at Christmas, from those of our tenants who are still alive. I’ll be sending Brother Wigferth to your neighborhood.”

“If you want Wigferth to get there by Christmas, send him soon,” said Wynstan. “It’s going to take him a long time.”

“I’ll do that,” said Sigefryth. “Thank you for the warning.”

So gullible, Wynstan thought with satisfaction.

Wigferth left the next day.