“And you made it happen.”

They were standing outside the church, looking down the slope to the river. Both wore heavy cloaks against the winter cold. Edgar had a fur hat, but Aldred made do with his monkish hood.

Edgar studied the bridge with pride. As Aldred had envisaged, on each side of the river was a row of boats sticking out into the water like twin peninsulas. Each row was linked to a stout riverside mooring by ropes that allowed the bridge a small degree of movement. Edgar had built flat-bottomed boats, low-sided near the banks and rising in height toward the center. They were linked by oak beams bearing a framework that supported the timber roadbed above. There was a gap in the middle, where the span was highest, to allow river traffic to pass.

He wanted Ragna to see it. It was her admiration he craved. He imagined her looking at him with those sea-green eyes and saying How marvelous, you’re so clever to know how to do that, it looks perfect, and a sensation of warmth spread though his body, as if he had drunk a cup of mead.

Looking over Dreng’s Ferry, he recalled the rainy day when she had arrived here with all the grace of a dove curving down to a branch. Had he fallen in love with her right away? Perhaps just a little bit, even then.

He wondered when Ragna would come here again.

Aldred said: “Who are you thinking about?”

Edgar was startled by Aldred’s perception. He did not know what to say.

“Someone you love, obviously,” Aldred said. “It shows on your face.”

Edgar was embarrassed. “The bridge will need maintenance,” he said. “But if it’s looked after, it will last a hundred years.”

Ragna might never return to Dreng’s Ferry, of course. It was not an important place.

“Look at the people crossing,” said Aldred. “It’s a triumph.”

The bridge was already much used. People came to buy fish and to attend services. More than a hundred had crowded into the church at Christmas, and had witnessed the elevation of Saint Adolphus.

Everyone who crossed paid a farthing, and another farthing to go back. The monks had an income, and it was growing. “You did this,” Aldred said to Edgar. “Thank you.”

Edgar shook his head. “It’s your persistence. You’ve been through one setback after another, mostly due to the malice of evil men, and yet you never give up. Every time you’re knocked to the ground you just get up and start again. You amaze me.”

“My goodness,” said Aldred, looking inordinately pleased. “High praise.”

Aldred was in love with Edgar, and Edgar knew it. Aldred’s love was hopeless, for Edgar would never reciprocate. He would never fall in love with Aldred.

Edgar felt the same way about Ragna. He was in love with her, and it would never come to anything. She would never fall in love with him. There was no hope.

There was a difference, though. Aldred seemed reconciled with the way things were right now. He could feel sure he would never sin with Edgar, because Edgar would never want it.

By contrast, Edgar yearned with all his heart to consummate his love for Ragna. He wanted to make love to Ragna, he wanted to marry her, he wanted to wake up in the morning and see her head sharing his pillow. He wanted the impossible.

There was nothing to be gained by brooding on it. He said conversationally: “The tavern is busy.”

Aldred nodded. “That’s because Dreng isn’t there to be rude to everyone. The place always gets more customers when he’s away from home.”

“Where did he go?”

“Shiring. I don’t know why, some nefarious purpose, I expect.”

“He’s probably protesting about the bridge.”

“Protesting? To whom?”

“Good point,” said Edgar. “Wilwulf is still ill, apparently, and Dreng won’t get much sympathy from Ragna.”

Edgar was glad the village was busy. He shared Aldred’s affection for the place. They both wanted it to prosper. It had been a dump just a few years ago, a scatter of poor houses supporting two lazy and venal brothers, Degbert and Dreng. Now it had a priory, a fish shop, a saint, and a bridge.

That led Edgar’s thoughts to another topic. He said: “Sooner or later we’re going to need to build a wall.”

Aldred looked dubious. “I’ve never felt in danger here.”

“Every year the Vikings raid deeper into the west of England. And if our village continues to prosper, before long we’ll be worth raiding.”

“They always attack up rivers—but there’s an obstacle at Mudeford, that shallow stretch.”

Edgar remembered the wrecked Viking vessel on the beach at Combe. “Their ships are light. They can be dragged over the shallows.”

“If that happened, they would attack us from the river, not from land.”

“So first we would need to fortify the riverbank all the way around the bend.” Edgar pointed upstream, to where the river turned a right angle. “I’m talking about an earth rampart, possibly revetted with timber or stone in places.”

“Where would you put the rest of the wall?”

“It should start at the waterfront just beyond Leaf’s brewhouse.”

“Then your brothers’ farm would be outside.”

Edgar cared about his brothers more than they cared about him, but they were not in serious danger. “The Vikings don’t raid isolated farms—there’s not enough to steal.”

“True.”

“The wall would run uphill at the back of the houses: Bebbe’s place, then Cerdic and Ebba, then Hadwine and Elfburg, then Regenbald Roper, Bucca Fish, and me. Past my place it would turn right and go all the way to the river, to enclose the site of the new church, just in case we ever get to build it.”

“Oh, we’ll build it,” said Aldred.

“I hope so.”

“Have faith,” said Aldred.

* * *

Ragna watched as Hildi the midwife examined Wilf carefully. She made him sit upright on a stool, then brought a candle close to look at his head wound.

“Take that away,” he said. “It hurts my eyes.”

She moved it behind him so that it did not shine in his face. She touched the wound with her fingertips and nodded with satisfaction. “Are you eating well?” she said. “What did you have for breakfast?”

“Porridge with salt,” he replied glumly. “And a flagon of weak ale. A poor meal for a nobleman.”

Hildi met Ragna’s eye. “He had smoked ham and wine,” said Ragna quietly.

“Don’t contradict me,” Wilf said irritably. “I know what I had for breakfast.”

Hildi said: “How are you feeling?”

“I get headaches,” he replied. “Otherwise I’m fine—never better.”

“Good,” she said. “I think you’re ready to resume normal life. Well done.” She stood up. “Step outside with me for a moment, Ragna,” she said.

The bell was ringing for the midday meal as Ragna followed her out. “He has recovered physically,” Hildi said. “The wound has healed and he no longer needs to stay in bed. Let him have dinner in the great hall today. He can ride again as soon as he wants to.”

Ragna nodded.

“Sex, too,” Hildi said.

Ragna said nothing. She had lost all desire for sex with Wilf, but if he wanted it she would of course permit it. She had had a lot of time to think about it, and she was reconciled to a future of intimacy with a man she no longer loved.

Hildi went on: “But you must have noticed that his mind is not what it was.”

Ragna nodded. Of course she had.

“He can’t bear bright light, he’s bad-tempered and downhearted, and his memory is poor. I have seen several men with head injuries since the renewal of Viking raids, and his condition is typical.”

Ragna knew all that.

Hildi looked apologetic, as if she might be to blame for what she was reporting. “It’s been five months, and there are no signs of improvement.”

Ragna sighed. “Will there ever be?”

“No one can tell. It’s in God’s hands.”

Ragna took that as a no. She gave Hildi two silver pennies. “Thank you for being gentle with him.”

“I’m at your service, my lady.”

Ragna left Hildi and went back inside the house. “She says you can have your dinner in the great hall,” Ragna said to Wilf. “Would you like to?”

“Of course!” he said. “Where else would I have it?”

He had not dined in the great hall for almost a year, but Ragna did not correct him. She helped him get dressed then took his arm and walked him the short distance across the compound.

The midday meal was already under way. Ragna noticed that both Bishop Wynstan and Dreng were at the table. As Wilf and Ragna entered, the sound of talk and laughter quietened and then stopped as people stared in surprise: no one had been forewarned of Wilf’s reappearance. Then there was applause and cheering. Wynstan stood up, clapping, and finally everyone stood.

Wilf smiled happily.