The Evening and the Morning

CHAPTER 9 Mid−September 997

agna set off from Cherbourg with a heart full of happy anticipation. She had triumphed over her parents, and she was going to England to marry the man she loved.

The whole town came to the waterfront to cheer her off. Her ship, the Angel, had a single mast with a large multicolored sail, plus sixteen pairs of oars. The figurehead was a carved angel blowing a trumpet, and at the stern a long tail curved up and forward to terminate in a lion’s head. Its captain was a wiry graybeard called Guy who had crossed the Channel to England many times before.

Ragna had sailed in a ship only once: three years ago she had gone with her father to Fécamp, ninety miles across the Bay of Seine, never far from land. The weather had been good, the sea had been calm, and the sailors had been charmed to have a beautiful young noblewoman aboard. The trip had been pleasantly uneventful.

So she had been looking forward eagerly to this voyage, the first of many new adventures. She knew, in theory, that any sea voyage was hazardous, but she could not help feeling exhilarated: it was her nature. You could spoil anything by worrying too much.

She was accompanied by her maid, Cat; Agnes, her best seamstress; three other maids; plus Bern the Giant and six more men-at-arms to protect her. She and Bern had horses—hers was her favorite, Astrid—and they took four ponies to carry the baggage. Ragna had packed four new dresses and six new pairs of shoes. She also had a small personal wedding gift for Wilwulf, a belt of soft leather with a silver buckle and strap end, packed in its own special box.

The horses were tethered on board with straw underfoot, for a measure of cushioning in case the motion of the sea should cause them to fall. With a crew of twenty the ship was crowded.

Genevieve cried when the ship raised its anchor.

They set off in warm sunshine, with a brisk southwesterly wind that promised to take them to Combe in a couple of days. Now for the first time Ragna became anxious. Wilwulf loved her, but he might have changed. She was eager to make friends with his family and his subjects, but would they like her? Would she be able to win their affection? Or would they disdain her foreign ways, and even resent her wealth and beauty? Would she like England?

To banish such worries, Ragna and her maids practiced speaking Anglo-Saxon. Ragna had been taking lessons every day from an Englishwoman married to a Cherbourg man. Now she made the others giggle by telling them the words for the different male and female parts of the body.

Then, with hardly any warning, the summer breeze turned into an autumn storm, and cold rain whipped the ship and all its passengers.

There was no shelter. Ragna had once seen a gaily painted river barge with a canopy to shade noble ladies from the heat of the sun, but apart from that she had never come across a ship with any kind of cabin or protective roof. When it rained, passengers and crew and cargo alike all got wet. Ragna and her maids huddled together, pulling the hoods of their cloaks over their heads, trying to keep their feet out of the pools that gathered in the bottom.

But that was only the beginning. They stopped smiling as the wind turned into a gale. Captain Guy seemed calm, but he lowered the sail for fear of capsizing. Now the ship went where the weather took it. The stars were hidden behind clouds, and even the crew did not know which way they were heading. Ragna began to be scared.

The crew dropped a sea anchor off the stern. This was a big sack that filled with water and acted as a drag on the ship, moderating its motion and keeping the stern to the wind. But the swells grew. The ship pitched violently: the angel blew his trumpet up at the black sky then, a second later, down into the roiling deeps. The horses could not keep their footing and fell to their knees, neighing in terror. The men-at-arms tried to calm them, without success. Water slopped over the sides. Some of the crew began to say prayers.

Ragna began to think she would never get to England. Perhaps she was not destined to marry Wilwulf and have his children. She might die and go to hell to be punished for the sin she had committed in making love to him before they were husband and wife.

She made the mistake of picturing what it would be like to drown. She recalled a childhood game of holding her breath to see how long she could keep it up, and she felt the panic that had come over her after a minute or two. She imagined the terror of being so desperate to breathe that she inhaled lungfuls of water. How long did it take to die? The thought made her feel ill, and she threw up the dinner she had enjoyed in sunshine only a couple of hours earlier. Vomiting failed to quiet her stomach, but nausea took away her fear, for now she hardly cared whether she lived or died.

