The Evening and the Morning

CHAPTER 41 September 1006

agna rebuilt her life, making her days busy so that she would not brood over the loss of both Edgar and Alain. At Michaelmas she went to Outhenham in her new barge to collect her rents.

The barge needed two strong oarsmen. Ragna took her horse, Astrid, with her so that she could ride all the way along the Vale of Outhen. She also took a new maid, Osgyth, and a young man-at-arms, a black-haired boy called Ceolwulf, both of them from King’s Bridge. They fell for each other on the journey, teasing and giggling on the barge when they thought Ragna was not looking; so both were somewhat distracted from their duties. Ragna was inclined to be indulgent: she knew what it was to be in love. She hoped that Osgyth and Ceolwulf never learned what she knew about the misery that love could bring.

Her new great hall at Outhenham was not yet finished, but Edgar’s old house in the quarry was empty, so she lodged there with Osgyth and Ceolwulf. She liked it for sentimental reasons. The only other house in the quarry belonged to Gab.

The oarsmen stayed at the alehouse.

She held court, but there was not much justice needed. This was a happy time of year, with the harvest in the barns, bellies full of bread, and red-cheeked apples lying on the ground to be picked up; and this year the Vikings had not come this far west to spoil everything. When people were happy they were slow to quarrel and committed fewer crimes. It was in the miserable depths of winter that men strangled their wives and knifed their rivals, and it was in the hungry spring that women stole from their neighbors to feed their children.

She was pleased to see that Edgar’s canal was still in good condition, its edges straight and its banks sturdy. However, she was annoyed that the villagers had got into the lazy habit of throwing rubbish into the water. There was no through flow, so the canal did not clean itself the way a river did, and in places it smelled like a privy. She instituted a strict rule.

To enforce this and any other edicts, she dismissed Dudda and appointed a new headman, one of the elders of the village, the roly-poly alehouse keeper Eanfrid. A taverner was usually a good choice for headman: his house was already the center of village life and he himself was often a figure of unofficial authority. Eanfrid was also good humored and well liked.

Sitting outside the alehouse with a cup of cider she talked to Eanfrid about her income from the quarry, which had fallen since Edgar left. “Edgar is just one of those people who does everything well,” said Eanfrid. “Find us another one like him and we’ll sell more stone.”

“There isn’t another one like Edgar,” said Ragna with a sad smile.

They went on to discuss a murrain that had killed a number of sheep, and which Ragna thought was caused by grazing them on wet clay soil; but their conversation was interrupted. Eanfrid cocked his head, and a moment later Ragna heard what had caught his attention: the sound of thirty or more horses approaching, not cantering or even trotting but walking with weary steps. It was the noise made by a wealthy nobleman and his entourage on a long journey.

The autumn sun was red in the west: the visitors would undoubtedly decide to stay the night at Outhenham. The village would welcome them with mixed feelings. Travelers brought silver: they would buy food and drink, and pay for accommodation. But they might also get drunk and pester girls and start fights.

Ragna and Eanfrid stood up. A minute later the horsemen appeared, winding through the houses to the center of the village.

At their head was Wigelm.

Ragna was possessed by fear. This was the man who had imprisoned her, raped her, and stolen her child. What new torture had he devised for her? She controlled her trembling. She had always stood up to him. She would do so again.

Riding beside Wigelm was his nephew, Garulf, the son of Wilwulf and Inge. He was twenty-five now, but Ragna knew that he was no wiser than he had been as an adolescent. He looked like Wilf, with the fair beard and broad-shouldered swagger of the family men. She winced to think she had married two of them.

Eanfrid murmured: “What does Wigelm want here?”

“Only God knows,” Ragna replied in a shaky voice, then she added: “And maybe Satan.”

Wigelm reined in his dusty horse. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Ragna,” he said.

She was somewhat relieved. His remark indicated that he had not planned this meeting. Any evil he tried to do her would be improvised. “I don’t know why you’d be surprised,” she said. “I’m lord of the Vale of Outhen. What do you want here?”

“I’m ealdorman of Shiring, I’m traveling in my territory, and I intend to spend the night here.”

“Outhenham welcomes you, Ealdorman Wigelm,” Ragna said with cold formality. “Please enter the alehouse and take refreshment.”

He remained on his horse. “Your father complained to King Ethelred,” he said.

“Of course he did.” She got some of her nerve back. “Your behavior has been disgraceful.”

“Ethelred fined me one hundred pounds of silver for setting you aside without his permission.”

“Good.”

“I didn’t pay the fine, though,” said Wigelm; and he laughed heartily, then dismounted.

His men followed suit. The younger ones set about unsaddling the horses while the seniors settled in the alehouse and called for drink. Ragna would have liked to retire, but she felt she could not leave Eanfrid alone to cope with this visitation—he might struggle to keep order, and her authority would help.

