The Evening and the Morning

CHAPTER 36 June 1003

dgar was shaping a beam with an adze, a tool like an ax but with an arched blade, its edge at right angles to the handle, designed for scraping a length of timber to a smooth, even surface. In past times work such as this had been a delight to him. He had found profound satisfaction in the fresh smell of the scraped wood, the sharpness of the cutting edge, and most of all the clear, logical picture he had in his head of the structure he was creating. But now he worked joylessly, as mindless as a mill wheel going around and around.

He paused, straightened his back, and took a long swallow of weak ale. Looking across the river he saw that the trees on the far side were now in full leaf, fresh green in the pale morning sun. That woodland had formerly been a dangerous place on account of Ironface, but now travelers ventured there with less trepidation.

On the near side, his family’s farmland was just turning from green to yellow as the oats ripened, and he could see in the distance the stooped figures of Erman and Cwenburg as they weeded. Their children were with them: Winnie, now five, was old enough to help with the weeding, but Beorn, three, was sitting on the ground, playing with the earth. Nearer to Edgar, Eadbald was at the fishpond, up to his waist in the water, pulling up a fish trap and examining the contents.

Nearer still, there were new houses in the village, and many of the old buildings had been extended. The alehouse had a brewhouse, which was even now giving off the yeasty aroma of fermenting barley: Blod had taken over the brewing after Leaf died, and she had turned out to have something of a flair for it. Right now Fat Bebbe was sitting on the bench in front of the alehouse drinking a flagon of Blod’s ale.

The church had an extension, and the monastery had a stone building for the school, library, and scriptorium. Halfway up the hill, opposite Edgar’s house, a site was slowly being cleared for the new, larger church that would be built there one day, if Aldred’s dreams came true.

Aldred’s optimism and ambition were infectious, and most of the village now looked to the future with eager hope; but Edgar was an exception. Everything that he and Aldred had achieved in the last six years tasted sour in his mouth. He could think of nothing but Ragna, languishing in some place of captivity all this time while he was powerless to help her.

He was about to restart his work when Aldred came down from the monastery. Rebuilding the bridge was quicker than the original construction, but not much, and Aldred was desperately impatient. “When will it be finished?” he asked Edgar.

Edgar surveyed the site. He had used his Viking ax to chop away the charred remains. He had let the useless ashes float downstream, and had stacked half-burned timbers by the riverside to be recycled as firewood. He had renewed the stout abutments on both banks, then had rapidly built a series of simple flat-bottomed boats to be fixed together and moored to the abutments to form the pontoons. He was now fashioning the framework that would rest on the boats and support the roadbed.

“How long?” said Aldred.

“I’m not dawdling,” Edgar said irritably.

“I didn’t say you were dawdling, I asked you how long. The priory needs the money!”

Edgar hardly cared about the priory and he resented Aldred’s tone. Lately he had found that several of his friends were becoming uncongenial. Everyone seemed to want something from him, and he found their demands annoying. “I’m on my own!” he said.

“I can give you more monks to use as laborers.”

“I don’t need laborers. Most of the work is skilled.”

“Perhaps we can get other builders to help you.”

“I’m probably the only craftsman in England willing to work in exchange for reading lessons.”

Aldred sighed. “I know we’re lucky to have you, and I’m sorry to badger you, but we really are eager to get this finished.”

“I hope the bridge might be ready to use by the autumn.”

“Could you make it sooner, if I could find the money for another skilled man to work with you?”

“Good luck finding one. Too many builders round here have gone to Normandy for higher wages. Our neighbors across the Channel have long been ahead of us in building castles and now, apparently, the young Duke Richard is turning his attention to churches.”

“I know.”

Edgar was impatient about something else. “I saw that a traveling monk spent last night at the monastery. Did he have news of King Ethelred?” After all his months of searching, Edgar now believed that the king represented the only hope of finding Ragna and freeing her.

“Yes,” said Aldred. “We learned that Swein Forkbeard sacked Wilton and left. Ethelred got there too late. The Vikings, meanwhile, had sailed for Exeter, so our king and his army headed there.”

“They must have taken the coast road, as Ethelred didn’t pass through Shiring this time.”

“Correct.”

