“No one knows except Hildi and me—and now you.”

“Then you must tell him!”

Fear made Ragna pause. “I’d rather Wynstan did not know that I had spread the news.”

“Then I’ll tell the king, without mentioning your name.”

“Hold on.” Aldred was in a rush, but Ragna was figuring out the best approach. “You have to be careful with a king. Ethelred knows you favor Alphage, and he might view your intervention as opposition to his will.”

Aldred looked frustrated. “We have to use this information!”

“Of course,” Ragna said. “But there might be a better way.”

Bishop Wynstan and Archdeacon Degbert often attended meetings in the chapter house, where the monks discussed the daily business of the monastery and the cathedral. It was not usual for visitors to take part, but Brother Eappa had suggested it, and Treasurer Sigefryth had become an ally of Wynstan’s. They went along to the first meeting after Easter.

After the chapter had been read, Sigefryth, who chaired the meetings, said: “We have to decide what to do about the riverside pasture. Local people are using it for grazing, even though it belongs to us.”

Wynstan had no interest in such a topic, but he put on an earnest expression. He had to pretend that anything affecting the monks was of concern to him.

Brother Forthred, the medical monk, said: “We don’t use that field. You can’t blame them.”

“True,” said Sigefryth, “but if we allow it to be treated as communal property, we may have trouble in the future when we need it for ourselves.”

Brother Wigferth, who had just returned from Winchester, spoke up. “My brethren, forgive me for interrupting, but there is something much more important that I believe we should talk about right away.”

Sigefryth could hardly refuse such a strong plea from Wigferth. “Very well,” he said.

Wynstan perked up. He had agonized over whether to go to Winchester for Easter. He hated to miss a royal court so close to home. But in the end he had decided it was more important to keep his finger on the pulse here in Canterbury. Now he was eager to learn what had gone on.

“I attended the Easter court,” Wigferth said. “Many people spoke to me about the question of who is to be the next archbishop of Canterbury.”

Sigefryth was offended. “Why would they speak to you?” he said. “Did you pretend to be our representative? You’re just a rent collector!”

“Indeed I am,” said Wigferth. “But if people speak to me, I’m obliged to listen. It’s only good manners.”

Wynstan had a bad feeling. “Never mind about that,” he said, impatient with this quarrel about mere etiquette. “What were they saying, Brother . . . Brother . . . ?” He could not think of the name of the monk who had gone to Winchester.

“You know me well, bishop. My name is Wigferth.”

“Of course, of course, what did they say?”