“Especially when they’re wrong.” Aldred got to his feet. “It’s getting dark. I’d better return to the minster while there’s still some light, or I might fall in the river on my way. I’ve enjoyed meeting you all.”

He took his leave and headed back along the riverbank. He felt relieved to have met some likable people in this unlovable place.

He was going to spend the night at the minster. He went into the alehouse and picked up his box and his saddlebag. He spoke politely to Dreng but did not stay to chat. He led Dismas up the hill.

The first house he came to was a small building on a large lot. Its door stood open, as doors generally did at this time of year, and Aldred looked in. A fat woman of about forty was sitting near the entrance with a square of leather in her lap, sewing a shoe in the light from the window. She looked up and said: “Who are you?”

“Aldred, a monk of Shiring Abbey, looking for Dean Degbert.”

“Degbert Baldhead lives the other side of the church.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Bebbe.”

Like the alehouse, this place showed signs of prosperity. Bebbe had a cheese safe, a box with muslin sides to let air in and keep mice out. On a table beside her was a wooden cup and a small pottery jug that looked as if it might contain wine. A heavy wool blanket hung from a hook. “This hamlet seems well off,” Aldred said.

“Not very,” Bebbe said quickly. After a moment’s reflection she added: “Though the minster spreads its wealth a little.”

“And where does the minster’s wealth come from?”

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you? Who sent you to spy on us?”

“Spy?” he said in surprise. “Who would trouble to spy on a little hamlet in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well, then, you shouldn’t be so nosy.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Aldred left her.

He walked up the hill to the church and saw, on its east side, a large house that must be the residence of the clergy. He noticed that some kind of workshop had been built at the back, up against the end wall. Its door was open and there was a fire blazing inside. It looked like a smithy, but it was too small: a blacksmith needed more space.

Curious, he went to the door and looked in. He saw a charcoal fire on a raised hearth, with a pair of bellows beside it for making the heat fiercer. A block of iron firmly stuck into a massive section of a tree trunk formed an anvil about waist high. A clergyman was bent over it, working with a hammer and a narrow chisel, carving a disc of what looked like silver. A lamp stood on the anvil, lighting his work. He had a bucket of water, undoubtedly for quenching hot metal, and a heavyweight pair of shears, probably for cutting sheet metal. Behind him was a door that presumably led into the main house.