“Has the king held court anywhere in the Shiring region?”

“Not as far as we know. He has neither confirmed Wigelm as ealdorman nor issued any new orders about Ragna.”

“Hell. She’s been a prisoner for nearly ten months now.”

“I’m sorry, Edgar. Sorry for her and sorry for you.”

Edgar did not want anyone’s pity. He glanced toward the tavern and saw Dreng outside. He was standing near Bebbe but looking at Edgar and Aldred. Edgar shouted: “What are you staring at?”

“You two,” Dreng said. “Wondering what you’re plotting now.”

“We’re building a bridge.”

“Aye,” said Dreng. “Take care, though. It would be a shame if this one were to burn down, too.” He laughed, then turned around and went inside.

Edgar said: “I hope he goes to hell.”

“Oh, he will,” said Aldred. “But while we wait for that I have another plan.”

Aldred went to Shiring and returned a week later with Sheriff Den and six men-at-arms.

Edgar heard the horses and looked up from his work. Blod came out of the brewhouse to see. Within a couple of minutes most of the village had gathered at the riverside. Despite the season the weather was cool, with a chill breeze. The sky was gray and threatened rain.

The men-at-arms were grim-faced and silent. Two of them dug a narrow hole in the ground outside the alehouse and fixed a stake into it. The villagers asked questions but got no answers, which made them all the more curious.

However, they could guess that someone was about to be punished.

Edgar’s brothers had got wind that something was happening, and showed up with Cwenburg and the children.

When the stake was firmly embedded, the men-at-arms seized Dreng.

“You let me go!” he shouted, struggling.

They pulled off his clothes, causing everyone to laugh.

“My cousin is the bishop of Shiring!” he yelled. “You’ll all pay a heavy price for this!”

Ethel, Dreng’s surviving wife, rained feeble blows on the men-at-arms with her fist, saying: “Leave him alone!”

They ignored her and roped her husband to the stake.

Blod looked on expressionlessly.

Prior Aldred spoke to the crowd. “King Ethelred has ordered a bridge to be built here,” he said. “Dreng threatened to burn it down.”

“I did not!” said Dreng.

Fat Bebbe was watching. “You did, though,” she said. “I was there, I heard you.”

Sheriff Den said: “I represent the king. He is not to be defied.”

Everyone knew that.

“I want each person to go home, find a bucket or a pot, and bring it back here, quickly.”

The villagers and the monks obeyed with alacrity. They were keen to see what was going to happen. Among the few who declined to join in were Cwenburg, Dreng’s daughter, and her two husbands, Erman and Eadbald.

When they had reassembled, Den said: “Dreng threatened a fire. We will now put out his flames. Everyone, fill your vessel from the river and pour the water over Dreng.”

Edgar guessed that Aldred had devised this punishment. It was more symbolic than painful. Few people would have dreamed up something so mild. On the other hand it was humiliating, especially for a man such as Dreng, who boasted of his connections in high places.

And it was a warning. Dreng had got away with burning down the bridge before, because that bridge had belonged to Aldred, who was no more than the prior of a small monastery, whereas Dreng had the support of the bishop of Shiring. But the sheriff’s action today announced that the new bridge would be different. This one belonged to the king, and even Wynstan would struggle to protect someone who set fire to it.

The villagers began to throw their containers of river water over Dreng. He was not much liked, and people clearly enjoyed what they were doing. Some took care to throw the water directly into his face, which made him curse. Others laughed and poured it over his head. Several people went back for another bucketful. Dreng began to shiver.

Edgar did not fill a bucket but stood watching, with his arms folded. Dreng will never forget this, he thought.

Eventually Aldred called: “Enough!”

The villagers stopped.

Den said: “He is to remain here until dawn tomorrow. Anyone who releases him before then will take his place.”

Dreng was going to spend a cold night, Edgar thought, but he would live.

Den led his men-at-arms to the monastery, where presumably they would stay the night. Edgar hoped they liked beans.

The villagers dispersed slowly, realizing there was no more fun to be had.

Edgar was about to restart his work when Dreng caught his eye.

“Go on, laugh,” said Dreng.

Edgar was not laughing.

Dreng said: “I heard a rumor about your precious Norman lady, Ragna.”