She moved around the village, doing her best to stay out of Wigelm’s sight. She told the young men to put the horses to graze in a neighboring pasture. Then she picked out the houses where Wigelm and his entourage might spend the night, choosing the homes of older couples or young marrieds with small babies, avoiding those where there were adolescent girls. It was usual to pay the householder a penny for accommodating four men, and the family were expected to share their breakfast with the guests.

The village priest, Draca, who raised beef cattle, butchered a young steer and sold it to Eanfrid, who built a fire behind the tavern and roasted the joints on a spit. While the men were waiting for the meat they drank ale, and Eanfrid emptied two barrels and opened a third.

They spent an hour singing raucous anthems of violence and sex, then became argumentative. Just when Ragna feared a fight was imminent, Eanfrid served the beef, with bread and onions, which shut them up. After eating they began to drift off to their lodgings, and Ragna judged she could safely go to bed.

She returned to the house in the quarry with Osgyth and Ceolwulf. They barred the door firmly. They had brought blankets with them, but it was not yet winter cold, and they lay down in the straw wrapped only in their cloaks. Ceolwulf lay across the door, the approved position for a bodyguard, but Ragna caught a look between the two young people and guessed they planned to move closer together later.

Ragna lay awake for an hour or more, unnerved by the surprise appearance of her enemy Wigelm; but finally she drifted into a perturbed sleep.

She awoke with the sense that she had not been asleep long. She sat up and looked around, frowning, wondering uneasily what had disturbed her. In the firelight she saw that Osgyth and Ceolwulf had gone. She guessed they wanted to be alone, and had slipped away into the woods, where they were now probably under a bush, discovering sex in the moonlight.

She was less inclined to be indulgent now. They were supposed to care for her and protect her, not sneak off and leave her alone in the middle of the night. They would both be sacked when they got back to King’s Bridge.

She heard a drunk man talking loudly and incoherently, and guessed it was Gab. The voice must be what had awakened her. However, she was safe behind a barred door, she thought; then she realized that Osgyth and Ceolwulf must have unbarred the door to get out.

The drunk came closer, and she recognized the voice. It was not Gab, but Wigelm, she realized with a fearful chill.

He had found her house easily, despite his state, she guessed in a dreadful flash—he had simply followed the canal—but it was a tragic miracle that he had not fallen in the water and drowned.

She leaped to secure the door, but she was a moment too late. As she put her hands on the heavy timber bar, the door opened and Wigelm stepped in. She sprang back with a cry of fear.

Wigelm was barefoot and without a cloak, despite the chill of the autumn night. He was not wearing a belt or carrying a sword or knife, which gave some relief to Ragna. He looked as if he had got up from his bed and had not troubled to get properly dressed.

There was a strong, sour smell of ale.

He peered at her in the firelight as if unsure who she was. He was swaying, and she realized that he was very drunk. For a moment she optimistically hoped he might pass out right there and then, but his puzzled expression cleared and he said in a slurred voice: “Ragna. Yes. I was looking for you.”

I can’t take this, Ragna thought. I can’t suffer any more by this man. I want to die.

She tried to hide her despair. “Please go away.”

“Lie down.”

“I’ll scream. Gab and his wife will hear me.” She was not sure that was true: the two houses were widely separated.

Her threat was ineffective for a different reason. “What will they do?” he said scornfully. “I’m their ealdorman.”

“Get out of my house.”

He shoved her hard. Caught off balance, and surprised by how strong he was despite being drunk, she fell on her back. The impact knocked the wind out of her.

He said: “Shut your mouth and open your legs.”

She caught her breath. “You can’t do this, I’m no longer your wife.”

He toppled forward. Clearly he intended to land on her, but at the last moment she rolled sideways, and he fell on his face. She got up on her hands and knees, but at the same time he turned on his back and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him.

Trying to keep her balance, she moved her leg and, without intending it, planted her knee squarely in his belly. He said: “Oof!” and gasped.

Ragna moved the other leg so that both knees were in his belly, then she grabbed his arms and pressed them to the ground. In normal circumstances he could have thrown her off easily, but now he was unable to shake her.

It was an ironic reversal. For the first time ever, she had him at her mercy.

But what was she going to do?

His head moved from side to side, his eyes closed, and he gasped: “Can’t breathe.”

She realized that her knees were constricting his lungs, but she did not move to ease him, because she was terrified that he might regain his strength.

He seemed to convulse, and there was a smell of vomit. Liquid trickled from the corners of his mouth. His arms and legs went limp.

Ragna had heard of drunk men passing out and choking to death on their own puke. She realized, in a moment, that if Wigelm were to die now she would get Alain back: no one would say he should be raised by Meganthryth. A momentary wave of hope passed over her. She would have prayed for Wigelm to die, except that such a prayer seemed blasphemous.

Wigelm was not dying. His nose was full of liquid vomit but air was bubbling through it.

Could she kill him?

