Neither had ever been to the hunting lodge. Fire or no fire, it had not been used for years. Wilwulf had gone away to war and come back severely wounded, and after his death Wigelm had hunted elsewhere.

But they knew roughly where it must be. Between Dreng’s Ferry and Stumpy’s there had to be a track leading away from the road into the forest to the south. All Edgar and Aldred had to do was find it. If the lodge truly had burned and was no longer in use then the task would be difficult: the entrance to the side track would be overgrown and hard to see. But if the story of the fire was a lie intended to divert suspicion, and people were still using the track to get to the lodge, to bring supplies—and a midwife—then there would be a roadside gap visible where the undergrowth had been trodden down and saplings had been damaged or destroyed.

Edgar and Aldred made several fruitless excursions, along tracks leading to isolated cottages, homesteads, and one small village that neither man had ever heard of. They were almost at Stumpy’s when Edgar noticed a place where several horses had passed today: there were freshly snapped twigs on the bushes and recent droppings on the path. His heart beat faster and he said: “I think this could be it.”

They turned in. The path got narrower but the evidence of recent passage became stronger. Now Edgar began to feel fear as well as hope. He might find Ragna, but if he did he would also come across Wynstan, and what would Wynstan do? Beside Edgar, Aldred looked unafraid, but he probably thought God would protect him.

The woods were full of lush new growth. Every minute or two Edgar glimpsed a deer moving silently through the dappled shadows, evidence that there had been no hunting here recently. Progress slowed. Where low branches overhung the path they had to dismount. They walked a mile, then another.

Then Edgar heard the voices of children.

They tied up their horses and walked forward slowly, trying to make no noise. They approached the edge of a clearing and stopped in the shadow of a massive oak.

Edgar recognized the children right away: the four-year-old boy was Osbert, the two-year-old twins were Hubert and Colinan, and the little girls were Cat’s daughters, Mattie, who was four, and Edie, two. Although pale, they looked well enough otherwise, running around after a ball.

However, Cat’s appearance shocked him. Her black hair was lank and lifeless and her skin was blemished. There was a boil on the side of her tip-tilted nose. Worst of all, the spark of mischief had gone from her eyes and her expression was lethargic. She stood with her shoulders slumped, watching the children without apparent interest.

Edgar looked past Cat to the timber house behind her. Its windows had been boarded over so that the shutters could not be opened. The door was secured from the outside by a heavy bar, and a guard sat nearby on a bench, looking the other way and picking his nose. Edgar recognized him as a Shiring boy called Elfgar. His right arm was covered with a dirty bandage.

There were several more buildings and a field where horses grazed, presumably the mounts of Wynstan and his men.

Aldred whispered: “This is the secret prison. We should leave now, before we’re seen. We can go to Shiring and fetch Den.”

Edgar knew Aldred was right, but now that he was this close he could not tear himself away. “I have to see Ragna,” he said.

“You don’t need to. She must be here. It’s dangerous to linger.”

“You go and fetch Den. I don’t care if they imprison me for a few days.”

“Don’t be such a fool!”

Their murmured conversation was interrupted by a loud voice from behind: “Who the hell are you?”

Both turned. The speaker was a man-at-arms called Fulcric. He had a spear in his hand and a long dagger in a wooden sheath hanging from his belt. Scars on his hands and face showed he had survived many fights. Edgar realized at once that physical resistance would be useless.

Aldred adopted an authoritative tone. “I am Prior Aldred and I’m here to speak to the lady Ragna,” he said.

“You’ll speak to Bishop Wynstan before you see anyone else,” said Fulcric.

“Very well,” said Aldred, as if he had a choice.

“Over there.” Fulcric nodded toward a house on the far side of the clearing.

Edgar turned and stepped out of the trees. “Hello, Cat,” he said quietly. “How are you?”

Cat gave a little cry of shock. “Edgar!” She looked around with a frightened expression. “This is dangerous for you.”

“Never mind,” he said. “Is Ragna here?”

“Yes.” Cat hesitated. “She’s pregnant.”