Edgar froze. He wanted to walk away, but he could not.

“I hear she’s pregnant,” Dreng said.

Edgar stared at him.

Dreng said: “Now laugh at that.”

Edgar brooded over Dreng’s taunt. He might have been making it up, of course. Or the rumor might simply be untrue: many rumors were. But Ragna might really be pregnant.

And if she was pregnant, Edgar might be the father.

He had made love to her only once, but once could be enough. However, their night of passion had been in August, so the baby would have been born in May, and it was now June.

The baby might be late. Or perhaps it had already been born.

That evening he asked Den if he had heard the rumor. Den had.

“Do they say when the baby is due?” he asked.

“No.”

“Did you pick up any hint of where Ragna is?”

“No, and if I did, I would have gone there and rescued her.”

Edgar had had the conversation about Ragna’s whereabouts a hundred times. The pregnancy rumor took him no nearer to an answer. It was just an additional torture.

Toward the end of June he realized he needed nails. He could make them in what had once been Cuthbert’s forge, but he had to go to Shiring to buy the iron. Next morning he saddled Buttress and joined up with two trappers heading for the city to sell furs.

At midmorning they stopped at a wayside alehouse known as Stumpy’s on account of the proprietor’s amputated leg. Edgar fed Buttress a handful of grain, then she drank from a pond and cropped the grass around it while Edgar ate bread and cheese, sitting on a bench in the sunshine with the trappers and some local men.

He was about to leave when a troop of men-at-arms rode by. Edgar was startled to see Bishop Wynstan at their head, but happily Wynstan did not notice him.

He was even more surprised to see, riding with them, a small gray-haired woman he recognized as Hildi, the midwife from Shiring.

He stared at the group as they receded in a cloud of dust, heading for Dreng’s Ferry. Why would Wynstan be escorting a midwife? Could it be a coincidence that Ragna was rumored to be pregnant? Perhaps, but Edgar was going to assume the opposite.

If they were taking the midwife to attend on Ragna, they could lead Edgar to her.

He took his leave of the trappers, climbed onto Buttress, and trotted back the way he had come.

He did not want to catch up with Wynstan on the road: that could lead to trouble. But they had to be heading for Dreng’s Ferry. They would either stay the night there or ride on, perhaps to Combe. Either way Edgar could continue to follow them, at a discreet distance, to their destination.

Since Ragna had vanished he had had many surges of exhilarating hope followed by heartbreaking disappointments. He told himself that this could be another one such. But the clues were promising, and he could not help feeling a thrill of optimism that banished, at least for now, his depression.

He saw no one else on the road before he arrived back in Dreng’s Ferry at midday. He knew immediately that Wynstan and the group had not stopped here: it was a small place and he would have seen some of them outside the alehouse, men drinking and horses grazing.

He went into the monks’ house and found Aldred, who said: “Are you back already? Did you forget something?”

“Did you speak to the bishop?” Edgar asked without preamble.

Aldred looked puzzled. “What bishop?”

“Didn’t Wynstan come through here?”

“Not unless he walked on tiptoe.”

Edgar was bewildered. “That’s strange. He passed me on the road, with his entourage. They must have been on their way here—there’s nowhere else.”

Aldred frowned. “The same thing happened to me, back in February,” he said thoughtfully. “I was returning from Shiring, and Wigelm passed me on the road, going in the opposite direction. I thought he must have been here, and I worried about what mischief he might have been making. But when I arrived Brother Godleof told me they had not seen any sign of him.”

“Their destination must be somewhere between here and Stumpy’s.”

“But there’s nothing between here and Stumpy’s.”

Edgar snapped his fingers. “Wilwulf had a hunting lodge deep in the forest on the south side of the Shiring road.”

“That burned down. Wigelm built a new lodge in the Vale of Outhen, where the hunting is better.”

“They said it had burned down,” said Edgar. “That might not have been true.”

“It’s what everyone believed.”

“I’m going to check.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Aldred. “But shouldn’t we get Sheriff Den to come with us, and bring some men?”

“I’m not prepared to wait,” Edgar said firmly. “It would take two days to get to Shiring then a day and a half to return to Stumpy’s. I can’t wait four days. Ragna might be moved in that time. If she’s at the old hunting lodge I’m going to see her today.”

