She had gone. And the cold fireplace proved she had left hours ago, probably not long after saying goodnight to him at Sheriff Den’s compound. By now she might be miles away in any direction.

She must have changed her plans. But why had she sent him no message? She could have been prevented from doing so. That strongly suggested she had been taken against her will and held incommunicado. Wynstan and Wigelm had to be responsible. She had been made prisoner, then.

Anger flamed inside him. How dare they? She was a free woman, the daughter of a count and the widow of an ealdorman—they had no right!

If they had found out that she was planning to flee, who had told them? One of the sheriff’s servants, perhaps, or even Cat or Agnes.

Edgar had to find out where they had taken her.

Furious, he left the house. He was ready to confront either Wigelm or Wynstan, but Wigelm was probably nearer. When in Shiring he slept at the house of his mother, Gytha. Edgar strode across the grass to Gytha’s house.

A man-at-arms was outside the door, sitting on the ground with his back to the wall, dozing. Edgar recognized Elfgar, big and strong but an amiable youngster. Ignoring him, Edgar banged on the door.

Elfgar jumped up, suddenly awakened and unsteady on his feet. He looked at the floor around his feet and belatedly picked up a club, a length of gnarled oak roughly carved. He looked as though he was not sure what to do with it.

The door was thrown open and another man-at-arms stood there. He must have been sleeping across the threshold. It was Fulcric, older and meaner than Elfgar.

Edgar said: “Is Wigelm here?”

Fulcric said aggressively: “Who the hell are you?”

Edgar raised his voice. “I want to see Wigelm!”

“You’ll get your head bashed in if you’re not careful.”

A voice from within said: “Don’t worry, Elfgar, it’s only the little builder from Dreng’s Ferry.” Wigelm emerged from the gloom within. “But he’d better have a damned good reason for banging on my door at this hour of the morning.”

“You know the reason, Wigelm. Where is she?”

“Don’t presume to question me, or you’ll be punished for insolence.”

“And you’ll be punished for kidnapping a noble widow—a more serious offense in the eyes of the king.”

“No one has been kidnapped.”

“Then where is the lady Ragna?”

Behind Wigelm, his wife, Molly, and his mother appeared, both of them tousled and sleepy-eyed.

Edgar went on: “And where are her children? The king will want to know.”

“In a safe place.”

“Where?”

Wigelm sneered. “Surely you didn’t think you could have her?”

“You’re the one who asked her to marry you.”

Molly said: “What?” Clearly she had not been told about her husband’s proposal to Ragna.

Edgar said recklessly: “But Ragna rejected you, didn’t she?” He knew it was foolish to provoke Wigelm, but he was too enraged to stop. “That’s why you kidnapped her.”

“That’s enough.”

“Is that the only way you can get a woman, Wigelm? By kidnapping her?”

Elfgar sniggered.

Wigelm took a step forward and punched Edgar’s face. Wigelm was a strong man whose only skill was fighting, and the blow hurt. Edgar felt as if the whole left side of his face was on fire.

While Edgar was dazed, Fulcric swiftly stepped behind him and grabbed him in an expert hold, then Wigelm punched him in the stomach. Edgar had the panicky feeling that he could not breathe. Wigelm kicked him in the balls. Edgar caught his breath and roared in agony. Wigelm punched his face again.

Then he saw Wigelm take the club from Elfgar.

Terror possessed Edgar. He feared he would be beaten to death, and then there would be no one to protect Ragna. He saw the club come swinging toward his face. He turned his head and the heavy wood struck his temple, sending a lightning bolt of pain around his skull.

Next it smashed into his chest, and he felt as if his ribs had broken. He slumped, half unconscious, held up only by Fulcric’s grip.

Through the ringing in his ears he heard the voice of Gytha say: “That’s enough. You don’t want to kill him.”

Then Wigelm said: “Throw him in the pond.”

He was picked up by his wrists and ankles and carried across the compound. A minute later he felt himself flying through the air. He hit the water and sank. He was tempted to lie there and drown, to end his pain.