She felt as if it would go on forever. When she could no longer see the rain falling she realized it was night. The temperature dropped and she shivered in her sodden clothing.

She had no idea how long the storm had continued when, at last, it eased. The downpour became a drizzle and the wind dropped. The ship drifted in the dark: it carried lamps and a jar of oil in a waterproof chest, but there was no fire with which to light them. Captain Guy said he might have raised the sail if he had known for sure that they were far from land, but with no knowledge of the ship’s position and no light by which to see signs that land was near, it was too dangerous. They had to wait for day to restore their vision.

When dawn came Ragna saw that his caution had been wise: they were within sight of cliffs. The sky was clouded, but the clouds were brighter in one direction, which must therefore be east. The land to the north of them was England.

The crew went quickly to work despite the continuing rain: first they raised the sail, then they gave out cider and bread for breakfast, then they baled the water from the bottom of the ship.

Ragna was amazed that they could simply resume their duties. They had all nearly died: how could they act normally? She could hardly think of anything but the fact that she was still, miraculously, alive.

They sailed along the coast until they saw a small harbor with a few boats. The captain did not know the place, but he guessed they might be forty or fifty miles east of Combe. He turned the ship landward and sailed into the harbor.

Suddenly Ragna longed for the feeling of firm ground beneath her feet.

The ship was taken into shallow water, then Ragna was carried through the shallows to a pebble beach. With her maids and bodyguards she climbed the slope to the waterfront village and went into an alehouse. Ragna was hoping for a roaring fire and a hot breakfast, but it was early in the day. The fire was low and the hostess was tousled and grumpy, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she tossed sticks onto a feeble flame.

Ragna sat shivering, waiting for her luggage to be unloaded so that she could put on dry clothing. The hostess brought stale bread and weak ale. “Welcome to England,” she said.

Ragna’s self-confidence was rocked. In her whole life she had never been so frightened for so long. When Captain Guy said they should wait until the weather changed and then sail west along the English coast to Combe, she refused firmly. She wished never to step on board a ship again. There might be more rude shocks ahead for her, and if so she wanted to meet them on dry land.

Three days later she was not sure that had been the right decision. The rain had not stopped. Every road was a swamp. Wading through the mud exhausted the horses, and being perpetually cold and wet made everyone bad-tempered. The alehouses where they stopped for refreshment were dark and dismal, offering scant respite from the discomfort outdoors, and people hearing her foreign accent would shout at her, as if that would make it easier for her to understand their language. One night the group was welcomed into the comfortable home of a minor nobleman, Thurstan of Lordsborough, but on the other two they stayed overnight at monasteries, clean but cold and cheerless.

On the road Ragna huddled in her cloak, swaying as Astrid trudged wearily on, and reminded herself that waiting at the end of her journey was the most wonderful man in the world.

On the afternoon of the third day a baggage pony slipped on a slope. It fell to its knees, and its load slid to one side. It tried to rise, but the lopsided burden caused it to overbalance again. It skidded down a mudslide, neighing frantically, and fell into a stream. Ragna cried: “Oh, the poor beast! Save it, you men!”

Several men-at-arms jumped into the water, which was about three feet deep. But they could not get the animal onto its feet. Ragna said: “You’ll have to take the bags off its back!”

That worked. One man held the horse’s head in an attempt to stop it thrashing around, and two others undid the straps. They grabbed the bags and chests and passed them to others waiting. When the pony was unloaded it came upright without help.

Looking at the baggage stacked beside the stream, Ragna said: “Where’s the little box with Wilwulf’s present?”

Everyone looked around but no one could see it.

Ragna was dismayed. “We can’t have lost it—it’s his wedding gift!” English jewelry was famous, and Wilwulf probably had high standards, so Ragna had had the buckle and strap end made by the best jeweler in Rouen.

The men who had got wet rescuing the pony now went back into the water and scrabbled around the bottom of the stream, searching for the package. But it was sharp-eyed Cat who spotted it. “There!” she cried, pointing.

Ragna saw the box a hundred yards away, floating downstream.

Suddenly a figure appeared from the bushes. Ragna had a glimpse of a head wearing some kind of helmet as the man took one step into the water and snatched up the box. “Oh, well done!” Ragna called.

