The whole town attended. Wynstan had deteriorated even since she had seen him the day after the death of Wigelm. His hair was graying, and he walked with a cane. Unfortunately that was not enough to get him unseated. Half the bishops Ragna had ever seen were old and gray and unsteady on their feet.

Ragna believed in the Christian faith and thanked God for its civilizing influence, but she did not spend much time thinking about it. However, the Mass always moved her, making her feel that she had a place in Creation that made sense.

Half her mind was on the service and half on Wynstan. She was worried, now, that he might get through the rite without revealing his insanity. He performed the motions mechanically, almost absent-mindedly, but he was not making any mistakes.

She watched the elevation of the Host with more than usual attention. Jesus had died so that sinners could be forgiven. Ragna had confessed her murder to Aldred, who was a priest as well as a monk. He had compared her to the Old Testament hero Judith, who had cut off the head of the Assyrian general Holofernes. The story proved that even a murderess could be pardoned. Aldred had assigned her a fasting penance and granted absolution.

The service continued with no manifestation of Wynstan’s madness. Ragna felt frustrated. She had had some credit with Alphage, but now it seemed she might have spent it in vain.

The priests began the procession to the exit. Suddenly Wynstan stepped to one side and crouched down. Alphage looked at him, mystified. Wynstan lifted the skirt of his priestly robe and defecated on the stone floor.

Alphage’s face was a picture of horror.

It only took a few seconds. Wynstan stood up, rearranged his robes, and said: “That’s better.” Then he rejoined the procession.

Everyone stared at what he had left behind.

Ragna gave a sigh of satisfaction. “Good-bye, Wynstan,” she said.

Ragna rode to King’s Bridge in the company of Archbishop Alphage, who was returning to Canterbury. He was a joy to talk to: intelligent, educated, sincere in his religion yet tolerant of dissent. He even knew the romantic Latin poetry of Alcuin, which she had loved when she was growing up. She now realized that she had got out of the habit of reading poetry. It had been crowded out of her life by violence, childbirth, and imprisonment. Perhaps there would soon be a time when she could read poetry again.

Alphage had dismissed Wynstan immediately. Unsure what to do with the mad bishop, he had asked Ragna’s advice, and she had recommended locking Wynstan up for a while in the hunting lodge where she had spent a year imprisoned. She had been savagely pleased with the irony.

Riding into King’s Bridge felt to Ragna like coming home, which was odd, she thought, for she had spent relatively little of her life here. But somehow she felt safe. Perhaps it was because Aldred ruled the town. He respected law and justice, and did not judge every issue according to his own interests, not even the priory’s interests. If only the whole world could be like that.