“Thank you.”
“What are you going to do now?”
Edgar tried to look brave, but Wynstan could see he was fearful of the future. “We don’t know,” Edgar said. “My father was killed, and we’ve lost our tools and our stock of timber.”
Wigelm said impatiently: “We can’t get into discussions about individual families. We need to decide what is going to happen to this whole town.”
Wilf nodded agreement and said: “The people must try to rebuild their houses before winter comes. Wigelm, you will forgo rents due on Midsummer Day.” Rents were usually payable four times a year, on the quarter days: Midsummer, which was the twenty-fourth day of June; Michaelmas, the twenty-ninth of September; Christmas, the twenty-fifth of December; and Lady Day, the twenty-fifth of March.
Wynstan glanced at Wigelm. He looked disgruntled, but said nothing. He was stupid to be angry about this: the people had no means with which to pay their rents, so Wilf was giving away nothing.
A woman in the crowd called out: “And the Michaelmas rents, please, lord.”
Wynstan looked at her. She was a small, tough-looking woman of about forty.
“When Michaelmas comes, we’ll see how you’re getting on,” Wilf said cannily.
The same woman said: “We’ll need timber to rebuild our houses, but we can’t pay for it.”
Wilf spoke aside to Wigelm: “Who’s she?”
“Mildred, the boatbuilder’s wife,” Wigelm answered. “She’s a troublemaker.”
Wynstan was struck by a thought. “I may be able to rid you of her, brother,” he murmured.
Wilf said quietly: “She may be a troublemaker, but she’s right. Wigelm is going to have to let them have free timber.”
“Very well,” said Wigelm reluctantly. Raising his voice, he said to the crowd: “Free timber, but only for Combe townspeople, only for houses, and only until Michaelmas.”
Wilf stood up. “That’s all we can do, for now,” he said. He turned to Wigelm. “Speak to that man Maccus. Find out if he’s willing to take me to Cherbourg, and what he might want by way of payment, and how long the voyage is likely to take, and so on.”
The crowd was muttering discontentedly. They were disappointed. That was the disadvantage of power, Wynstan thought; people expected miracles. Several people surged forward to demand some kind of special treatment. The men-at-arms moved to keep order.
Wynstan stepped away. At the church door he ran into Mags again. She had decided to change her tone, and instead of desperate she was wheedling. “Would you like me to suck your cock around the back of the church?” she said. “You always say I do it better than the young girls.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Wynstan said. A sailor or a fisherman might not care who saw him being sucked off, but a bishop had to be discreet. “Get to the point,” he said. “How much do you need?”
“What do you mean?”
“To replace the girls,” Wynstan said. He had had good times at Mags’s house, and he hoped to do so again. “How much money do you need to borrow from me?”
Mags was practiced at responding quickly to men’s changes of mood, and she adjusted her demeanor again, becoming businesslike. “If they’re young and fresh, slave girls cost about a pound each at Bristol market.”
Wynstan nodded. There was a big slave market at Bristol, several days’ journey from here. He made up his mind quickly, as always. “If I lend you ten pounds today, can you pay me back twenty a year from now?”
Her eyes lit up, but she pretended to be doubtful. “I don’t know whether custom will come back that fast.”
“There will always be visiting sailors. And fresh girls will attract more men. You’re in a profession that never lacks for clients.”
“Give me eighteen months.”
“Pay me twenty-five pounds at Christmas next year.”
Mags looked worried but she said: “All right.”
Wynstan summoned Cnebba, a big man in an iron helmet who was custodian of the bishop’s money. “Give her ten pounds,” he said.
“The chest is in the monastery,” Cnebba said to her. “Come with me.”
“And don’t cheat her,” Wynstan said. “You can fuck her if you like, but give her the full ten pounds.”
Mags said: “God bless you, my lord bishop.”
Wynstan touched her lips with a finger. “You can thank me later, when it gets dark.”
She took his hand and licked his finger lasciviously. “I can’t wait.”
Wynstan stepped away before anyone noticed.
He scanned the crowd. They were disconsolate and resentful, but nothing could be done about that. The boatbuilder’s son met his eye, and Wynstan beckoned him. Edgar came to the church door with a brown-and-white dog at his heel. “Fetch your mother,” Wynstan said. “And your brothers. I may be able to help you.”
“Thank you, lord!” said Edgar with eager enthusiasm. “Do you want us to build you a ship?”
“No.”
Edgar’s face fell. “What, then?”
“Fetch your mother and I’ll tell you.”
“Yes, lord.”
Edgar went away and came back with Mildred, who looked warily at Wynstan, and two young men who were evidently his brothers, both bigger than Edgar but lacking his look of inquiring intelligence. Three strong boys and a tough mother: it was a good combination for what Wynstan had in mind.
He said: “I know of a vacant farm.” Wynstan would be doing Wigelm a favor by ridding him of the seditious Mildred.
Edgar looked dismayed. “We’re boatbuilders, not farmers!”
Mildred said: “Shut your mouth, Edgar.”
Wynstan said: “Can you manage a farm, widow?”
“I was born on a farm.”
“This one is beside a river.”
“But how much land is there?”
“Thirty acres. That’s generally considered enough to feed a family.”
“That depends on the soil.”
“And on the family.”
She was not to be fobbed off. “What’s the soil like?”
“Much as you’d expect: a bit swampy beside the river, light and loamy farther up the slope. And there’s a crop of oats in the ground, just shooting green. All you’ll have to do is reap it, and you’ll be set for the winter.”