You, too, want me out of the way, Aldred thought.
Wynstan went on: “And as bishop I’m happy to give my immediate approval to your promotion.”
“It’s hardly a promotion—I’m already armarius of the abbey.”
“Oh, don’t be churlish,” said Wilwulf with a smile. “This will give free rein to your leadership qualities.”
“It is for Abbot Osmund to appoint the prior. Is this court trying to usurp his prerogative?”
“Of course not,” said Wynstan oilily. “But we can approve Treasurer Hildred’s proposal.”
Aldred saw that he had been outmaneuvered. Now that the appointment had been endorsed by all the most powerful people in Shiring, Osmund would not have the guts to reverse their decision. He was trapped. He thought: Why did I ever imagine that I was clever?
Wynstan said: “One thing I should point out now—if I may, brother Wilf.”
Aldred thought: What now?
“Go ahead,” said Wilwulf.
“Over the years pious men have donated lands for the upkeep of the minster at Dreng’s Ferry.
Aldred had a bad feeling.
Wynstan went on: “Those lands were given to the diocese of Shiring, and they remain the property of the cathedral.”
Aldred was outraged. When Wynstan said “the diocese” and “the cathedral” he meant himself. “This is nonsense!” Aldred protested.
Wynstan said condescendingly: “The village of Dreng’s Ferry I grant to the new monastery, as a sign of my goodwill; but the village of Wigleigh, donated by you, brother, at your wedding, and the other lands that have supported the minster, remain the property of the diocese.”
“This is wrong,” Aldred said. “When Archbishop Elfric turned Canterbury into a monastery, the departing priests did not take all the assets of Canterbury Cathedral with them!”
“Different circumstances completely,” said Wynstan.
“I disagree.”
“Then the ealdorman will have to decide.”
“No, he won’t,” said Aldred. “This is a matter for the archbishop.”
Wilwulf said: “I intended my wedding gift to benefit the minster, not a monastery, and I believe the other donors felt the same way.”
“You have no idea what the other donors felt.”
Wilwulf looked angry. “I rule in favor of Bishop Wynstan.”
Aldred persisted: “The archbishop will rule, not you.”
Wilwulf was offended to be told he had no jurisdiction. “We shall see,” he said angrily.
Aldred knew how it would be. The archbishop would command Wynstan to return the lands to the new monastery, but Wynstan would ignore him. Wilwulf had already defied the king twice, first over the treaty with Count Hubert and then over the marriage to Ragna, and now Wynstan would treat the ruling of the archbishop with the same kind of scorn. And there was little a king or an archbishop could do about a magnate who simply refused to obey orders.
He noticed Wigbert speaking to Den quietly. Wilwulf saw the interaction and said: “Is everything ready for the punishment?”
Den said reluctantly: “Yes, ealdorman.”
Wilwulf stood up. Surrounded by his men-at-arms he walked through the crowd to the center of the square. The magnates followed him.
A tall stake stood in the middle of the square for occasions such as this. While everyone had been looking at Wilwulf on his seat and listening to the arguments, poor Cuthbert had been stripped naked and roped to the stake so tightly that he could not move any part of his body, not even his head. Everyone gathered around him to watch. The townspeople jostled to see better.
