A stranger bowed to him and said: “Good morning, bishop.”

He thought: Am I a bishop?

The stranger looked more closely at him and said: “Are you all right, your reverence?”

Suddenly everything fell into place. He was the bishop of Shiring, the church was his cathedral, and the house next to it was his residence. “Of course I’m all right,” he snapped.

The stranger, whom Wynstan now recognized as a butcher he had known for twenty years, walked rapidly away.

Feeling bewildered and frightened, Wynstan hurried to his house.

Inside was his cousin, Archdeacon Degbert, and Ithamar, a deacon of the cathedral. Ithamar’s wife, Eangyth, was pouring a cup of wine.

Degbert said: “Ithamar has some news.”

Ithamar looked scared. He said nothing while the maid set the wine on the table in front of him.

Wynstan was angry about his episode of forgetfulness, and he said impatiently: “Well, come on, spit it out.”

Ithamar said: “Alphage has been made archbishop of Canterbury.”

Wynstan was expecting this. Nevertheless, he felt a mad rage rise within him. Unable to control himself, he picked up a cup from the table and dashed the contents in Ithamar’s face. Not satisfied with that, he overturned the table. Eangyth screamed, so he clenched his fist and hit her across the head as hard as he could. She lay still, and he thought he had killed her; then she stirred, got up, and ran out of the room. Ithamar followed her, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe.

Degbert said nervously: “Calm yourself, cousin. Sit down. Have a cup of wine. Are you hungry? Shall I get you something to eat?”

“Oh, shut up,” Wynstan said, but he sat down and drank the wine that Degbert gave him.

When he had calmed down, Degbert said accusingly: “You promised to make me bishop of Shiring.”

“I can’t, now, can I?” Wynstan said. “There’s no vacancy, you fool.”

Degbert looked as if that was a poor excuse.

“It’s Ragna’s fault,” Wynstan said. “She started the stupid rumor that I had leprosy.” His rage began to return, and he seethed. “Her punishment was much too light. All we did was take away one of her children. She has three left to console her. I should have thought of something worse. I should have put her to work in Mags’s house until some filthy sailor gave her Whore’s Leprosy.”

“You know she was in the room when my brother Dreng died? I suspect she killed him. They put it about that he had some kind of seizure while beating his slave girl, but I’m sure Ragna had something to do with it.”

“I don’t care who killed Dreng,” Wynstan said. “He may have been my cousin but he was a fool, and so are you. Get out.”

Degbert left, and Wynstan was alone.

Something was wrong with him. He had flown into a berserk rage on being given news that merely confirmed his expectations. He had nearly murdered a priest’s wife. Worse, a few minutes earlier he had forgotten not only where he was but who he was.