They went into the abbey church. Some younger monks were singing, perhaps learning a new hymn or practicing an old one. Leo led the way to the east side of the south transept, where a heavy ironbound door with two locks stood open. This was the treasury, Aldred remembered. They stepped into a windowless room, dark and cold and smelling of dust and age. As Aldred’s eyes adapted to the dim illumination of a rush light, he saw that the walls were lined with shelves bearing a variety of gold, silver, and wooden containers.
At the back of the room—the east end, therefore the most holy zone—a monk knelt before a small, simple altar. On the altar stood an elaborate box of silver and carved ivory, undoubtedly a reliquary, a container for relics.
In a low voice, Leo explained: “The feast day of Saint Savann is next week. The bones will be carried into the church in procession for the celebration. I expect Theodric is asking the saint’s pardon for disturbing him.”
Aldred nodded. Saints did in some sense live on in their remains, and were very present in whatever holy institution guarded their bones. They were pleased to be remembered and venerated, but they had to be treated with great respect and caution. Elaborate ritualsurrounded any movement to which they were subjected. “You don’t want to displease him,” Aldred murmured.
Despite their whispers, Theodric heard them. He stood up with some difficulty, turned around, peered at them, then approached on unsteady legs. He was about seventy years old, Aldred reckoned, and the skin of his face was loose and wrinkled. He was naturally bald, and would not need to shave his tonsure.
Leo said: “We’re sorry to disturb your prayers, Brother Theodric.”
“Don’t worry about me, just hope you haven’t upset the saint,” Theodric said sharply. “Now come outside before you say any more.”
Aldred stayed where he was and pointed to a small chest made of yellowish-red yew wood, normally used for longbows. He thought he had seen it before. “What’s in there?”
“Some bones of Saint Adolphus of Winchester. Just the skull, an arm, and a hand.”
“I think I remember. Was he killed by a Saxon king?”
“For possessing a Christian book, yes. Now, please, outside.”
They stepped into the transept, and Theodric closed the door behind them.
Leo said: “Brother Theodric, I don’t know if you remember Brother Aldred.”
“I never forget anything.”
Aldred pretended to believe him. “I’m glad to see you again,” he said.
“Oh, it’s you!” said Theodric, recognizing the voice. “Aldred, yes. You were a troublemaker.”
“And now I’m prior of Dreng’s Ferry—where I deal severely with troublemakers.”
“So why aren’t you there now?”
Aldred smiled. Leo was right, age had not blunted Theodric’s edge. “I need your help,” Aldred said.
“What do you want?”
Aldred again told the story of Wynstan and Dreng’s Ferry, and explained his need for some means of attracting pilgrims.
Theodric pretended to be indignant. “You want me to give you precious relics?”
“My priory has no saint to watch over it. Glastonbury has more than twenty. I ask you to take pity on your poorer brethren.”
“I’ve been to Dreng’s Ferry,” Theodric said. “That church was falling down five years ago.”
“I’ve had the west end buttressed. It’s stable now.”
“How could you afford that? You said you were penniless.” Theodric looked triumphant, thinking he had caught Aldred in a lie.
“The lady Ragna gave me the stone free, and a young builder called Edgar did the work in exchange for being taught to read and write. So I got the work done for no money.”
Theodric changed tack. “That church is a poor showcase for a saint’s remains.”
It was true. Aldred improvised. “If you give me what I want, Brother Theodric, I will build an extension to the church, with the help once again of Ragna and Edgar.”
“Makes no difference,” Theodric said firmly. “The abbot would never allow me to give away relics even if I wanted to.”
