“Wynstan?”
Hildi said: “Wynstan has the disease. It’s progressing more slowly with him than it did with Agnes, so he doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve seen the signs. He’s tired all the time and he gets dizzy spells. And he has a lump on his throat. He tries to hide it under his cloak, but I’ve seen it, and it’s just like the one on Agnes’s face.”
Ragna said: “If he finds out, he’ll keep it deadly secret.”
“Yes,” said Hildi. “If people knew he was going mad he might lose his power.”
“Exactly,” said Ragna.
“I will never tell anyone. I’m too frightened.”
“Me, too,” said Ragna.
Aldred felt a little dazed as he looked at the stacks of silver pennies on the table.
Brother Godleof was the treasurer of King’s Bridge Priory, and he had brought the money chest from the safe in Cuthbert’s old workshop and placed it on the table. Together they had counted out the silver coins. They could have weighed them faster, but they did not have a scale.
Until now they had not needed one.
“I thought we would be short of money this year, after the famine,” Aldred said.
“The upside of that was it caused the Vikings to go home,” said Godleof. “We earned less than usual, but still plenty. We have the tolls from the bridge, the rents from stallholders in the marketplace, and donations from pilgrims. And don’t forget that we’ve received four grants of substantial lands in the past year, and we’re now collecting rents from them.”
“Success breeds success. But we must have spent a lot, too.”
“We have fed starving people from miles around. But we’ve also built a schoolhouse, a scriptorium, a refectory, and a dormitory for all the new monks who have joined us.”
It was true. Aldred was well on the way to achieving his dream of a center of learning and scholarship.
Godleof went on: “Most of them are timber buildings, so they didn’t cost much.”
Aldred stared at the money. He had worked hard to strengthen the priory’s finances, but now he found himself feeling uncomfortable about so much wealth. “I took a vow of poverty,” he said, half to himself.
“It’s not your money,” said Godleof. “It belongs to the priory.”
“True. Still, we can’t just sit and gloat over it. Jesus told us not to store up treasure on earth, but in heaven. This was given to us for a purpose.”
“What purpose?”
“Perhaps God wants us to build a bigger church. We certainly need it. We have to hold three separate Masses on Sundays now, and the church is packed for each one. Even on weekdays the pilgrims sometimes queue for hours to see the bones of the saint.”
“Whoa,” said Godleof. “What you see in front of you is not enough to pay for a stone church.”
“But more money will continue to come in.”
“I certainly hope so, but we can’t see the future.”
Aldred smiled. “We must have faith.”
“Faith isn’t money.”
“No, it’s much better than money.” Aldred stood up. “Let’s lock all this away, then I’ll show you something.”
They put the chest back in the safe, left the monastery, and walked up the hill. There were new houses on both sides of the street—all of which were paying rent to the monastery, Aldred recalled. They drew level with Edgar’s house. Aldred should have rented it to a new tenant, but he had sentimentally kept it empty.
Opposite Edgar’s house was the marketplace. Today was not a market day, but nevertheless a handful of hopeful traders were there, despite the cold weather, offering fresh eggs, sweet cakes, woodland nuts, and homemade ale. Aldred led Godleof across the square.
On the far side the forest began, but here much of it had been cut down for timber. “This is where the new church will stand. Edgar and I made a town plan, years ago.”
