She ran across the short distance to his door and stepped inside.

At first she could not make sense of the scene in front of her. Men and women were milling around, all speaking at the tops of their voices. There was a metallic smell in the air, and she saw blood on the floor and on the bed, lots of blood. Then she made out Bern, lying in a congealed puddle, his throat horribly slashed, and she gasped with horror and dismay. At last her gaze went to the bed. In among the red-stained blankets was her husband.

She let out a scream, and cut it short with a fist in her mouth. He was horribly wounded, his mouth full of dried black blood. His eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. A knife lay on the bed beside his open fist: he had tried to defend himself.

There was no sign of Carwen.

Staring at the ruin of Wilf, she remembered the tall, fair-haired man in a blue cloak who had walked off a ship in Cherbourg harbor and said in bad French: “I have come to speak with Count Hubert.” She began to cry, but even while she wept she had to ask a question, and she forced the words out: “How did this happen?”

She was answered by Wuffa, the head groom. “The bodyguards were asleep,” he said. “They must die for their negligence.”

“They will,” Ragna said, dashing the tears from her eyes with her fingers. “But what do they say happened?”

“They woke up and noticed that Bern was gone. They searched for him, eventually looked inside the house, and saw”—he spread his arms—“this.”

Ragna swallowed and made her voice calmer. “No one else here?”

“No. Obviously the slave did it and fled.”

Ragna frowned. Carwen would have to be stronger than she looked to kill two such big men with a knife, she thought, but she set the suspicion aside for the moment. “Fetch the sheriff,” she told Wuffa. “He must start the hue and cry as soon as dawn breaks.” Whether Carwen was the killer or not, she must be recaptured, for her testimony would be crucial.

“Yes, my lady.” Wuffa hurried away.

As he went out, Agnes came in carrying the twins. Just over a year old, the children did not understand what they were looking at, but Agnes screamed and they began to bawl.

Cat entered holding three-year-old Osbert by the hand. She stared at the corpse of Bern, her husband, in horrified disbelief. “No, no, no,” she said, and she let go of Osbert’s hand and knelt beside the body, shaking her head, sobbing.

Ragna struggled to think straight. What did she need to do next? Although she had thought about Wilf’s death and feared that he might be murdered, the actual event had rocked her so hard that she could hardly digest what had happened. She knew she should react quickly and decisively but she was too shocked and bewildered.

She listened to her sons crying and realized they should not be here. She was about to tell Agnes to take them away when she was distracted by the sight of Wigelm moving toward the door with a heavy oak chest in his arms. She recognized it at Wilf’s treasury, the box in which he kept his money.

She stood in front of Wigelm and said: “Stop!”

Wigelm said: “Get out of my way or I’ll knock you down.”

The room went quiet.

Ragna said: “That’s the treasury of the ealdormanry.”

“It was.”

Ragna let her voice express the contempt and loathing she felt. “Wilf’s blood isn’t dry yet, and you’re already stealing his money.”

“I’m taking charge of it, as his brother.”

Ragna realized that Garulf and Stiggy had moved to stand on either side of her, trapping her. She spoke defiantly. “I will decide who takes charge of the treasury.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I am the ealdorman’s wife.”

“No, you’re not. You’re his widow.”

“Put the box down.”

“Get out of the way.”

Ragna slapped Wigelm’s face hard.

She expected him to drop the box, but he restrained himself and nodded to Garulf.

The two young men seized Ragna, taking one arm each. She knew she could not escape from their grasp, so she maintained her dignity and did not struggle. She looked at Wigelm with narrowed eyes. “You’re not quick-thinking,” she said. “Therefore you must have planned this. It’s a coup. Did you murder Wilf so that you could take over?”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

She looked at the men and women around her. They were watching the scene avidly. They knew this was about who was going to rule them after Wilf. She had planted in their minds the suspicion that Wigelm had killed Wilf. For now she could do no more.

Wigelm said: “The slave killed Wilf.” He walked around Ragna and out through the door.

Garulf and Stiggy released Ragna.

She looked again at Agnes and Cat and the children, and realized there was no one left in her home. Her treasury, containing Wilf’s will, was unguarded. She hurried out, leaving Cat and Agnes to follow her.

She crossed the compound quickly and entered her house. She went to the corner where the treasury was kept. The blanket that normally covered it had been cast aside, and the chest had gone.

She had lost everything.

CHAPTER 32

    July 1002

agna arrived at Sheriff Den’s compound an hour before dawn. The men, and a few women, were already gathering for the hue and cry, milling around in the dark, talking excitedly. The horses sensed the mood and stamped and snorted impatiently. Den finished saddling his black stallion then invited Ragna into his house so that they could talk in private.

Ragna’s panic was over and she had postponed her grief. She now knew what she had to do. She realized she was under attack by utterly ruthless people, but she was not defeated, and she was going to fight back.

And Den would be her principal ally—if she handled him right.

She said to him: “The slave Carwen knows exactly what happened in Wilf’s house tonight.”

“You don’t think it’s obvious,” he commented without surprise.

Good, she thought; he hasn’t prejudged the matter. “On the contrary, I think the obvious explanation is the wrong explanation.”

“Tell me why.”

“Firstly, Carwen did not seem to be unhappy. She was well fed, no one beat her, and she was sleeping with the most attractive man in town. What could she have been running from?”

“She may simply have been homesick.”

“True, though she showed no sign of it. But secondly, if she wanted to escape she could have gone at any time—she was never closely guarded. She could have left without killing Wilf or anyone else. Wilf slept heavily, especially after drink. She could have slipped away.”

“And if the guards happened to be awake?”

“She just would have said she was going to Gytha’s house, which is where she slept when Wilf didn’t want her. And then her absence might not have been noticed for a day or more.”

“All right.”

“But thirdly, and most importantly, I don’t believe that little girl could have killed either Wilf or Bern, let alone both. You saw the wounds. They were done with a strong arm by someone who had the confidence and the power to overcome two big men, both of whom were accustomed to violence. Carwen is fourteen.”

“It would be surprising, I agree. But if not her, who?”

Ragna had a strong suspicion, but she did not state it right away. “It must have been someone Bern knew.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Because Bern let the murderer enter the house. If it had been a stranger, Bern would have been on his guard. He would have stopped the visitor, questioned him, refused him entry, and fought with him—all outside the house, where the noise would have awakened the guards. And Bern’s body would have been found outside the house.”

“The killer could have dragged it inside.”

“The sound of the fight would have awakened Wilf, who would have got out of bed and attacked the intruder. Clearly that didn’t happen, for Wilf died in his bed.”

“So someone known to Bern appeared and was ushered into the house. As soon as they were inside, the unsuspecting Bern was surprised and killed quickly and silently. Then the visitor killed Wilf, and persuaded the slave to run away so that she would be blamed.”

“That’s what I think happened.”

“And the reason for the murder?”

“The key to that lies in two things that happened in the confusion immediately after the bodies were discovered. When everyone else was shocked and bewildered, Wigelm calmly made off with Wilf’s treasury.”

“Really?”

“And then someone stole mine.”

“This changes everything.”

“It means Wigelm is making a bid for power.”

“Yes—but that doesn’t prove he was the murderer. His power grab might be opportunistic. He could be taking advantage of something he didn’t instigate.”

“Possibly, but I doubt it. Wigelm is not sufficiently quick-thinking. This whole thing seems to me to have been carefully planned.”

“You may be right. It smells of Wynstan.”