“You’re right,” said Aldred. “I’ll saddle a horse.”

He also put on a silver cross on a leather thong. Edgar approved: Wynstan’s men might hesitate to attack a monk wearing a cross. On the other hand, they might not.

A few minutes later the two of them were on the road.

Neither had ever been to the hunting lodge. Fire or no fire, it had not been used for years. Wilwulf had gone away to war and come back severely wounded, and after his death Wigelm had hunted elsewhere.

But they knew roughly where it must be. Between Dreng’s Ferry and Stumpy’s there had to be a track leading away from the road into the forest to the south. All Edgar and Aldred had to do was find it. If the lodge truly had burned and was no longer in use then the task would be difficult: the entrance to the side track would be overgrown and hard to see. But if the story of the fire was a lie intended to divert suspicion, and people were still using the track to get to the lodge, to bring supplies—and a midwife—then there would be a roadside gap visible where the undergrowth had been trodden down and saplings had been damaged or destroyed.

Edgar and Aldred made several fruitless excursions, along tracks leading to isolated cottages, homesteads, and one small village that neither man had ever heard of. They were almost at Stumpy’s when Edgar noticed a place where several horses had passed today: there were freshly snapped twigs on the bushes and recent droppings on the path. His heart beat faster and he said: “I think this could be it.”

They turned in. The path got narrower but the evidence of recent passage became stronger. Now Edgar began to feel fear as well as hope. He might find Ragna, but if he did he would also come across Wynstan, and what would Wynstan do? Beside Edgar, Aldred looked unafraid, but he probably thought God would protect him.

The woods were full of lush new growth. Every minute or two Edgar glimpsed a deer moving silently through the dappled shadows, evidence that there had been no hunting here recently. Progress slowed. Where low branches overhung the path they had to dismount. They walked a mile, then another.

Then Edgar heard the voices of children.

They tied up their horses and walked forward slowly, trying to make no noise. They approached the edge of a clearing and stopped in the shadow of a massive oak.

Edgar recognized the children right away: the four-year-old boy was Osbert, the two-year-old twins were Hubert and Colinan, and the little girls were Cat’s daughters, Mattie, who was four, and Edie, two. Although pale, they looked well enough otherwise, running around after a ball.

However, Cat’s appearance shocked him. Her black hair was lank and lifeless and her skin was blemished. There was a boil on the side of her tip-tilted nose. Worst of all, the spark of mischief had gone from her eyes and her expression was lethargic. She stood with her shoulders slumped, watching the children without apparent interest.

Edgar looked past Cat to the timber house behind her. Its windows had been boarded over so that the shutters could not be opened. The door was secured from the outside by a heavy bar, and a guard sat nearby on a bench, looking the other way and picking his nose. Edgar recognized him as a Shiring boy called Elfgar. His right arm was covered with a dirty bandage.

There were several more buildings and a field where horses grazed, presumably the mounts of Wynstan and his men.

Aldred whispered: “This is the secret prison. We should leave now, before we’re seen. We can go to Shiring and fetch Den.”

Edgar knew Aldred was right, but now that he was this close he could not tear himself away. “I have to see Ragna,” he said.

“You don’t need to. She must be here. It’s dangerous to linger.”

“You go and fetch Den. I don’t care if they imprison me for a few days.”

“Don’t be such a fool!”

Their murmured conversation was interrupted by a loud voice from behind: “Who the hell are you?”

Both turned. The speaker was a man-at-arms called Fulcric. He had a spear in his hand and a long dagger in a wooden sheath hanging from his belt. Scars on his hands and face showed he had survived many fights. Edgar realized at once that physical resistance would be useless.

Aldred adopted an authoritative tone. “I am Prior Aldred and I’m here to speak to the lady Ragna,” he said.

“You’ll speak to Bishop Wynstan before you see anyone else,” said Fulcric.

“Very well,” said Aldred, as if he had a choice.

“Over there.” Fulcric nodded toward a house on the far side of the clearing.

Edgar turned and stepped out of the trees. “Hello, Cat,” he said quietly. “How are you?”

Cat gave a little cry of shock. “Edgar!” She looked around with a frightened expression. “This is dangerous for you.”