It would be a sin, and it would be dangerous. She would be a murderess and, although there was no one here to see what she was doing, she might nevertheless be found out somehow.

But she wanted him dead.

She thought of the year in prison, and the repeated rape, and the theft of her child. By forcing his way into her house tonight he had shown that his torture of her would never end, not while he lived. She had taken all she could stand; it had to end here and now.

God forgive me, she thought.

Tentatively, she took her hands away from his arms. He did not move.

She closed his mouth, then placed her left hand over his lips and pressed firmly.

He could still breathe through his nose, just.

She put her right forefinger and thumb either side of his nose and squeezed his nostrils.

Now he could not breathe.

She had not killed him, not yet; there was still time to change her mind, to release her grip. She could roll him over and clear the fluid from his mouth and enable him to breathe. He would probably survive.

Survive to attack her again.

She maintained her hold on his mouth and nose. She waited, watching his face. How long did a man live without air? She had no idea.

He twitched, but he seemed barely conscious, and could not struggle. Ragna remained with her knees in his belly, closing his mouth with one hand and his nose with the other. All his motion ceased.

Was he dead now?

The house was silent. The embers in the fire made no sound, and there was no rustle of small creatures in the rushes on the floor. She listened for footsteps outside but heard none.

Suddenly Wigelm opened his eyes. The shock made her shriek with fear.

He looked with terror at Ragna. He tried to shake his head but she leaned forward, pressing down harder with her two hands, holding him still.

He stared into her eyes, in a half-conscious panic, for a long moment of high tension. He was in fear of his life but he could not move, like a man in a nightmare. “This is how it feels, Wigelm,” she said, her voice taut with loathing. “This is what it’s like to be helpless at the mercy of a killer.”

Suddenly his feeble efforts ceased and his eyes rolled up into his head.

Still Ragna held her grip. Was he really dead? She could hardly believe that the man who had tormented her for so long might have left this world for good.

At last she summoned the courage to release her pressure on his nose and mouth. His face showed no change. She put her hand on his chest and felt no heartbeat.

She had killed him.

“God forgive me,” she prayed.

She found herself shaking uncontrollably. Her hands trembled, her shoulders shuddered, and her thighs felt so weak she wanted to lie down.

She struggled to control her body. What she needed to worry about right now was how men would react. No one would believe her innocent. The ealdorman, her great enemy, had died in the middle of the night with no one present but her. The evidence was incriminating.

She was a murderess.

At last she became steady and stood up.

It was not over yet. What would tell against her most was that the body was here with her. She had to move it. But where could she put it? The answer was obvious.

In the canal.

Wigelm’s drunken companions would have assumed he had gone to take a piss. In his state he could easily have passed out, fallen in the canal, and drowned before he could come around. That was exactly the kind of thing drunken fools did.

But no one must see her disposing of the body. She needed to move quickly, before Osgyth and Ceolwulf tired of canoodling and came back, before one of Wigelm’s half-conscious men began to wonder what was taking him so long and decided to go in search.

She grabbed one leg and heaved. It took more effort than she had expected. She moved him a yard then stopped. It was too much. He was a heavy man and, literally, a dead weight.

She could not be defeated by such a simple problem. Her horse, Astrid, was in a nearby pasture. If necessary Ragna would fetch the horse to drag the body—though that would take time and increase the risk of discovery. It would be quicker if she could put Wigelm on something, like a board. She remembered the blankets.

She took one and spread it on the floor next to Wigelm. With considerable effort she rolled him onto the blanket. Then she seized the head end and pulled. It was not easy, but it was possible, and she dragged him across the floor and out through the door.

She looked around in the moonlight and saw no one. Gab’s house was dark and quiet. Osgyth and Ceolwulf must still be in the woods, and there was no sign of a search party looking for Wigelm. Only the inhabitants of the night surrounded her: an owl hooting in the trees, a small rodent scurrying past so quickly that she saw it only out of the corner of her eye, the distinct swooping movement of a silent bat.

She decided she could manage without Astrid, just about. She hauled Wigelm slowly across the quarry. The body made a scraping noise as it moved, but not loud enough to be heard in Gab’s house.

From the quarry the ground sloped up gently, and her work became harder. She was already panting from the effort. She rested for a minute, then forced herself to resume the task. It was not much farther.

At last she reached the canal. She lugged him to the edge and rolled him in. There was a splash that sounded loud to her, and a smell of waste and rot from the disturbed water. Then the surface calmed, and Wigelm steadied, facedown. She saw a dead squirrel floating next to his face.

She rested, breathing hard, exhausted, but after a minute she realized this was not good enough. The corpse was still close enough to the house to arouse suspicion. She had to move it farther away.

If she had had a rope she could have tied it to him then walked along the bank, pulling Wigelm through the water. But she did not have a rope.

She thought of riding equipment. Astrid was in a field but her saddle and other tack were in the house. She returned there. She folded the blanket and put it at the bottom of the pile, hoping its dirty state would not be noticed for many days. Then she detached the reins from the bridle.

