The Evening and the Morning

CHAPTER 15 December 31, 997

ost of Ragna’s servants and men-at-arms were to return to Normandy. After the wedding she kept them with her as long as she reasonably could, but the time came when she had to relent, and they left on the last day of December.

A typical English drizzling rain fell on them as they carried their bags to the stables and loaded the packhorses. Only Cat and Bern were to stay: that had been the arrangement from the start.

Ragna could not help feeling sad and anxious. Although she was deliriously happy with Wilf, still she feared this moment. She was an Englishwoman now, surrounded by people she had met only a few weeks ago. As if she had lost a limb, she missed the parents, the relations, the neighbors, and the servants who had known her since before she could remember.

She told herself that thousands of noble brides must have felt the same. It was common for aristocratic girls to marry and move far from home. The wisest of them threw themselves into their new lives with energy and enthusiasm, and that was what Ragna was doing.

But that was small consolation today. She had known moments when the world seemed to be against her—and next time that happened, who would she turn to?

She would turn to Wilf, of course. He would be her friend and counselor as well as her lover.

They made love in the evening and often again in the morning, and sometimes in the middle of the night, too. After a week he had resumed his normal duties, riding out every day to visit some part of his domain. Fortunately there was no fighting: the Welsh raiders had gone home of their own accord, and Wilf said he would punish them in his own good time.

All the same, not every trip could be completed in a single day, so he began to spend some nights away. Ragna would have liked to go with him, but she was in charge of his home now, and she had not yet secured her grip on authority, so she stayed. The arrangement had an upside: he returned from such journeys hungrier than ever for her.

She was pleased when most of the residents of the compound came to say good-bye to the departing Normans. Although some of the English had at first been wary of the foreigners, that had quickly faded, and friendships had flourished.

As they were preparing to start the long journey home, the seamstress, Agnes, came to Ragna in tears. “Madame, I am in love with the Englishman Offa,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to leave.”

Ragna was only surprised that it had taken Agnes this long to make up her mind. The signs of the romance had been obvious. She looked around and caught the eye of Offa. “Come here,” she ordered him.

He stood in front of her. He would not have been Ragna’s choice. He had the heavy look and flushed skin of someone who ate and drank a little too well. The broken nose was perhaps not his fault, but all the same Ragna felt he looked untrustworthy. However, he was Agnes’s choice, not Ragna’s.

Agnes was small and Offa was large, and as they stood side by side they looked faintly comic. Ragna had to smother a smile.

She said: “Do you have something to say to me, Offa?”

“My lady, I beg permission to ask Agnes to be my wife.”

“You are the reeve of Mudeford.”

“But I have a house in Shiring. Agnes can still take care of your clothes.”

Agnes added hastily: “If you so wish, my lady.”

“I do,” Ragna said. “And I’m glad to give my consent to your marriage.”

They thanked her profusely. Sometimes, Ragna reflected, it was very easy to make people happy.

At last the group moved out. Ragna stood and waved them out of sight.

She would probably never see any of them again.

She did not allow herself to linger on her sense of loss. What did she need to do next? She decided to deal with Dunnere the carpenter. She was not going to put up with his slackness, even if he was Gytha’s nephew.

She returned to her house and sent Bern to fetch Dunnere and his men. To receive them she sat on the kind of seat her father had used for formal occasions, a four-legged stool in the shape of a broad rectangle, with a cushion for comfort.

There were three carpenters: Dunnere, Edric, and Edric’s son Hunstan. She did not invite them to sit. “From now on,” she said, “you will go into the forest once a week to fell trees.”

“What for?” Dunnere said sullenly. “We get wood when we need it.”

“You’re going to have a stockpile, which will reduce delays.”

Dunnere looked mutinous, but Edric said: “That’s a good idea.”

Ragna marked him down as more conscientious than Dunnere.

She said: “What’s more, you’re going to do it on the same day every week—Friday.”

“Why?” said Dunnere. “One day’s as good as another.”

“It’s to help you remember.” In truth it was to help her keep tabs on them.

Dunnere was not ready to give in. “Well, then, what if someone wants a repair done on a Friday? Milly, say, or Gytha?”

“You’ll be gone from here so early that you won’t know. You can take your breakfast with you. But if anyone asks you to do something different on a Friday—Milly or Gytha or anyone else—you just tell them to come and see me, because I’m in charge of you, and you’re not allowed to change the schedule without my permission. Is that clear?”

Dunnere sulked, but Edric said: “Very clear, mistress, thank you.”

“You may go now.”

They trooped out.