“Never mind,” he said. “Is Ragna here?”

“Yes.” Cat hesitated. “She’s pregnant.”

So it was true. “I heard a rumor.”

He was about to ask when the baby was due when Elfgar awoke from his reverie, jumped to his feet, and said: “Hey, you!”

Fulcric said: “You’re half asleep, boy. They were hiding in the trees.”

Edgar said: “You know me, Elfgar. I mean no harm. What happened to your arm?”

“I was in the king’s army and I got a spear wound from a Viking,” Elfgar said proudly. “It’s healing, but I can’t fight until it’s better, so they sent me home.”

Fulcric said: “Keep moving, you two.”

They crossed the clearing but, before they came to the house, the door opened and Wynstan came out. When he saw Edgar and Aldred he registered surprise but—strangely—not dismay. “So, you found the place!” he said cheerfully.

Aldred said: “I am here to see the lady Ragna.”

“I haven’t seen her myself yet,” said Wynstan. “I’ve been . . . busy.” He glanced back through the open door of the house he had left, and Edgar thought he saw Agnes there.

That confirmed another rumor.

Edgar said: “You have kidnapped her and imprisoned her here against her will. That’s a crime, and you shall be called to account.”

“On the contrary,” said Wynstan mildly. “The lady Ragna wished to retire from the public eye and mourn her late husband in solitude for a year. I offered her the use of this isolated lodge so that she could be undisturbed. She accepted my offer gratefully.”

Edgar looked at him through narrowed eyes. Widows did sometimes withdraw for a period of mourning, but they went to nunneries, not hunting lodges. Was there any chance at all that this fairy tale might be believed? Everyone present knew it was a blatant lie, but others might not. Wynstan had escaped the charge of forgery with a similarly devious ruse. Edgar said: “I insist you free the lady Ragna immediately.”

“There’s no question of freeing her,” Wynstan said, still pretending to be all sweet reason. “She has expressed a wish to return to Shiring, and I have come to escort her there.”

Edgar stared, incredulous. “You’re taking her back to the compound?”

“Yes. Quite naturally, she wants to see King Ethelred.”

“The king is coming to Shiring?”

“Yes, so we’re told. We’re not sure when.”

“And you’re taking Ragna to meet him?”

“Naturally.”

Edgar was confounded. What was Wynstan up to now? His tone of goodwill was of course completely false, but what did he intend in reality?

Edgar said: “Will she tell me the same?”

“Go and ask her,” said Wynstan. “Elfgar, let him in.”

Elfgar unbarred the door, and Edgar went inside. The door closed behind him.

The room was dark: the shutters were closed over the windows. It smelled bad, like the slave quarters in the ealdorman’s compound, where the people were not allowed out at night. Flies circled around a covered pot in a corner. The rushes on the floor should have been changed months ago. Mice rustled underfoot. It was hot and airless.

As his eyesight adjusted to the gloom Edgar saw two women sitting facing each other on a bench, holding hands. Evidently he had interrupted an intimate conversation. One of the women was Hildi: she got up and left immediately. The other had to be Ragna, but she was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was dirty brown rather than red-gold, and her complexion was spotty. Her dress might once have been blue, but now it was a mottled gray-brown. Her shoes were in tatters.

Edgar held out his arms to embrace her, but she did not come to him.

He had lived this moment many times in his imagination: the happy smiles, the nonstop kisses, her body pressed hard against his, the murmured words of love and joy. The reality was nothing like his dream.

He took a step toward her, but she stood up and moved back.

He had to make allowances, he realized. Her spirit had been crushed. She was not herself. He must help her to act normally.

He found his voice and said gently: “May I kiss you?”

She lowered her eyes.

Still speaking in a low, loving tone, he said: “Why not?”

“I’m hideous.”

“I’ve seen you better dressed.” He smiled. “But that doesn’t matter. You’re you. We’re together. That’s all I care about.”

She shook her head.

Edgar said: “Say something.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“I can see that.” He studied her figure. The bulge was clearly visible, but not enormous. “When is the baby due?”

“August.”

He had suspected this, but confirmation came like a blow. “So it’s not mine.”

She shook her head.

“Who, then?”