She returned to the canal. Still there was no one in sight. She reached across the water and grabbed the corpse by the hair. She pulled it to her, then fastened the strap around the neck. She stood up, tugged on the strap, and walked along the canal bank toward the village.

A part of her exulted to think that Wigelm was now so powerless that she could lead him along like a dumb animal.

She scanned all around her, peering into the shadows under the trees, scared that at any second she might run in to some nighttime wanderer. In the moonlight she saw a pair of yellow eyes, which gave her a momentary fright, until she realized she was looking at a cat.

As she neared the village, she heard raised voices. She cursed. It sounded as though Wigelm’s absence had been noticed.

She was not yet far enough from the quarry to divert suspicion. To rest her arm she changed hands and walked backward, but she could not see where she was going and, after stumbling twice, she put the tired arm back to work again. Her legs began to ache, too.

She saw lights moving among the houses. Wigelm’s men were looking for him, almost certainly. They were too drunk to search systematically, and their calls to one another were incoherent. But all the same one of them might spot her by chance. And if she were caught dragging Wigelm’s corpse along the canal there would be no doubt about her guilt.

She kept moving. One of the searchers came toward the canal with a lamp. Ragna stopped, got down on the ground, and lay still, watching the jerky movement of the light. What would she do if it came nearer? What story could she possibly tell to explain Wigelm’s corpse and her strap?

But the light seemed to go in the opposite direction and fade. When it disappeared she got to her feet and carried on.

She passed the back of one village house, then another, and decided that was far enough. Wigelm had been incapable of walking in a straight line so it would be assumed he had not taken the most direct route to the canal, but had staggered around at random on his way.

She knelt down, put her hands in the water, and unfastened the strap from Wigelm’s neck. Then she pushed his body out into the middle of the canal. “That way to hell,” she murmured.

She turned and hurried back to the quarry.

There was no movement around Gab’s house or Edgar’s. She hoped the lovebirds had not returned in her absence: she was not sure how she would explain what she had been doing.

She crossed the quarry with quiet steps and entered the house. No one was there.

She took her place in the straw and closed her eyes.

I believe I got away with it, she thought.

She knew she should have been full of guilt, but all she could do was rejoice.

She did not sleep. She relived the night in her head, from the moment she had heard Wigelm’s slurred voice to her final rush back along the bank of the canal. She asked herself whether she had done enough to make the death look like a drunken accident. Was there anything about the corpse that might cause suspicion? Had she perhaps been seen by someone who did not reveal himself? Had her absence from the house somehow been noticed?

She heard the door creak and guessed that Osgyth and Ceolwulf had returned. She pretended to be fast asleep. There was a soft thud as the bar was replaced—too late, she thought resentfully. She heard their tiptoe footsteps, a smothered giggle, and soft rustling as they lay down. She guessed that Ceolwulf had resumed his guard position, lying across the doorway, so that no one could get in without waking him.

Both young people were soon breathing rhythmically.

Clearly they had no idea of the night’s drama. And now Ragna saw that their negligence would work in her favor. If asked, they would swear that they had been in the house all night, guarding their mistress as was their duty. Their dishonesty would give her an alibi.

Soon it would be a new day, a happy day, her first in a world without Wigelm.

She hardly dared to think about Alain. With Wigelm dead, surely she would get her child back? No one would want Meganthryth to raise him, now that Wigelm was no longer around to bully them—would they? It would make no sense, but it might be done out of spite. Wigelm was gone, but his evil brother, Wynstan, was still alive. People said Wynstan was going mad, but that only made him even more dangerous.

She fell into a fretful doze and was awakened by a knock at the door, three sharp taps, polite but urgent. A voice said: “My lady! Eanfrid here.”

Now for the aftermath, she thought.

She stood up, brushed off her dress, and smoothed her hair, then said: “Let him in, Ceolwulf.”

Dawn was breaking, she saw when the door was opened. Eanfrid entered, red-faced and panting from the effort of carrying his considerable bulk at a fast walk. Without preamble he said: “Wigelm is missing.”

Ragna adopted a tone of brisk efficiency. “Where was he when you last saw him?”

“He was in my alehouse, still drinking with Garulf and others, when I fell asleep.”

“Has anyone looked for him?”

“His men have been wandering around calling his name half the night.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Ragna turned to her servants. “Did you?”

Osgyth said quickly: “Nothing, my lady. It was quiet here the whole night through.”

Ragna was keen to get them both to commit to lying. She said: “Did either of you go outside at all in the night, even just to piss or anything?”

Osgyth shook her head, and Ceolwulf said firmly: “I didn’t move from my place by the door.”

“Right.” She was satisfied. It would now be difficult for them to change their story. “It’s daylight, so we must organize a systematic search.”