For a split second he turned and looked at her, and she got a full view of a rusty old battle helmet with holes for the eyes and mouth, then the man bounded back to dry land and vanished into the vegetation.

Ragna realized she had been robbed.

She yelled: “Go after him!”

The men went in pursuit. Ragna heard them calling to one another in the woods, then their cries became muffled by the trees and the rain. After a while the riders returned one by one. The forest was too thickly overgrown for them to make any speed, they said. Ragna began to feel pessimistic. As the last man appeared, Bern said: “He eluded us.”

Ragna tried to put a brave face on it. “Let’s move on,” she said briskly. “What’s gone is gone.” They trudged forward through the mire.

But the loss of the gift was too much for Ragna to bear, on top of the storm at sea and three days of rain and dismal lodgings. Her parents had been right in their dire warnings: this was a horrible country and she had doomed herself to live in it. She could not hold back the tears. They ran hot down her face, mingling with the cold rain. She pulled her hood forward and turned her face down in the hope that others would not see.

An hour after the loss of the gift, the group came to the bank of a river and saw a hamlet on the far side. Peering through the weather, Ragna made out a few houses and a stone church. A sizable boat was moored on the opposite bank. According to the inhabitants of the last village they had passed through, the hamlet with the ferry was two days’ journey from Shiring. Two more days of misery, she thought woefully.

The men shouted over the water, and quite promptly a young man appeared and untied the ferryboat. A brown-and-white dog followed him and jumped into the boat, but the man spoke a word and the dog jumped out again.

Seeming not to care about the rain, he stood in the prow of the vessel and poled across the water. Ragna heard Agnes the seamstress murmur, “Strong boy.”

The boat bumped into the near bank. “Wait for me to tie up before you board,” said the young ferryman. “It’s safer that way.” He was pleasant and polite, but unintimidated by the arrival of a noblewoman with a large escort. He looked directly at Ragna and smiled, as if recognizing her, but she had no recollection of seeing him before.

When he had secured the boat, he said: “It’s a farthing for each person and animal. I see thirteen people and six horses, so that makes four pence and three farthings, if you please.”

Ragna nodded to Cat, who kept a purse on her belt with a small amount of money for incidental expenses. One of the ponies was carrying a locked ironbound chest with most of Ragna’s money in it, but that was opened only in private. Cat gave the ferryman five English pennies, small and light, and he gave her back a tiny quarter-disk of silver in change.

“You can ride straight on board, if you’re careful,” he said. “But if you feel nervous, dismount and lead your horse. I’m Edgar, by the way.”

Cat said: “And this is the lady Ragna, from Cherbourg.”

“I know,” he said. He bowed to Ragna. “I’m honored, my lady.”

She rode onto the boat, and the others followed.

The vessel was remarkably steady on the river, and seemed well made, with close-fitting strakes. There was no water in the bottom. “Fine boat,” Ragna said. She did not add for a dump like this, but it was implied, and for a moment she wondered whether she might have given offense.

But Edgar showed no sign that he had noticed. “You’re very kind,” he said. “I built this boat.”

“On your own?” she said skeptically.

Once again he might have felt slighted. Ragna realized she was forgetting her resolution to befriend the English. This was not like her: normally she was quick to bond with strangers. The wretchedness of the journey and the strangeness of the new country had made her short-tempered. She resolved to be nice.

But Edgar apparently did not feel put down. He smiled and said, “There aren’t two boatbuilders in this little place.”

“I’m astonished there’s one.”

“I’m a bit startled myself.”

Ragna laughed. This boy was quick-witted and did not take himself too seriously. She liked that.

Edgar saw the people and animals onto the vessel then untied it and began to pole across. Ragna was amused to see Agnes the seamstress begin a conversation with him in halting Anglo-Saxon. “My lady is to marry the ealdorman of Shiring.”

“Wilwulf?” said Edgar. “I thought he was already married.”

“He was, but his wife died.”

“So your mistress is going to be everyone’s mistress.”

“Unless we all drown in the rain on the way to Shiring.”

“Doesn’t it rain in Cherbourg?”

“Not like this.”

