“You certainly don’t get much in this world if you don’t ask,” Deorman said. “But that mine makes me a lot of money.”
“It would transform the fortunes of the priory.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Deorman had not said no, but there was a negative undertone, and Aldred waited to find out what the problem was.
“How many monks are there at your priory?” Deorman asked after a moment.
He was playing for time, Aldred thought. “Eight, including me.”
“And are they all good men?”
“Most certainly.”
“Because, you see, there are rumors.”
Here it comes, Aldred thought. He felt a bubble of anger in his guts, and told himself to stay calm. “Rumors,” he repeated.
“To be frank, I’ve heard that your monks hold orgies with slaves.”
“And I know who you heard it from,” said Aldred. He could not completely hide his rage, but he managed to speak quietly. “Some years ago I had the misfortune to discover a powerful man committing a terrible crime, and I’m still being punished for doing so.”
“You’rebeing punished?”
“Yes, by this kind of slander.”
“You’re telling me the orgy story is a deliberate lie?”
“I’m telling you that the monks of Dreng’s Ferry follow the Rule of Saint Benedict strictly. We have no slaves, no concubines, no catamites. We are celibate.”
“Hmm.”
“But please don’t take my word for it. Pay us a visit—preferably with no forewarning. Surprise us, and you will see us as we are every day. We work, we pray, and we sleep. We will invite you to share our dinner of fish and vegetables. You will see that we have no servants, no pets, no luxuries of any kind. Our prayers could not be more pure.”
“Well, we’ll see.” Deorman was backing down, but was he convinced? “Meanwhile, let’s eat.”
Aldred sat at the table with Deorman’s family and senior servants. A pretty young woman sat next to him and engaged him in a teasing conversation. Aldred was polite, but flintily unresponsive to her flirting. He guessed he was being tested. It was the wrong test: he might have revealed a weakness if confronted with an alluring young man.
The food was good, suckling pig with spring cabbage, and the wine was strong. Aldred ate sparingly and drank one sip, as always.
At the end of the meal, as the bowls and platters were being cleared away, Deorman announced his decision. “I’m not going to give you Southwood,” he said. “But I’ll give you two pounds in silver to pray for the soul of Godgifu.”
Aldred knew he should not show his disappointment. “Your kindness is much appreciated, and you can be sure that God will hear our prayers,” he said. “But could you not make it five pounds?”
Deorman laughed. “I’ll make it three, to reward your persistence, on the condition you ask for no more.”
“I’m most grateful,” Aldred said, but in his heart he was angry andresentful. He should have got much more, but Wynstan’s slanders had sabotaged him. Even if Deorman did not really believe the lies, they gave him an excuse to be less generous.
Deorman’s treasurer got the money from a chest and Aldred stashed it in his saddlebag. “I won’t travel alone with this money,” he said. “I’ll go to the Oak alehouse and find companions for tomorrow’s journey.”
He took his leave. The town center was only a few steps from Deorman’s compound, so Aldred did not mount Dismas, but walked him to the stable of the tavern, brooding over his failure. He had hoped that Wynstan’s malign influence would not reach this far, for Norwood had its own cathedral and bishop, but he had been disappointed.
When he reached the Oak, he walked past the alehouse, from which came the sound of a boisterous group enjoying the drink, and went straight to the stable. As he arrived, he was surprised to see the familiar lean frame of Brother Godleof unsaddling a piebald. He looked anxious, and seemed to have hurried here. “What is it?” Aldred said.
“I thought you’d want to hear the news as soon as possible.”
“What news?”