They walked to the village. Passing the canal brought grim thoughts, but Ragna pushed them to the back of her mind. She went to the priest’s house and banged on the door. The church did not have a bell tower, but Draca had a handbell. The shaven-headed priest appeared and Ragna said briskly: “Lend me your bell, please.” He produced it and she rang vigorously.

People who were already up and about came immediately to the green between the church and the alehouse. Others followed, buckling their belts and rubbing their eyes. Most of Wigelm’s party looked much the worse for their revels.

The sun was rising by the time everyone had assembled. Ragna spoke so that all could hear. “We’ll form three search parties,” she said in a tone that did not invite discussion. She pointed at the priest. “Draca, take three villagers and search the west pasture. Go around the edges and all the way to the riverbank.” Next she chose the baker, a solidly reliable man. “Wilmund, you take three men-at-arms and search the east ploughland. Again, make sure you’re thorough and go all the way to the canal.” Wilmund would find the corpse if he was meticulous. Finally she turned to Garulf, whom she wanted out of the way. “Garulf, take everyone else to the north wood. That’s where your uncle is most likely to be. My guess is he lost his way in a drunken stupor. You’ll probably find him asleep under a bush.” The men laughed. “All right, move out!”

The three search parties left.

Ragna knew she had to act normally. “I could do with some breakfast,” she said to Eanfrid, though in truth she was still too wound up to be hungry. “Get me some ale and bread and an egg.” She led the way into the tavern.

Eanfrid’s wife brought her a jug and a loaf and quickly cooked an egg. Ragna drank the ale and forced herself to eat, and she felt better despite her lack of sleep.

What would the men-at-arms say when the body was found? In the night Ragna had assumed that they would jump to the obvious conclusion, that Wigelm had died in a drunken accident. But now she saw that there were other possibilities. Would they suspect foul play? And if they did, what could they do about it? Fortunately, there was no one here who ranked high enough to challenge Ragna’s authority.

As she had intended, Wilmund’s group found the body.

What she had not expected was the shock she felt when she looked at the corpse of the man she had killed.

Wigelm was carried into the village by Wilmund and one of Wigelm’s entourage, Bada. As soon as Ragna saw it she began to feel the horror of what she had done.

Last night she had been full of fear until Wigelm died, and then suffused with relief that he was gone. Now she remembered that she had suffocated Wigelm, and had watched his face while, moment by moment, the life left his body. At the time she had felt nothing but terror, but now, when she remembered the scene, she was sick with guilt.

She had seen dead people plenty of times, but this was different. She felt she was going to faint, or cry, or scream.

She struggled to remain calm. She had to conduct an inquest, and she needed to manage it carefully. She must not seem too eager to reach the obvious verdict. And she must show no fear.

She ordered the men to lay the corpse on a trestle table in the church, and she sent messengers to recall the other two search parties.

Everyone crowded into the little church, whispering out of respect, staring at the dead white face of Wigelm, and watching his clothes drip canal water onto the floor.

Ragna began by speaking to Garulf, the highest-ranking man among Wigelm’s entourage. “Last night,” she said to him, “you were among the last drinkers in the alehouse.” Her voice seemed to her to sound unnaturally calm, but no one noticed. “Did you see Wigelm fall asleep?”

Garulf looked shocked and scared, and had trouble answering the simple question. “Um, I don’t know, wait, no, I think I closed my eyes before he did.”

Ragna led him along. “Did you see him again after that?”

He scratched his stubbled chin. “After I fell asleep? No, I was asleep. But hold on. Yes. He must have got up, because he stumbled over me and that woke me.”

“You saw his face.”

“In the firelight, yes, and heard his voice.”

“What did he say?”

“He said: ‘I’m going to piss in Edgar’s canal.’”

Some of the men laughed, then stopped abruptly when they realized it was inappropriate.

“And then he went out?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

Garulf was regaining his composure, and making more sense. “Some time later, someone woke me by saying: ‘Wigelm seems to be having a very long piss.’”

“What did you do?”

“I went back to sleep.”

“Did you see him again?”

“Not alive, no.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I think he fell into the canal and drowned.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. Ragna was pleased. She had led them to the result she wanted while letting them think it had been their own decision.

She looked around the church. “Did anyone see Wigelm after he left the tavern in the middle of the night?”

No one answered.

“To the best of our knowledge, then, the cause of death was accidental drowning.”

To her surprise Bada, the man-at-arms who had helped carry Wigelm from the canal to the church, spoke up in dissent. “I don’t think he drowned,” he said.

Ragna had been afraid of something like this. She hid her anxiety and put on an expression of interest. “What makes you say that, Bada?”

“I’ve taken a drowned man out of the water before. When you lift him, a lot of fluid comes out of his mouth. It’s the water he breathed in, the water that killed him. But when we lifted Wigelm, nothing came out.”

“Now that’s curious, but I’m not sure it gets us anywhere.” Ragna turned to the baker. “Did you see that, Wilmund?”

