Kings have long memories, thought Ragna. She heard a rumble of agreement from the noblemen, who also remembered Garulf’s defeat.
“That will never happen again,” Garulf promised.
The king was unmoved. “It won’t, because you’ll never lead my army again. Den is ealdorman.”
Garulf at least had the sense to know when his case was hopeless, and he shut up.
It was not just the battle, Ragna reflected. Garulf’s family had defied the king’s rule again and again for a decade, disobeying orders and refusing to pay fines. It had seemed that they would get away with it indefinitely, but now at last their insurrection had come to an end. There was justice, after all. A pity it took such a long time coming.
Queen Emma, sitting next to the king on a similar cushioned stool, leaned over and murmured in his ear. He nodded and spoke to Ragna. “I believe your son has been restored to you, Lady Ragna.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
He addressed the court. “Let no one take the lady Ragna’s child from her.”
It was a fait accompli, but she was glad to have royal approval publicly stated. It gave her security for the future. “Thank you,” she said.
After the court, the new bishop of Winchester gave a banquet. It was attended by the previous bishop, Alphage, who had come from Canterbury. Ragna was keen to speak to him. It was high time Wynstan was removed from his bishopric, and the only person who could dismiss him was the archbishop of Canterbury.
She wondered how she could contrive a meeting, but Alphage solved the problem by approaching her. “Last time we were here, I believe you did me a good turn,” he said.
“I’m not sure what you mean...”
“You discreetly revealed the news of Bishop Wynstan’s shameful illness.”
“I tried to keep my role secret, but Wynstan seems to have ferreted out the truth.”
“Well, I’m grateful to you, for you put an end to his bid to become archbishop of Canterbury.”
“I’m very glad to have been of service to you.”
“So now you’re living at King’s Bridge?” he said, changing the subject.
“It’s my base, though I travel a lot.”
“And is everything well at the priory there?”
“Absolutely.” Ragna smiled. “I passed through nine years ago, and the place was a hamlet called Dreng’s Ferry, with about five buildings. Now it’s a town, busy and prosperous. Prior Aldred has done that.”
“A fine man. You know it was he who first warned me of Wynstan’s scheme to become archbishop.”
Ragna wanted to ask Alphage to dismiss Wynstan, but she had to tread carefully. The archbishop was a man, and all men hated to be told what to do by a woman. In her life she had sometimes forgotten this, and found her wishes frustrated for that reason. Now she said: “I hope you’ll come to Shiring before you return to Canterbury.”
“Any particular reason?”
“The town would be thrilled by a visit from you. And you might want to observe Wynstan.”
“How is his health?”
“Poor, but it’s not really for me to give an opinion,” she said with false humility. “Your own judgment is undoubtedly best.” It was rare for a man to doubt that his judgment was good.
Alphage nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll visit Shiring.”
Getting him to visit was only the beginning.
Archbishop Alphage was a monk, so he lodged at Shiring Abbey. This disappointed Ragna, for she had wanted him to stay at the bishop’s residence and get a good long close-up look at Wynstan.
Wynstan should have invited Alphage to dine with him. However, Ragna heard that Archdeacon Degbert had delivered a transparently insincere message saying that Wynstan would love to entertain the archbishop but would not ask him for fear of interfering with his monkish devotions. Wynstan was mad only in phases, it seemed; and when he was in his right mind he could be as sly as ever.