Ragna smiled. Agnes was single and eager to marry. She could do worse than this resourceful young Englishman. It would be no great surprise if one or more of Ragna’s maids found a husband here: among small groups of women, marriage was infectious.

She looked ahead. The church on the hill was built of stone but was nevertheless small and mean-looking. Its tiny windows, all different shapes, were placed haphazardly in its thick walls. In a Norman church the windows were no bigger, but they were generally all the same shape and set in regular rows. Such consistency spoke more eloquently of the orderly god who had created the hierarchical world of plants, fish, animals, and people.

The boat reached the north bank. Once again Edgar jumped out and tied it up, then invited the passengers to disembark. Again Ragna went first, and her horse gave confidence to the rest.

She dismounted outside the alehouse door. The man who came out reminded her momentarily of Wilwulf. He was the same size and build, but his face was different. “I can’t accommodate all these people,” he said in a tone of resentment. “How am I going to feed them?”

Ragna said: “How far is it to the next village?”

“Foreigner, are you?” he said, noticing her accent. “The place is called Wigleigh, and you won’t get there today.”

He was probably just working up to asking outrageous prices. Ragna became exasperated. “Well, then, what do you suggest?”

Edgar intervened. “Dreng, this is the lady Ragna from Cherbourg. She’s going to marry Ealdorman Wilwulf.”

Dreng immediately became obsequious. “Forgive me, my lady, I had no idea,” he said. “Please step inside, and welcome. You’re going to be my cousin-in-law, you may not know.”

Ragna was disconcerted to hear that she was to be related to this alehouse keeper. She did not immediately accept his invitation to go inside. “No, I did not know,” she said.

“Oh, yes. Ealdorman Wilwulf is my cousin. You’ll be family to me after the wedding.”

Ragna was not pleased.

He went on: “My brother and I run this little village, under Wilwulf’s authority, of course. My brother, Degbert, is dean of the minster up the hill.”

“That little church is a minster?”

“Just half a dozen clergy, quite small. But come inside, please.” Dreng put his arm around Ragna’s shoulders.

This was going too far. Even if she had liked Dreng she would not have allowed him to paw her. With a deliberate movement she took his arm off her shoulders. “My husband would not like me to be caressed by his cousin,” she said coolly. Then she walked ahead of him into the house.

Dreng followed her in saying: “Oh, our Wilf wouldn’t mind.” But he did not touch her again.

Ragna looked around the inside of the building with a feeling that was becoming familiar. Like most English alehouses it was dark, smelly, and smoky. There were two tables and a scatter of benches and stools.

Cat was close behind her. She moved a stool nearer to the fire for Ragna, then helped her take off her sodden cloak. Ragna sat by the fire and held out her hands to warm them.

There were three women in the tavern, she saw. The eldest was presumably Dreng’s wife. The youngest, a pregnant girl with a pinched face, wore no headdress of any kind, usually the sign of a prostitute: Ragna guessed she might be a slave. The third woman was about Ragna’s age, and might be Dreng’s concubine.

Ragna’s maids and bodyguards crowded into the house. Ragna said to Dreng: “Would you please give my servants some ale?”

“My wife shall attend to it at once, my lady.” He spoke to the two women. “Leaf, give them some ale. Ethel, get the supper started.”

Leaf opened a chest full of wooden bowls and cups, and began to fill them from a barrel on a stand in the corner. Ethel hung an iron cauldron over the fire and poured water into it, then produced a large leg of mutton and added it to the pot.

The pregnant girl brought in an armful of firewood. Ragna was surprised to see her doing heavy work when her time was evidently so near. It was no wonder she looked tired and morose.

Edgar knelt by the hearth and built up the fire twig by twig. Soon it was a cheerful blaze that warmed Ragna and dried her clothes.

She said to him: “On the ferry, when my maid, Cat, told you who I was, you said: ‘I know.’ How did you know me?”

Edgar smiled. “You won’t remember, but we’ve met before.”

Ragna did not apologize for not recognizing him. A noblewoman met hundreds of people and could not be expected to recall them all. She said: “When was that?”

“Five years ago. I was only thirteen.” Edgar drew his knife from his belt and set it on the hearth stones so that the blade was in the flames.