“I didn’t notice it,” the baker said.

Bada said insistently: “I did, though.”

“What do you think it signifies, Bada?”

“It shows that he was dead before he went in the water.”

Ragna remembered holding Wigelm’s mouth and nose so that he could not breathe. The picture kept returning to her mind no matter how hard she tried. With an effort she thought of the next question. “So how did he die?”

“Maybe someone killed him, then threw the body in the water.” Bada looked defiantly around the church. “Someone who hated him, perhaps. Someone who felt wronged by him.”

Ragna was being accused by implication. Everyone knew she had hated Wigelm. If the charge were made openly, she was confident that the villagers would loyally take her side; but she did not want things to go that far.

She walked slowly and deliberately around the body. With difficulty, she made her voice calm and confident. “Come closer, Bada,” she said. “Look carefully.”

The room went quiet.

Bada did as she said.

“If he didn’t drown, how was he killed?”

Bada said nothing.

“Do you see a wound? Any blood? A bruise, even? Because I don’t.”

She was suddenly scared by a new thought. The strap she had used to pull the corpse along the canal might have left a red mark. Discreetly, she looked hard at the skin of his throat, but to her relief nothing was visible.

“Well, Bada?”

Bada just looked sulky.

“Anybody,” Ragna said to the crowd. “Come as near as you like. Inspect the body. Look for signs of violence.”

Several people stepped forward and peered closely at Wigelm. One by one they shook their heads and stepped back.

Ragna said: “Sometimes a man just drops dead, especially one who has been getting drunk every evening for years. It’s possible Wigelm suffered some kind of seizure while pissing in the canal. Perhaps he died and then fell into the water. We may never know. But there’s no sign that it was anything but an accident, is there?”

Once again the crowd murmured assent.

Bada looked mulish. “I’ve heard tell,” he said, “that if a murderer touches the corpse of his victim, the dead man will bleed afresh.”

A chill went through Ragna. She had heard that, too, though she had never seen it happen and did not really believe it. But she was going to have to test the truth of the superstition now.

She said to Bada: “Who would you would like to see touch the body?”

“You,” said Bada.

Ragna struggled to hide her fear. Pretending supreme confidence, she said: “Watch, everyone.” Unfortunately she could not quite stop the tremor in her voice. She lifted her right arm high, then brought it down slowly.

In the version she had heard, when she touched Wigelm, blood would pour from his nose, mouth, and ears.

At last she laid a hand on Wigelm’s heart.

She kept it there for a long moment. The church was silent. The body was horribly cold. She felt faint.

Nothing happened.

The corpse did not move. No blood appeared. Nothing.

Feeling as if her life had been saved, she lifted her hand, and the crowd gave a collective sigh of relief.

Ragna said: “Anyone else you suspect, Bada?”

Bada shook his head.

Ragna said: “Wigelm died in the canal when drunk. That is the verdict, and this inquest is over.”

The people began to leave the church, talking among themselves. Ragna listened to the tone of the collective murmur and heard satisfied conviction.

But they were not the only people she needed to convince. The city of Shiring was much more important. She needed to make sure her version of events, as backed up by the Outhenham verdict, was the one repeated in the alehouses and brothels tomorrow.

And for that she had to get there first.

The men most likely to make trouble for her were Garulf and Bada. She thought of a way to make sure they were detained here in Outhenham.

She summoned them. “You two are responsible for the ealdorman’s body,” she said. “Go now to Edmund the carpenter and tell him I command him to make a coffin for Wigelm. He should be able to finish it by this evening or tomorrow morning. Then you are to escort the body to Shiring for burial in the cathedral graveyard. Is that clear?”

Bada looked at Garulf.

“Yes,” Garulf said. He seemed glad to have someone tell him what to do.

Bada was not so compliant.

Ragna said: “Bada, is that clear?”

He was forced to back down. “Yes, my lady.”

Ragna would leave immediately, but without warning. Quietly, she said: “Ceolwulf, find the oarsmen and bring them to the quarry.”

Ceolwulf was young enough to be cheeky. He said: “What for?”

She made her voice coldly severe. “Don’t you dare question me. Just do as you’re told.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Osgyth, come with me.”

Back at the house she told Osgyth to pack. When Ceolwulf arrived she ordered him to saddle Astrid.

One of the oarsmen said: “Are we going back to King’s Bridge?”

Ragna did not want to give anyone a chance to betray her plans. “Yes,” she said. It was half true.

When they were ready, she rode along the side of the canal with her servants accompanying her on foot. At the riverside they boarded the barge.

Then she told the oarsmen to row her to the opposite bank. Having heard Ceolwulf snapped at for insolence, they did not question her.

They tied up and she walked Astrid off the barge.

“Ceolwulf and Osgyth come with me,” she said. “You two, row the barge back to King’s Bridge and wait for me there.”