“Wigelm.” She lifted her head at last. “His men held me down.” Defiance showed in her face. “Many times.”

Edgar felt as if he had been knocked over. He could hardly breathe. No wonder she was in the depths of despair. It was a miracle she had not gone mad.

When he recovered his voice, he did not know what to say. Eventually he managed: “I love you.”

His words made no impression.

She seemed numb, stunned, like one barely conscious, a sleepwalker. What could he do? He wanted to comfort her, but nothing he said seemed to register. He would have touched her, but when he lifted his hands she backed away. He might have overcome her resistance and embraced her regardless, but he sensed that would just remind her of what Wigelm had done. He was helpless.

She said: “I want you to go.”

“I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Then go.”

“I love you.”

“Please go.”

“I’m going.” He went to the door. “We’ll be together one day. I know it.”

She said nothing. He thought he saw the glint of tears in her eyes, but the room was dark and it might have been wishful thinking.

“Say good-bye to me, at least,” he said.

“Good-bye.”

He knocked at the door and it was opened immediately.

“Au revoir,” he said. “I’ll see you again soon.”

She turned her back, and Edgar walked out.

Ragna left the hunting lodge the next day with Cat and the children. They rode on the same cart that had brought them. They departed early and arrived as darkness was falling. The two women were tired and the children were cranky, and they all went to sleep as soon as they got into the house.

Next morning Cat borrowed a big iron pot from the kitchen and they heated water on the fire. They washed the children from head to toe, then themselves. After putting on clean clothes, Ragna began to feel less like penned livestock and more like a human being.

Gilda the kitchen maid appeared with a loaf of bread, fresh butter, eggs, and salt, and they all fell on the food as if starving.

Ragna needed to rebuild her household, and she decided to start with Gilda. “Would you like to come and work for me?” she said as Gilda was leaving. “And your daughter, Winthryth, too, perhaps?”

Gilda smiled. “Yes, please, my lady.”

“I haven’t any money to pay you now, but I will soon.” Before too long a courier would arrive from Normandy.

“That’s all right, my lady.”

“I’ll speak to the kitchenmaster later. Don’t say anything to anyone for the moment.”

All Ragna’s possessions seemed to be here. Her robes were on pegs around the walls, and looked as if they had been aired. Most of the chests seemed to be here, with her brushes and combs, scented oils, belts and shoes, and even her jewelry. Only her money was missing.

She was going to see the kitchenmaster, a mere servant, but she needed to assert her authority right from the start. She put on a silk dress in a rich dark brown color and tied a gold-colored sash around her middle. She chose a tall pointed hat. She picked out a jeweled headband to secure the hat, and added a pendant and an arm ring.

She walked across the compound with her head held high.

Everyone was interested to see her and curious about how she looked. She met the eyes of each person she passed, determined not to appear cowed by her ill-treatment. People were at first unsure how to react, then they decided to play it safe and bow to her. She spoke to several and they responded warmly. She guessed they might look back nostalgically to the times when Wilwulf and Ragna ruled the compound: it was unlikely that Wigelm had been equally congenial.

The kitchenmaster was called Bassa. She walked up to him and said: “Good morning to you, Bassa.”

He looked startled. “Good morning,” he said, then after a brief hesitation, he added: “My lady.”

“Gilda and Winthryth are coming to work at my house,” she said in a tone that did not invite discussion.

Bassa was uncertain, but just said: “Very good, my lady.” People never got in trouble for saying that.

“They can begin tomorrow morning,” Ragna said in a softer voice. “That will give you time to make other arrangements.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

Ragna left the kitchen, feeling better. She was behaving like a powerful noblewoman, and people were treating her as such.

As she returned to her house, Sheriff Den appeared, followed by two of his men. “You need bodyguards,” he said.

It was true. After the death of Bern had left her unprotected, it had been easy for Wigelm to kidnap her quietly in the middle of the night. She wanted never to be so vulnerable again.

Den said: “I’m lending you Cadwal and Dudoc until you’re able to hire your own.”

“Thank you.” Ragna was struck by a thought. “Where will I find bodyguards for hire, I wonder?”

“This autumn there will be a lot of soldiers returning from the Viking war. Most will go back to their farms and workshops, but some will be looking for employment, and they will have had the kind of experience a bodyguard needs.”