“So I was fifteen. I’ve never been to England before now, so you must have come to Normandy.”

“My late father was a boatbuilder at Combe. We went to Cherbourg to deliver a ship. That’s when I met you.”

“Did we speak?”

“Yes.” He looked embarrassed.

“Wait a minute.” Ragna smiled. “I vaguely remember a cheeky little English boy who came into the castle uninvited.”

“That sounds like me.”

“He told me I was beautiful, in bad French.”

Edgar had the grace to blush. “I apologize for my insolence. And for my French.” Then he grinned. “But not for my taste.”

“Did I reply? I don’t remember.”

“You spoke to me in quite good Anglo-Saxon.”

“What did I say?”

“You told me I was charming.”

“Ah, yes! Then you said you were going to marry someone like me.”

“I don’t know how I could have been so disrespectful.”

“I didn’t mind, really. But I think I may have decided the joke had gone far enough.”

“Yes, indeed. You told me to go back to England before I got into real trouble.” He stood up, perhaps thinking that he was teetering on the edge of impertinence, as he had five years earlier. “Would you like some warm ale?”

“I’d love it.”

Edgar got a cup of ale from the woman called Leaf. Using his sleeve as a glove he picked up his knife from the fire and plunged the blade into the cup. The liquid fizzed and foamed. He stirred it then handed it to her. “I don’t think it will be too hot,” he said.

She touched the cup to her lips and took a sip. “Perfect,” she said, and drank a long swallow. It warmed her belly.

She was feeling more cheerful.

“I should leave you,” Edgar said. “I expect my master wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, no, please,” Ragna said hastily. “I can’t bear him. Stay here. Sit down. Talk.”

He drew up a stool, thought for a moment, then said: “It must be difficult to start a new life in a strange country.”

You have no idea, she thought. But she did not want to appear glum. “It’s an adventure,” she said brightly.

“But everything is different. I felt bewildered that day in Cherbourg: a different language, strange clothes, even buildings that looked queer. And I was only there for a day.”

“It’s a challenge,” she admitted.

“I’ve noticed that people aren’t always kind to foreigners. When I lived at Combe we saw a lot of strangers. Some of the townspeople enjoyed laughing at the mistakes made by French or Flemish visitors.”

Ragna nodded. “An ignorant man thinks foreigners are stupid—not realizing that he himself would appear just as foolish if he went abroad.”

“It must be hard to bear. I admire your courage.”

He was the first English person to sympathize with what she was going through. Ironically, his compassion undermined her facade of determined stoicism. To her own dismay she began to cry.

“I’m so sorry!” he said. “What have I done?”

“You’ve been kind,” she managed to say. “No one else has, not since I landed in this country.”

He was embarrassed again. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s not you, really.” She did not want to complain about how awful England was. She fastened on the outlaw. “I lost something precious today.”

“I’m sorry. What was it?”

“A gift for my husband-to-be, a belt with a silver buckle. I was so looking forward to giving it to him.”

“What a shame.”

“It was stolen by a man wearing a helmet.”

“That sounds like Ironface. He’s an outlaw. He tried to steal my family’s piglet, but my dog gave warning.”

A man with a bald head came into the house and approached Ragna. Like Dreng, he bore a faint resemblance to Wilwulf. “Welcome to Dreng’s Ferry, my lady,” he said. “I’m Degbert, dean of the minster and landlord of the village.” In a lower voice he said to Edgar: “Push off, lad.”

Edgar got up and left.

Degbert sat down uninvited on the stool vacated by Edgar. “Your fiancé is my cousin,” he said.

Ragna said politely: “I’m glad to meet you.”

“We’re honored to receive you here.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she lied. She wondered how long it would be before she could go to sleep.

She made small talk with Degbert for a few dull minutes, then Edgar returned, accompanied by a stout little man in clerical dress carrying a chest. Degbert looked up at them and said irritably: “What’s this?”

Edgar said: “I asked Cuthbert to bring some of his jewelry to show the lady Ragna. She lost something precious today—Ironface robbed her—and she may like to replace it.”