She knew this would cause trouble, but it was necessary. However, she would be wise to defend herself against a counterattack. Gytha might go behind Ragna’s back and complain to Wilf. Ragna needed to make sure of his response in that event.

She left the house, heading for Wilf’s place. She passed the house her men-at-arms had lived in for the last twelve weeks, empty now: she would need to think about what should be done with it.

She was surprised to see a woman she did not recognize coming out of the place. She did not yet know everyone in Shiring, but this particular person was striking. In her thirties, she wore tight clothing and red shoes, and she had a lot of wild-looking hair that was not quite tamed under a large soft hat. Respectable women did not show much hair in public, and although a few stray locks might be overlooked, the woman in the red shoes was pushing the boundary of decorum. Yet she appeared unembarrassed, and walked with a confident stride. Ragna was curious to speak to her, but at that moment she caught sight of Wilf. She postponed speaking to the woman and followed him into his house.

As always, he kissed her enthusiastically. Then he said: “I have to go to Wigleigh today. I need to make sure they’ve paid the correct rents to Dean Degbert.”

She said: “I’ve told our carpenters to go into the forest and fell a tree every Friday. They need a stockpile, so that they can do repairs without delay.”

“Good thinking,” said Wilf with a touch of impatience. He did not like to be bothered with domestic issues.

Ragna said: “I mention the carpenters to you only because Dunnere is a problem. He’s lazy and he’s a drunk.”

“You’d better come down hard on him.”

Despite Wilf’s impatience, Ragna continued to nudge him toward saying what she wanted to hear. “You don’t think he deserves special indulgence because he’s Gytha’s nephew?”

“No! It doesn’t matter who he is, he still owes me a good day’s work.”

“I agree, and I’m glad to have your backing.” She kissed him with her mouth open, and he forgot his irritation and responded ardently. “Now you must go,” she said.

They left the house together. The men-at-arms were assembling for the trip, and she watched Wilf join them, exchanging a joke or a few words with three or four. As they were about to leave, a young man of about sixteen years joined the group, and Ragna was surprised to see Wilf kiss him affectionately. Before she could ask who he was, they mounted and rode out.

As soon as Wilf had gone, Gytha approached Ragna. Here it comes, Ragna thought: she’ll be angry about the carpenters. Dunnere must have wasted no time in complaining to his aunt.

But Gytha surprised her by talking about something else. “The house that was occupied by your men-at-arms is empty now,” she said.

“Yes.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

Gytha was being carefully polite. That was a second surprise. Ragna responded: “Of course.”

“Perhaps we could allow Wigelm and Milly to use it again.”

Ragna nodded. “Good idea—unless there’s anyone else who might need it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I saw someone looking at it earlier—a woman in red shoes.”

“That’s Milly’s sister, Inge. She could look after the place while Wigelm and Milly are at Combe.”

“That sounds like sensible arrangement.”

“Thank you,” said Gytha, but the note in her voice was not gratitude. It sounded to Ragna more like triumph.

Gytha went away. Ragna frowned as she returned to her own place. Why was she uneasy about the conversation? She suspected Gytha, feeling that her surface courtesy concealed an underlying hostility.

Ragna’s intuition told her that something was wrong.

Ragna’s anxiety grew through the day. Who was the boy her husband had kissed? He might be a close relative, a beloved nephew perhaps, but if so why had he not been at the wedding? The kiss could not have been sexual: Ragna was as sure as a person could be that Wilf was not interested in sex with men. And what was Gytha up to, pretending to be so nice?

Ragna decided to question Wilf the minute he got home. But as the hours went by, she wavered. She might need to be more cautious. Something was going on that she did not understand, and her ignorance put her at a disadvantage. Her father would never go to an important meeting until he was sure he knew everything that might be said there. Ragna was in a foreign country whose customs were still not entirely familiar. She had to tread carefully.

Wigleigh was not far, and Wilf returned in midafternoon, but it was a short December day, and the light was already fading. A servant was lighting basket torches mounted on poles outside the main buildings. Ragna went with Wilf into his house and poured him a cup of ale.

He drank it in one draught then kissed her with the taste of ale on his tongue. He smelled of sweat and horse and leather. She was hungry for his love, perhaps because of the disquiet that had plagued her all day. She took his hand and pressed it between her thighs. He did not need much persuasion, and they made love right away.

Afterward, he fell into a light sleep, with his muscular arms outstretched and his long legs splayed, a strong man resting after an energetic day.

Ragna left him. She went to the kitchen and checked on the preparations for supper; she looked into the great hall to make sure it was ready for the evening meal; then she walked around the compound, observing who was working and who was lazing around, who was sober and who drunk, whose horse was fed and watered and whose had not even been unsaddled yet.