He rolled over and put his hands and knees on the sludgy bottom of the pond, then managed to raise his head above the surface and breathe.

Slowly, in agony, he crawled like a baby until he reached the edge.

He heard a woman’s voice say: “You poor thing.”

It was Gilda the kitchen maid, he realized.

He tried to get to his feet. Gilda gripped his arm and helped him up. Mumbling through smashed lips, Edgar said: “Thank you.”

“God curse Wigelm,” she said. She got under his armpit and slung his arm across her shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Den’s.”

“Come on, then,” said Gilda. “I’ll help you there.”

CHAPTER 34

    October 1002

ldred was pleased with the way his library was growing. He favored books in English rather than Latin, so that they could be used by all literate people, not just educated clergy. He had the Gospels, the Psalms, and some service books, all of which could be consulted by ordinary country priests who had few or no books of their own. His little scriptorium produced low-cost copies for sale. He also had some commentaries and secular poetry.

The priory was prospering, collecting more and more rents from the town and now, at last, getting gifts of land from noblemen. There were new novice monks in the monastery and resident pupils in the school. On a mild October afternoon the young students were chanting psalms in the churchyard.

All was well, except that Ragna had vanished, along with her children and servants. Edgar had spent two months going from town to town and village to village, but he had found no trace of her. He had even visited the new hunting lodge Wigelm was building near Outhenham. No one had seen Ragna pass by. Edgar was distraught but helpless, and Aldred pitied him.

Meanwhile, Wigelm was collecting all the rents from the Vale of Outhen.

Aldred had asked Sheriff Den how come the king did nothing about it. “Look at it from King Ethelred’s point of view,” Den had said. “He sees Ragna’s marriage as illegitimate. He declined to ratify it, but Wilwulf went ahead anyway. The royal court fined Wilf for disobedience, and he refused to pay the fine. Ethelred’s authority has been challenged and, what’s worse, his pride has been hurt. He’s not going to carry on as if this were a perfectly normal marriage.”

Aldred said indignantly: “So he’s punishing Ragna for Wilwulf’s sins!”

“What else can he do?”

“He could harry Shiring!”

“That’s an extreme measure: raising an army, burning the villages, killing the opposition, making off with the best horses and cattle and jewelry: it’s a king’s ultimate weapon, to be used only in extreme circumstances. Is he going to do that for a foreign widow whose marriage he never sanctioned in the first place?”

“Does her father know that she has disappeared?”

“Possibly. But a rescue operation from Normandy would be an invasion of England, and Count Hubert can’t manage that—especially when his neighbor’s daughter is about to marry the English king. Ethelred’s wedding to Emma of Normandy is set for November.”

“The king has to rule, come what may; and one of his duties is to take care of noble widows.”

“You should put that point to him yourself.”

“All right, I will.”

Aldred had written a letter to King Ethelred.

In response, the king had ordered Wigelm to produce the person of his brother’s widow.

Aldred thought Wigelm would simply ignore the order, as he had ignored royal decrees in the past, but this time it was different: Wigelm had announced that Ragna had gone home to Cherbourg.

If true, that would at least explain why no one had been able to find her in England. And she would naturally have taken her children and her Norman servants with her.

Edgar had made a second visit to Combe and had found no one who could confirm that Ragna had boarded a ship there—but she might have sailed from a different port.

While Aldred was worrying about Edgar, the man himself appeared. He had recovered from the beating he had suffered, except that his nose was slightly twisted now, and he was missing a front tooth. He approached the churchyard in the company of two others whom Aldred recognized. The man with the Norman-style haircut was Odo, and the small blond woman was his wife, Adelaide. They were the couriers from Cherbourg who brought Ragna her rents from Saint-Martin every three months. Close behind were three men-at-arms, their escort. They needed fewer bodyguards since the execution of Ironface.

Aldred greeted them, then Edgar said: “Odo has come to ask a favor, Prior Aldred.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Aldred.

“I would like you to look after Ragna’s money for her,” said Odo in his French accent.