Degbert hesitated. He was clearly enjoying his monopoly of the high-ranking visitor. However, he decided to yield gracefully. “We at the minster are proud of Cuthbert’s skill,” he said. “I hope you’ll find something to your liking, my lady.”

Ragna was skeptical. The best English jewelry was splendid, and was prized all over Europe, but that did not mean that everything produced by Englishmen would be good; and it seemed unlikely that fine things would be made in this little settlement. But she was glad to get rid of Degbert.

Cuthbert had a timid air. He said nervously: “May I open the box, my lady? I don’t want to intrude, but Edgar said you might be interested.”

“By all means,” said Ragna. “I’d love to see.”

“You don’t have to buy anything, don’t worry.” Cuthbert spread a blue cloth on the floor and opened the chest. It was full of objects wrapped in woolen cloth. He brought items out one by one, carefully unwrapped them, and laid them in front of Ragna, glancing anxiously at her all the time. She was pleased to see that the quality of the workmanship was high. He had made brooches, buckles, clasps, arm rings, and finger rings, mostly silver, all engraved with elaborate patterns, often inlaid with a black substance that Ragna assumed was niello, a mixture of metals.

Her eye lit on a chunky arm ring with a masculine look. She picked it up and found it satisfyingly heavy. It was silver with an engraved pattern of intertwining serpents, and she could picture it on Wilwulf’s muscular arm.

Cuthbert said slyly: “You’ve picked my best piece, my lady.”

She studied it. She felt sure Wilwulf would like it, and wear it with pride. She said: “What’s the price?”

“There’s a lot of silver in it.”

“Is the silver pure?”

“One part in twenty is copper, for strength,” he said. “Same as our silver coins.”

“Very good. How much?”

“Would it be for Ealdorman Wilwulf?”

Ragna smiled. He was not going to name a price until he had to. He was trying to figure out how much she would be willing to pay. Cuthbert might be timid, she thought, but he was sly, too. “Yes,” she replied. “A wedding gift.”

“In that case, I must let you have it for no more than it cost me, as my way of honoring your nuptial celebrations.”

“You’re very kind. How much?”

Cuthbert sighed. “A pound,” he said.

It was a lot of money: two hundred and forty silver pennies. But there was about half a pound of silver in the arm ring: the price was reasonable. And the more she looked at it, the more she wanted it. She imagined herself slipping it over Wilwulf’s hand and up his arm, then looking at his face to see him smile.

She decided not to haggle; it was undignified. She was not a peasant woman buying a ladle. But she pretended to hesitate, just for the sake of appearances.

Cuthbert said: “Don’t make me sell it for less than it cost me, dear lady.”

“Very well,” she said. “A pound.”

“The ealdorman will be delighted. This will look wonderful on his mighty arm.”

Cat had been watching the interchange, and now Ragna saw her quietly move to where their luggage was stowed and unobtrusively unlock an ironbound chest.

Ragna put the ring on her own arm. It was far too big, of course, but she liked the engraving.

Cuthbert wrapped up his remaining ornaments and lovingly stowed them away.

Cat came back with a small leather bag. Meticulously she counted out pennies in multiples of twelve. Cuthbert re-counted each twelve. Finally Cuthbert put the money in his chest, closed the box, and left, wishing Ragna a splendid wedding day and many years of happy marriage.

Supper was served at the two tables. The visitors ate first. There were no plates: instead, thick slices of bread were placed on the table and Ethel’s mutton with onions was ladled onto the bread. They all waited for Ragna to begin. She speared a piece of meat with her knife and put it in her mouth, then they all tucked in. The stew was simple but tasty.

Ragna felt cheered by food, ale, and the pleasure of buying a gift for the man she loved.

Night fell while they were eating, and lamps around the room were lit by the pregnant slave.

As soon as Ragna had finished eating she said: “Now I’m tired. Where do I sleep?”

Dreng said cheerfully: “Anywhere you like, my lady.”

“But where is my bed?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have beds, my lady.”

“No beds?”

“I’m sorry.”

Did they really expect her to wrap herself in her cloak and lie down in the straw with everyone else? The creepy Dreng would probably try to lie next to her. At the English monasteries she had been given a simple wooden bed with a mattress, and Thurstan of Lordsborough had provided a sort of box with leaves in the bottom. “Not even a box bed?” she said.