Then she turned her horse in the direction of Shiring.

Ragna was nervous about being reunited with her child.

She had not seen Alain for six months, which was a long time in the life of a toddler. He was now three years old. Did he now think Meganthryth was his mother? Would he even remember Ragna? When she took him away, would he cry for Meganthryth? Should Ragna tell him that his father was dead?

She did not have to confront these questions immediately upon arrival. It was dark. The search and the inquest at Outhenham had taken up most of the morning, so she arrived in Shiring in the evening, when little children were asleep and the grown-ups were preparing supper. She would not wake Alain. When she was married to Wigelm he had sometimes taken it into his head to visit his son late in the evening, and always insisted on waking the child. Alain would grizzle sleepily until he was put down again, and then Wigelm would accuse Ragna of turning his son against him. But the fault was his own. Ragna would not make the same mistake. She would not go to the ealdorman’s compound until the morning. “We’ll stay with Sheriff Den tonight,” she said to her servants.

She found Den sitting with his wife, Wilburgh, while supper was prepared in his great hall. “I’ve just come from Outhenham,” Ragna said. “Wigelm died there last night.”

Wilburgh said: “Heaven be praised.”

Den asked the key question. “How did he die?” he said calmly.

“He got drunk and fell in the canal and drowned.”

“No surprise.” Den nodded. “It’s a pity you were there, though. People will suspect you.”

“I know. But there were no signs of violence on the body, and the villagers are satisfied that it was an accident.”

“Good.”

“I need to spend the night here in your compound.”

“Of course. Let’s get you settled in, then you and I must talk about what happens next.”

Den assigned her an empty house. It might have been the one in which she had lain with Edgar, for the first and only time, four years ago. She remembered every detail of their lovemaking, but she was not sure which house they had had. She wished she could make love to him again.

She left Osgyth and Ceolwulf to light the fire and make the place comfortable, and she returned to Den’s house. “I’m going to take my son Alain back tomorrow morning,” she said. “There’s no reason for him to stay with Wigelm’s concubine.”

Wilburgh said: “I should think so, too.”

“I agree,” said Den.

“Sit down, my lady, please,” said Wilburgh. She brought a jug of wine and three cups.

Ragna said: “I hope King Ethelred will support me.”

“I believe he will,” said Den. “In any case, it will be the least of his concerns.”

Ragna had not thought about the king’s other concerns. “What do you mean?”

“The main question is who will become ealdorman now.”

Ragna had had too much else to worry about: the body, the inquest, getting to Shiring first, and most of all Alain. But now that Den had raised the subject she saw that it was a matter of pressing urgency. It would affect her future profoundly. She wished she had given it more thought.

Den said: “I’m going to tell the king that there’s only one practical answer.”

Ragna could not guess what he meant. “Tell me.”

“You and I have to rule Shiring together.”

Ragna was thunderstruck. She said nothing for a long moment. Finally she managed: “Why?”

“Think about it,” Den said. “Wigelm’s heir is Alain. Your son inherits the town of Combe. And the king ruled that Wigelm was Wilwulf’s heir, so all of Wilwulf’s lands also now come to Alain.” He paused to let that sink in, then he said: “Your little boy is now one of the richest men in England.”

“Of course he is.” Ragna felt stupid. “I just hadn’t thought it through.”

“He’s two years old, isn’t he?”

Wilburgh said: “More like three, now.”

“Yes,” said Ragna. “He’s three.”

“So you will be lord of all his lands for the next decade at least. In addition to the Vale of Outhen.”

“This depends on the king’s approval.”

“True, but I can’t imagine him doing anything else. Every nobleman in England will be watching to see how Ethelred handles this. They like to see wealth passed from father to son, because they want their own sons to inherit.”

Ragna sipped wine thoughtfully. “The king doesn’t have to do everything the nobles want, of course, but if he doesn’t they can make trouble.”

“Exactly.”

“But who will be named as the new ealdorman?”

“If it could be a woman, Ethelred would choose you. You have the wealth and status, and you’re known to be a fair judge. They call you Ragna the Just.”

“But a woman can’t be ealdorman.”

“No. Nor raise armies and lead them into battle against the Vikings.”

“So you will do that.”

“I’m going to propose to the king that he make me regent until Alain is old enough to rule as ealdorman. I will manage the defense of Shiring against Viking raids, and continue to collect taxes for the king. You will hold court, on behalf of Alain, in Shiring and Combe as well as Outhenham, and administer all the smaller courts. That way the king and the nobles get what they want.”

Ragna felt excited. She had no greed for wealth, perhaps because she had never lacked for money, but she was eager to gain the power to do good. She had long felt it was her destiny. And now she seemed on the brink of becoming the ruler of Shiring.

She found that she badly wanted the future that Den painted for her. She began to think about how to make sure of it.