“Good point.”

“You may need to equip them with decent weapons. And I’d recommend heavyweight leather jerkins. They will keep the men warm in winter and give some protection, too.”

“As soon as I get some money.”

It was another week before money arrived. It came with Prior Aldred, who had been looking after the cash brought every three months by Odo and Adelaide.

He also brought a folded sheet of parchment. It was a copy, made in his scriptorium, of Wilwulf’s will. “This may help you when you see King Ethelred,” he said.

“Do I need help? I’m going to accuse Wigelm of kidnap and rape. Both crimes were witnessed by my maid Cat.” She put her hand on her belly. “And if further proof were needed, there’s this.”

“And that would be sufficient, if we lived in a world that was ruled by laws.” Aldred sat on a stool, leaned forward, and spoke quietly. “But the man matters more than the law, as you know.”

“Surely King Ethelred must be mortally offended by what Wigelm has done.”

“True. And he could turn his army on Shiring and arrest Wigelm and Wynstan. Goodness knows, they’ve done enough to deserve that. But the king has his hands full battling the Vikings, and he may feel this is the wrong time to fight English noblemen who are his allies.”

“Are you telling me that Wigelm is going to get away with it?”

“I’m saying that Ethelred will see this as a political problem, rather than a simple matter of crime and punishment.”

“Hell. So how might he solve the problem?”

“He may think the simplest answer is for you to marry Wigelm.”

Ragna stood up, furious. “Never!” she cried. “Surely he wouldn’t force me to marry the man who raped me?”

“I don’t think he would force you, no. And even if he were inclined that way I suspect his new Norman queen would take your side. But you don’t want to clash with the king if you can help it. You need him to think of you as a friend.”

Ragna struggled to accept all this. She recalled that she had once been quite shrewd about politics. She felt passionately angry and indignant, but that was not helping her to develop her strategy. She was lucky that Aldred was here to open her eyes. She said: “What do you think I should do?”

“Before Ethelred gets the chance to suggest the marriage, you should ask him to make no decision about your future before the baby is born.”

It was a sensible idea, Ragna thought. The whole picture would be changed if the baby died. Or the mother. And both happened frequently.

Aldred must have been thinking that, but he said something different. “Ethelred will like the idea because it will offend nobody.”

More importantly, Ragna thought, it would give her time to renew her friendship with Queen Emma and win her as an ally. There was nothing so valuable as a friend at court.

Aldred stood up. “I’ll leave you to think about that.”

“Thank you for taking care of my money.”

“Edgar traveled here with me. Will you see him?”

Ragna hesitated. She thought with regret of their last encounter. She had been too paralyzed with self-disgust to talk sensibly. He must have been terribly upset by her pregnancy, and her mood must have made that even worse. “Of course I’ll see him,” she said.

When he came in she noticed how well dressed he was, in a fine wool tunic and leather shoes. He wore no jewelry, but his belt had a decorated silver buckle and strap end. He was prospering.

And his face bore an expression of eager optimism that she knew well.

She stood up and said: “I’m glad to see you.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace.

He was careful of her belly, but he hugged her shoulders hard. It almost hurt, but she did not care, she was so pleased to be touching him. They stayed like that for a long moment.

When they broke apart he was smiling like the boy who won the race. She smiled back. “How are you?” she said.

“I’m all right, now that you’re free.”

“Have you finished your bridge?”

“Not yet. What about you, what’s your plan?”

“I have to stay here until the king comes.”

“Will you come to Dreng’s Ferry afterward? Our plan could still work. You could take refuge in the nunnery for as long as necessary. And we could talk at leisure about . . . our future.”

“I’d like that. But I can’t make any plans until I see the king. He is in charge of noble widows. I don’t know what he might do.”

Edgar nodded. “I’ll leave you for now. I have to buy iron. But will you invite me to dinner?”

“Of course.”

“I’m happy to sit around the table with the servants and children, you know that.”

“I know.”

“I have one more question.” He took her hands.

“Go ahead,” she said.

“Do you love me?”

“With all my heart.”

“Then I’m a happy man.”

He kissed her lips. She let her mouth linger on his for a long moment. Then he left.