“No one in Dreng’s Ferry has a bed of any kind.”

Edgar spoke up. “Except the nuns.”

Ragna was surprised. “Nobody told me about any nuns.”

“On the island,” said Edgar. “There’s a small convent.”

Dreng looked cross. “You can’t go there, my lady. They look after lepers and all sorts. That’s why it’s called Leper Island.”

Ragna was skeptical. Many nuns cared for the sick, and they rarely caught the infections of their patients. Dreng just wanted the prestige of hosting Ragna overnight.

Edgar said: “The lepers aren’t allowed into the convent.”

Dreng said crossly: “You know nothing, you’ve only lived here a quarter of a year, keep your mouth shut.” He smiled unctuously at Ragna. “I couldn’t let you risk your life, my lady.”

“I’m not asking your permission,” Ragna said coldly. “I shall make up my own mind.” She turned to Edgar. “What are the sleeping arrangements at the nunnery?”

“I’ve only been there once, to repair the roof, but I think there are two bedrooms, one for the mother superior and her deputy, and a large room for the other five or six nuns. They all have wooden bedsteads with mattresses and blankets.”

“That sounds perfect. Will you take me there?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Cat and Agnes will come with me. The rest of my servants will remain here. If the nunnery turns out to be unsuitable for any reason, I’ll come straight back.”

Cat picked up the leather bag that contained the few items Ragna needed at night, such as a comb and a piece of Spanish soap. She had discovered that England had only liquid soap.

Edgar took a lamp from the wall and Cat another. If Dreng objected he did not dare say so.

Ragna caught Bern’s eye and gave him a hard look. He nodded, understanding her. He was in charge of the chest containing the money.

She followed Edgar out, and Cat and Agnes came behind. They made their way to the waterside and boarded the boat while Edgar untied the rope. His dog jumped aboard. Edgar picked up a pole and the boat moved off.

Ragna hoped the nunnery was as advertised. She was badly in need of a clean room and a soft bed and a warm blanket. She felt like a thirsty person whose throat burns with desire on seeing a flagon of cold cider.

She said: “Is the nunnery wealthy, Edgar?”

“Moderately,” he said. He poled the boat effortlessly and had no shortage of breath for talking. “They own land at Northwood and St.-John-in-the-Forest.”

Agnes said: “Are you married to one of the ladies in the tavern, Edgar?”

Ragna smiled. Clearly Agnes was attracted to Edgar.

He laughed. “No. Two of them are Dreng’s wives, and the pregnant girl is a slave.”

“Are men allowed to have two wives in England?”

“Not really, but the priests can’t stop it.”

“Are you the father of the slave’s baby?”

Another pointed question, Ragna thought.

Edgar was mildly offended. “Certainly not.”

“Who is?”

“No one knows.”

Cat said: “We don’t have slaves in Normandy.”

It was still raining. No moon or stars were visible. Ragna could see very little. But Edgar knew his way, and in a short time the ferry nudged a sandy bank. By the light of the lamps Ragna made out a little rowboat tied to a post. Edgar moored the ferry.

“The bank drops off steeply,” he said to the women. “Shall I carry you? It’s only two steps, but you will get your dresses wet.”

Cat answered. “Carry my lady, please,” she said briskly. “Agnes and I will manage.”

Agnes made a disappointed sound, but did not dare to argue with Cat.

Edgar stood in the water beside the boat. It came up to his thighs. Ragna sat on the edge of the boat with her back to him, then turned her body and put an arm around his neck, and finally swung her legs over the side. He took her weight on both arms, supporting her effortlessly.

She found herself enjoying his embrace. She felt a little ashamed: she was in love with another man, and about to marry him—she had no business snuggling up to someone else! But she had a good excuse and it was over in no time. Edgar took two steps through the water then set her down on the bank.

They followed a footpath up a slope. At its end was a large stone building. Its outlines were not clear in the lamplight, but Ragna thought she saw twin gables, and guessed that one marked the church and the other the convent. To the side of the convent was a little tower.

