Aldred said: “There will be no need for violence. I’m Aldred, prior of the monastery.”
“I’m Cenric, one of the quartermasters.”
“How many men in your army, Cenric?”
“About two thousand.”
“This one slave girl will not be able to ferry them all across. It’s going to take a day or two. Why don’t you operate the boat yourselves?”
Dreng said: “What business is this of yours, Aldred? It’s not your boat!”
Aldred said: “Be quiet, Dreng.”
“Who do you think you are?”
Cenric said to Dreng: “Shut up, you stupid oaf, or I’ll cut out your tongue and stuff it down your gullet.”
Dreng opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to realize that Cenric was not making an empty threat, but meant exactly what he said. Dreng changed his mind and quickly closed his mouth.
Cenric said: “You’re right, prior, it’s the only way. We’ll make a rule: last man aboard poles the boat back then across again. I’ll stand here for an hour and make sure they do it.”
Dreng looked over his shoulder and saw some of the soldiers entering the tavern. In a frightened voice he said: “Well, they’ll have to pay for their ale.”
“Then you’d better go and serve them,” said Cenric. “We’ll try to make sure the men don’t expect free drinks.” Sarcastically he added: “As you’ve been so helpful about the ferry.”
Dreng hurried inside.
Cenric spoke to Blod. “One more trip, slave girl, then the men will take over from you.”
Blod stepped into the boat and poled off.
Centric said to Aldred: “We’ll want to buy any stores you monks have of food and drink.”
“I’ll see what we can spare.”
Cenric shook his head. “We’re going to buy them whether you can spare them or not, Father Prior.” His tone was without malice but brooked no opposition. “The army doesn’t take no for an answer.”
And they would set the prices of everything they bought, Aldred thought, and no haggling.
He asked the question that had been on his mind all through the conversation. “Is King Ethelred with you?”
“Oh, yes. He’s near the front of the horde, with the senior noblemen. He’ll be here shortly.”
“Then I’d better prepare a meal for him at the monastery.”
Aldred left the riverside and walked up the hill to the home of Bucca Fish, where he bought all the fresh fish on the slab, promising to pay later. Bucca was glad to sell, fearing that otherwise his stocks might be commandeered or stolen.
Aldred returned to the monastery and gave orders for dinner. He told the monks that any quartermasters who demanded storesshould be told that everything was earmarked for the king. They began to lay the table, putting out wine and bread, nuts and dried fruit.
Aldred opened a locked box and took out a silver cross on a leather thong. He put it around his neck and relocked the box. The cross would indicate to all the visitors that he was the senior monk.
What was he going to say to the king? After years of wishing that Ethelred would come and set matters right in the semilawless region of Shiring, suddenly Aldred found himself searching for the words he needed. The wrongs committed by Wilwulf, Wynstan, and Wigelm made a long and complicated story, and many of their crimes could not easily be proved. He considered showing the king his copy of Wilwulf’s will; but that told only part of the story, and anyway the king might be offended to be shown a will he had not authorized. Aldred really needed a week to write it all down—and then the king probably would not read it: many noblemen were literate but reading was not usually their favorite occupation.
He heard cheering. That must be for the king. He left the monastery and hurried down the hill.
The ferry was approaching. A soldier was poling it, and on board was only one man, standing at the forward end of the boat, and a horse. The man wore a patterned red tunic with gold-colored embroidery and a blue cloak with silk edging. His cloth leggings were secured by narrow leather binding straps, and he had laced boots of soft leather. A long sword in a scabbard hung from a yellow silk sash. This was undoubtedly the king.
Ethelred was not looking toward the village. His head was turned to the left and he was staring at the scorched ruins of the bridge, the blackened beams still disfiguring the waterfront.