At the end of her peregrination she saw Wilf talking to the woman in the red shoes.

Something about them arrested her. She stopped and watched them from a distance. They were lit by the wavering light of the torch outside Wilf’s door.

There was no reason why they should not talk: Inge was a kind of sister-in-law to Wilf, and they might be innocently fond of each other. All the same, Ragna was taken aback by the intimacy suggested by their bodies: they stood close, and she touched him several times, casually gripping his forearm to make a point, rapping his chest with the back of her hand in a dismissive gesture as if telling him not to be so foolish, and once, putting the tip of her forefinger on his cheek affectionately.

Ragna could not move, could not tear her gaze away.

Then she saw the boy Wilf had kissed. He was young, with no beard, and though tall he gave the impression of being not quite full grown, as if the long limbs and wide shoulders had not yet knit together into a man’s body. He joined Wilf and Inge, and the three talked for a minute with relaxed familiarity.

These people have clearly been part of my husband’s life for many years, Ragna thought; how come I have no idea who they are?

Finally they split up, still without noticing her. Wilf headed for the stable, no doubt to make sure the grooms had taken care of his horse. Inge and the boy went into the house Ragna had agreed to allocate to Wigelm, Milly, and Inge.

Ragna could not live in doubt and suspense any longer, but still she was unwilling to confront Wilf. So who could she talk to?

There was really only one possibility: Gytha.

She hated the thought. She would be revealing her ignorance, showing herself weak, and giving Gytha the position of the wise, knowing one—just when Gytha seemed to be accepting that she was no longer the ruler of Wilf’s home.

But who else was there? Wynstan would be worse than Gytha. Aldred would be at prayers now. She did not know Sheriff Den well enough. She could not sink so low as to ask Gilda the kitchen maid.

She went to Gytha’s house.

She was glad to find Gytha alone. Gytha offered her a cup of wine, and Ragna took it, needing courage. They sat on stools near the fire, facing each other. Gytha looked wary, but Ragna sensed something else: Gytha knew why Ragna had come, knew the questions she was going to ask, and had been waiting for this moment.

Ragna swallowed a mouthful of wine and tried to assume a casual tone of voice. “I noticed a newcomer in the compound, an adolescent boy, about sixteen, tall.”

Gytha nodded. “That would be Garulf.”

“Who is he, and what is he doing here?”

Gytha smiled, and Ragna saw with horror that the smile was loaded with malice. Gytha said: “Garulf is Wilf’s son.”

Ragna gasped. “Son?” she said. “Wilf has a son?”

“Yes.”

That explained the kiss, at least.

Gytha added: “Wilf is forty years old. Did you think you married a virgin?”

“Of course not.” Ragna thought furiously. She knew that Wilf had been married before, but not that he had a child. “Are there others?”

“Not that I know of.”

So, one son. It was a shock, but she could bear it. However, she had one more question. “What connection does Garulf have with the woman in the red shoes?”

Gytha smiled broadly, and it was ominously clear that this was her great moment of triumph. “Why,” she said, “Inge is Wilf’s first wife.”

Ragna was so shocked that she jumped to her feet and dropped her cup. She let it lie there. “His first wife is dead!”

“Who told you that?”

“Wynstan.”

“Are you sure that’s what he said?”

Ragna remembered clearly. “He said: ‘Sadly his wife is no longer with us.’ I’m sure of it.”

“I thought as much,” Gytha said. “You see, no longer with us is not the same as dead, not at all.”

Ragna was incredulous. “He deceived me, and my father and mother?”

“There was no deceit. After Wilf met you, Inge was set aside.”

“Set aside? What in heaven’s name does that mean?”

“That she is no longer his wife.”

“So it’s a divorce?”

“Of sorts.”

“Then why is she here?”

“Just because she’s no longer his wife doesn’t mean he can’t see her. After all, they have a child together.”

Ragna was horrified. The man she had just married already had a family: a wife of many years, from whom he had had a divorce “of sorts,” and a son who was almost a man. And he was clearly fond of them both. And they had now moved into the compound.

She felt as if the world had shifted under her feet, and she struggled to keep her equilibrium. She kept thinking that surely this could not be true. It could not be that everything she had believed about Wilf was wrong.

Surely he could not have deceived her so badly.

She now felt she had to get away from Gytha’s exultant gaze. She could not bear that woman’s knowing eyes on her. She went to the door, then turned back. An even worse thought had struck her.

She said: “But Wilf cannot continue to have marital relations with Inge.”

“Can’t he?” Gytha shrugged. “My dear, you must ask him about that.”