Edgar knocked on the wooden door.

After a while they heard a voice. “Who’s knocking at this time of night?”

Nuns went to bed early, Ragna recalled.

Edgar said: “This is Edgar the builder. I’ve brought the lady Ragna from Cherbourg, who commands your hospitality.”

The door was opened by a thin woman of about forty with pale blue eyes. A few strands of gray hair had escaped from her cap. She held a lantern up and looked at the visitors. When she saw Ragna her eyes widened and her mouth opened. It happened a lot: Ragna was used to it.

The nun stood back and let the three women in. Ragna said to Edgar: “Wait a few minutes, please, just in case.”

The nun closed the door.

Ragna saw a pillared room, dark and empty now, but probably the place where the nuns lived when they were not praying in the church. She made out the shadowy silhouettes of two writing desks, and concluded that these nuns copied and perhaps illuminated manuscripts as well as caring for lepers.

The nun who had let them in said: “I’m Mother Agatha, the abbess here.”

Ragna said amiably: “Named after the patron saint of nurses, I assume?”

“And of rape victims.”

Ragna guessed there was a story there, but she did not want to hear it tonight. “These are my maids, Cat and Agnes.”

“I’m glad to welcome you all here. Have you had supper?”

“Yes, thank you, and we’re very tired. Can you give us beds?”

“Of course. Please come with me.”

She led them up a wooden staircase. This was the first building Ragna had seen in England that had an upstairs floor. At the top Agatha turned into a small room lit by a single rush light. There were two beds. One was empty, and in the other was a nun about the same age as Agatha but more rounded, sitting up and looking surprised.

Agatha said: “This is Sister Frith, my deputy.”

Frith stared at Ragna as if she could hardly believe her eyes. There was something in her look that made Ragna think of the way men gazed at her sometimes.

Agatha said: “Get up, Frith. We’re giving up our beds to the guests.”

Frith got out of bed hurriedly.

Agatha said: “Lady Ragna, please take my bed, and your maids can share Frith’s.”

Ragna said: “You’re very kind.”

“God is love,” said Agatha.

“But where will you two sleep?”

“In the dormitory next door, with the other nuns. There’s plenty of room.”

To Ragna’s profound satisfaction the room was pristine. The floor was of bare boards, swept clean. On a table stood a jug of water and a bowl, no doubt for washing: nuns washed their hands a lot. There was also a lectern on which rested an open book. This was clearly a highly literate nunnery. There were no chests: nuns had no possessions.

Ragna said: “This is heavenly. Tell me, Mother Agatha, how did there come to be a convent here on this island?”

“It’s a love story,” said Agatha. “The nunnery was built by Nothgyth, the widow of Lord Begmund. After he died and was buried in the minster, Nothgyth did not wish to remarry, for he was the love of her life. She wanted to become a nun and live near his remains for the rest of her days, so that they would rise together at the Last Judgment.”

“How romantic,” Ragna said.

“Isn’t it?”

“Will you tell young Edgar that he may return to the mainland?”

“Of course. Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll come back and see if there’s anything else you need.”

The two nuns went out. Ragna threw off her cloak and climbed into Agatha’s bed. Cat hung Ragna’s cloak on a peg in the wall. From the leather bag she had brought, she took a small vial of olive oil. Ragna held out her hands and Cat poured a drop of oil on each. Ragna rubbed her hands together.

She made herself comfortable. The mattress was made of linen and stuffed with straw. The only sound was the wash of the river as it bathed the shores of the island. “I’m so glad we discovered this place,” she said.

Agnes said: “Edgar the builder has been a godsend—building up the fire, bringing you hot ale, fetching that little jeweler, and finally bringing us here.”

“You like Edgar, don’t you?”

“He’s lovely. I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”

The three women giggled.

Cat and Agnes got into their shared bed.

Mother Agatha returned. “Is everything all right?” she said.

Ragna stretched luxuriously. “Everything is perfect,” she said. “You’re so kind.”

Agatha bent over Ragna and kissed her softly on the lips. It was more than a mere peck, but did not last long enough to merit an objection. She stood upright, went to the door, and turned back.

“God is love,” said Mother Agatha.