“We should do more,” said Ragna. Her strategic brain was back on track. “Remember what Wynstan and Wigelm did after they killed Wilwulf? They took charge the very next day. No one had time to figure out how to stop them.”

Den looked thoughtful. “You’re right. They still needed royal approval, of course—but once they were in place it was difficult for Ethelred to dislodge them.”

“We should hold court tomorrow morning—in the ealdorman’s compound, in front of the great hall. Announce to the townspeople that you and I are taking charge—no, that we already have taken charge—pending the king’s decision.” She thought for a minute. “The only opposition will come from Bishop Wynstan.”

“He’s ill, and losing his mind; and people know that,” Den said. “He’s not the power he once was.”

“Let’s make sure of that,” Ragna insisted. “When we go to the compound, you should take all your men with you, fully armed, a show of strength. Wynstan has no men-at-arms: he never needed them because his brothers had plenty. Now he has no brothers and no men. He may protest at our announcement, but there will be nothing he can do about it.”

“You’re right,” said Den. He looked at Ragna with an odd little smile.

She said: “What?”

He said: “You’ve just proved it. I made the right choice.”

In the morning Ragna could hardly wait to see Alain.

She forced herself not to hurry. This was a hugely important public event, and she had long ago learned the importance of giving the right impression. She washed thoroughly, to smell like a noblewoman. She let Osgyth do her hair in an elaborate style with a high hat, to make her even taller. She dressed carefully, in the richest clothes she had with her, to look as authoritative as possible.

But then she could not discipline herself any longer, and she went ahead of Sheriff Den.

The townspeople were already climbing the hill to the ealdorman’s compound. The news had evidently got around town already. No doubt Osgyth and Ceolwulf had talked last night of the events in Outhenham, and half the townspeople had heard the story—Ragna’s version—by morning. They were avid to learn more.

Den had written to the king last night, before going to bed, and his messenger had left already. It would be some time before a reply came: Den was not sure where the king was, and it could take the messenger weeks to find him.

Ragna went straight to Meganthryth’s house.

She saw Alain immediately. He was sitting at the table eating porridge with a spoon, watched by his grandmother, Gytha, and Meganthryth, plus two maids. Ragna realized with a shock that he was no longer a baby. He was taller, his dark hair was getting long, and his face had lost its pudgy roundness. He had the beginnings of the nose and chin that characterized the men of Wigelm’s family.

She cried: “Oh, Alain, you’ve changed!” and she burst into tears.

Gytha and Meganthryth both turned around, startled.

Ragna went to the table and sat by her son. He stared at her thoughtfully with his large blue eyes. She could not tell whether he knew her or not.

Gytha and Meganthryth looked on without speaking.

Ragna said: “Do you remember me, Alain?”

“Mudder,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he had been searching for the right word and was satisfied to have found it; then he put another spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

Ragna felt a wave of relief overwhelm her.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at the other women. Meganthryth’s eyes were red and sore. Gytha was dry-eyed, but her face was white and drawn. They had heard the news, evidently, and both were possessed by grief. Wigelm had been evil, but he had been Gytha’s son and Meganthryth’s lover, and they mourned him. But Ragna felt little compassion. They had connived in the monumental cruelty of taking Alain away from Ragna. They deserved no sympathy.

Ragna said firmly: “I have come to take back my child.”

Neither woman protested.

Alain put down his spoon and turned his bowl to show that it was empty. “All gone,” he said. He placed the bowl back on the table.

Gytha looked defeated. All her deviousness had come to nothing in the end. She seemed much changed. “We were cruel to you, Ragna,” she said. “It was wicked of us to take your child.”

It was a shocking turnaround, and Ragna was not ready to take it at face value. “Now you admit it,” she said. “When you’ve lost the power to keep him.”

Gytha persisted. “You won’t be as wicked as us, will you? Please don’t cut me off from my only grandchild.”

Ragna made no reply. She turned her attention back to Alain. He was watching her carefully.

She reached for him and he held out his arms to be picked up. She lifted him onto her lap. He was heavier than she remembered: she would no longer be able to carry him around half the day. He leaned into her, resting his head on her chest, and she felt the heat of his little body through the wool of her dress. She stroked his hair.

From outside she heard the sound of a large group of people. Den was arriving with his entourage, she guessed. She stood up, still holding Alain in her arms. She went out.

Den was marching across the compound at the head of a large squad of men-at-arms. Ragna joined him and walked by his side. A crowd was waiting for them outside the great hall.

They stopped at the door and turned to face the people.

All the important men of the town stood at the front of the crowd. Bishop Wynstan was there, Ragna saw; and she was shocked by his appearance. He was thin and stooped, and his hands were shaking. He looked like an old man. His face as he stared at Ragna was a mask of hatred, but he seemed too weak to do anything about it, and his weakness appeared to fuel his rage.

Den’s deputy, Captain Wigbert, clapped his hands loudly.

The crowd went quiet.

Den said: “We have an announcement.”