So it was true. “I heard a rumor.”

He was about to ask when the baby was due when Elfgar awoke from his reverie, jumped to his feet, and said: “Hey, you!”

Fulcric said: “You’re half asleep, boy. They were hiding in the trees.”

Edgar said: “You know me, Elfgar. I mean no harm. What happened to your arm?”

“I was in the king’s army and I got a spear wound from a Viking,” Elfgar said proudly. “It’s healing, but I can’t fight until it’s better, so they sent me home.”

Fulcric said: “Keep moving, you two.”

They crossed the clearing but, before they came to the house, the door opened and Wynstan came out. When he saw Edgar and Aldred he registered surprise but—strangely—not dismay. “So, you found the place!” he said cheerfully.

Aldred said: “I am here to see the lady Ragna.”

“I haven’t seen her myself yet,” said Wynstan. “I’ve been . . . busy.” He glanced back through the open door of the house he had left, and Edgar thought he saw Agnes there.

That confirmed another rumor.

Edgar said: “You have kidnapped her and imprisoned her here against her will. That’s a crime, and you shall be called to account.”

“On the contrary,” said Wynstan mildly. “The lady Ragna wished to retire from the public eye and mourn her late husband in solitude for a year. I offered her the use of this isolated lodge so that she could be undisturbed. She accepted my offer gratefully.”

Edgar looked at him through narrowed eyes. Widows did sometimes withdraw for a period of mourning, but they went to nunneries, not hunting lodges. Was there any chance at all that this fairy tale might be believed? Everyone present knew it was a blatant lie, but others might not. Wynstan had escaped the charge of forgery with a similarly devious ruse. Edgar said: “I insist you free the lady Ragna immediately.”

“There’s no question of freeing her,” Wynstan said, still pretending to be all sweet reason. “She has expressed a wish to return to Shiring, and I have come to escort her there.”

Edgar stared, incredulous. “You’re taking her back to the compound?”

“Yes. Quite naturally, she wants to see King Ethelred.”

“The king is coming to Shiring?”

“Yes, so we’re told. We’re not sure when.”

“And you’re taking Ragna to meet him?”

“Naturally.”

Edgar was confounded. What was Wynstan up to now? His tone of goodwill was of course completely false, but what did he intend in reality?

Edgar said: “Will she tell me the same?”

“Go and ask her,” said Wynstan. “Elfgar, let him in.”

Elfgar unbarred the door, and Edgar went inside. The door closed behind him.

The room was dark: the shutters were closed over the windows. It smelled bad, like the slave quarters in the ealdorman’s compound, where the people were not allowed out at night. Flies circled around a covered pot in a corner. The rushes on the floor should have been changed months ago. Mice rustled underfoot. It was hot and airless.

As his eyesight adjusted to the gloom Edgar saw two women sitting facing each other on a bench, holding hands. Evidently he had interrupted an intimate conversation. One of the women was Hildi: she got up and left immediately. The other had to be Ragna, but she was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was dirty brown rather than red-gold, and her complexion was spotty. Her dress might once have been blue, but now it was a mottled gray-brown. Her shoes were in tatters.

Edgar held out his arms to embrace her, but she did not come to him.

He had lived this moment many times in his imagination: the happy smiles, the nonstop kisses, her body pressed hard against his, the murmured words of love and joy. The reality was nothing like his dream.

He took a step toward her, but she stood up and moved back.

He had to make allowances, he realized. Her spirit had been crushed. She was not herself. He must help her to act normally.

He found his voice and said gently: “May I kiss you?”

She lowered her eyes.

Still speaking in a low, loving tone, he said: “Why not?”

“I’m hideous.”

“I’ve seen you better dressed.” He smiled. “But that doesn’t matter. You’re you. We’re together. That’s all I care about.”

She shook her head.

Edgar said: “Say something.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“I can see that.” He studied her figure. The bulge was clearly visible, but not enormous. “When is the baby due?”

“August.”

He had suspected this, but confirmation came like a blow. “So it’s not mine.”

She shook her head.

“Who, then?”