It was a hot day in the compound. Ragna got a large, shallow bronze bowl from the kitchen and filled it with cool water from the well. She placed the bowl in front of her house and let her sons play with the water. The twins, eighteen months old, splashed with their hands and screamed with laughter. Osbert devised an elaborate game with several wooden cups, pouring one into another. Soon they were all soaking wet and happy.

Watching them, Ragna experienced a rare moment of contentment. These boys would grow up to be men like her father, she thought: strong but not cruel, wise but not sly. If they became rulers, they would enforce the laws, not their own whims. They would love women without using them. They would be respected, not feared.

Her mood was soon spoiled. Wigelm approached her and said: “I must speak to you.”

Wigelm might have been mistaken for Wilf, though not for long. He had the same big nose, fair mustache, and jutting chin, and he walked with the same swagger; but he had none of Wilf’s easy charm, and always looked as though he were on the point of making a complaint.

Ragna was certain that Wigelm had been involved somehow in the murder of Wilf. She might never know the details, now that Carwen had been killed, but she had no doubt. She felt a loathing so intense that it nauseated her. “I have no wish to talk to you,” she said. “Go away.”

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said.

She was mystified. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re an angel. There is no one like you.”

“This is a crude joke.” She looked around. “Your dopey friends are at the side of the house, listening and sniggering, hoping you’ll make a fool of me. Go away.”

He produced an arm ring from inside his tunic. “I thought you might like to have this.” He offered it to her.

She took it. It was silver with an engraved pattern of intertwining serpents, beautifully done, and she recognized it instantly. It was the one she had bought from Cuthbert and given to Wilf on their wedding day.

Wigelm said: “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Why? You stole Wilf’s treasury and found this in the chest. But I’m Wilf’s heir, so the arm ring is already mine. I won’t thank you until you give me back everything.”

“That might be possible.”

Here it comes, she thought. Now I’ll find out what he really wants. She said: “Possible? How?”

“Marry me.”

She let out a short, sharp laugh, shocked by the absurdity of the proposal. “Ridiculous!” she said.

Wigelm flushed angrily, and she sensed that he wanted to hit her. He clenched his fists but restrained himself from raising them. “Do not dare to call me ridiculous,” he said.

“But you’re already married—to Milly, Inge’s sister.”

“I have put her aside.”

“I’m afraid I don’t like your English ‘putting aside.’”

“You’re not in Normandy now.”

“Doesn’t the English Church forbid the marriage of a widow to a near kinsman? You’re my brother-in-law.”

“Half brother-in-law. That’s separation enough, according to Bishop Wynstan.”

She realized she had taken the wrong tack. People like Wigelm could always find ways around the rules. Feeling exasperated, she said: “You don’t love me! You don’t even like me.”

“But our marriage will solve a political problem.”

“How flattering for me.”

“I’m Wilf’s half brother and you’re his widow. If we married, no one could challenge us for the ealdormanry.”

“Us? You’re saying we would rule together? Do you imagine I’m stupid enough to believe you?”

Wigelm looked angry and frustrated. He was telling a completely dishonest story and he was not smart enough to make it even halfway believable. Realizing that Ragna was not so easily fooled, he did not know what to say next. He tried to look as confident and charming as Wilf. “You will come to love me, once we’re married,” he said.

“I will never love you.” How much clearer could she make it? “You are all the bad things about Wilf and none of the good. I hate and loathe you, and that will never change.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, and walked away.

Ragna felt as if she had been in a fight. Wigelm’s proposal had been shocking and his persistence had been brutal. She felt battered and exhausted. She leaned against the side of her house and closed her eyes.

Osbert started to cry. He had got mud in his eye. She picked him up and washed his face with her sleeve, and he was quickly pacified.

She no longer felt shaky. It was strange how the needs of children swamped everything else—for women, at least. No crude English thane was as tyrannical as a baby.

Her breathing returned to normal as she watched the children playing with the water. But once again she did not enjoy the peaceful moment for long. Bishop Wynstan appeared. “My brother Wigelm is very upset,” he said.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Ragna said impatiently. “Don’t pretend he’s lovelorn.”

“We both know that love has nothing to do with this.”

“I’m glad you’re not as stupid as your brother.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not much of a compliment.”

“Take care,” he said with suppressed anger. “You’re not in a strong position to insult me and my family.”

“I’m the ealdorman’s widow, and nothing you can do will change that. My position is strong enough.”

“But Wigelm is in control of Shiring.”

“I’m still lord of the Vale of Outhen.”

“Garulf went there yesterday.”

Ragna was startled. She had not heard about this.

Wynstan went on: “He told the villagers that Wigelm has made him lord of Outhen.”

“They will never accept him. Seric, the headman—”

“Seric is dead. Garulf made Dudda headman.”

“Outhen is mine! It’s in the marriage contract that you negotiated!”

“Wilf had no right to give it to you. It’s been in our family for generations.”

“All the same he did give it to me.”

“He obviously intended a lifetime gift. Wilf’s lifetime, not yours.”

“That’s a lie.”

Wynstan shrugged. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t have to do anything. King Ethelred will appoint the new ealdorman, not you.”

“I thought you might be laboring under that illusion,” Wynstan said, and the seriousness of his tone chilled Ragna. “Let me explain to you what the king has on his mind today. The Viking fleet is still in English waters—they spent the winter at the Isle of Wight instead of returning home. Ethelred has now negotiated a truce with them—for which he must pay twenty-four thousand pounds of silver.”

Ragna was shocked. She had never heard of such a large sum of money.

“You may imagine,” Wynstan went on, “that the king is preoccupied with raising money. On top of that he is planning his wedding.”

Ethelred had been married to Elfgifu of York, who had died giving birth to their eleventh child.

Wynstan went on: “He is going to marry Emma of Normandy.”

Ragna was surprised again. She knew Emma, the daughter of Count Richard of Rouen. Emma had been a child of twelve when Ragna left Normandy five years ago. She would now be seventeen. It occurred to Ragna that a young Norman woman marrying the English king could become an ally.

Wynstan had a different agenda. “With all that to worry about, how much time do you think the king is going to spend deciding who is to be the new ealdorman of Shiring?”

Ragna said nothing.

“Very little,” said Wynstan, answering his own question. “He will look at who is in control of the region and simply ratify that person. The de facto ruler will become the de jure ealdorman.”

If that were true, Ragna thought, you would not be so keen for me to marry Wigelm. But she did not say it, because she had been struck by another thought. What would Wynstan do when she steadfastly refused Wigelm’s proposal? He would cast about for an alternative solution. There might be several options open to him, but one stood out to Ragna.

He could kill her.

CHAPTER 33

    August 1002

dgar had now killed two men. The first had been the Viking; the second Stiggy. It might be three, if Bada had died of his broken collarbone. Edgar asked himself whether he was a killer.

Men-at-arms never had to ask themselves that question: killing was their role in life. But Edgar was a builder. Combat did not come naturally to a craftsman. Yet Edgar had defeated men of violence. Perhaps he should have felt proud: Stiggy had been a cold-blooded murderer. All the same Edgar was troubled.

And the death of Stiggy had solved no problems. Garulf had taken control of Outhen, and undoubtedly was even now tightening his grip on the villagers.

When Edgar reached Shiring he went straight to the ealdorman’s compound. He unsaddled Buttress, took her to the pond to drink, then turned her loose in the adjoining pasture with the other horses.