He might have to go hungry tonight, but he could put up with that, grateful that today God had asked him to sacrifice his dinner but not his life.

The afternoon softened into evening. Eventually he saw across the water a hamlet of half a dozen houses and a church. To the west of the houses was a cultivated field that stretched along the north bank of the river.

Some kind of boat was tied up on the other side. Aldred had never been to Dreng’s Ferry—he had taken a different route on his outward journey—but he guessed this was the place. He dismounted and shouted over the water.

Presently a girl appeared. She untied the boat, got in, and began to paddle across. She was well fed but plain-looking, Aldred saw as she came closer, and she wore a grumpy expression. When she was within earshot he said: “I am Brother Aldred of Shiring Abbey.”

“My name is Cwenburg,” she responded. “This ferry belongs to my father, Dreng. So does the alehouse.”

So Aldred was in the right place.

“It’s a farthing to cross,” she said. “But I can’t take a horse.”

Aldred could see that. The crude boat would capsize easily. He said: “Don’t worry, Dismas will swim.”

He paid his farthing. He unloaded the pony and put the box of books and the saddle in the boat. He held the reins as he boarded and sat down, then tugged gently to encourage Dismas into the water. For a moment the horse hesitated, as if he might resist. “Come on,” Aldred said reassuringly, and at the same moment Cwenburg pushed away from the bank; then Dismas walked into the water. As soon as it got deep he began to swim. Aldred kept hold of the reins. He did not think Dismas would try to escape, but there was no point in taking the chance.

As they crossed the river Aldred said to Cwenburg: “How far is it from here to Shiring?”

“Two days.”

Aldred looked at the sky. The sun was low. There was a long evening ahead, but he might not find another place to stay before dark. He had better spend the night here.

They reached the other side, and Aldred picked up the distinctive smell of brewing.

Dismas found his feet. Aldred released the reins and the pony climbed the riverbank, shook himself vigorously to get rid of the water soaking his coat, and then began to crop the summer grass.

Another girl came out of the alehouse. She was about fourteen, with black hair and blue eyes, and despite her youth she was pregnant. She might have been pretty but she did not smile. Aldred was shocked to see that she wore no headdress of any kind. A woman showing her hair was normally a prostitute.

“This is Blod,” said Cwenburg. “Our slave.” Blod said nothing. “She speaks Welsh,” Cwenburg added.

Aldred unloaded his box from the ferry and set it down on the riverbank, then did the same with his saddle.