Both young people were soon breathing rhythmically.

Clearly they had no idea of the night’s drama. And now Ragna saw that their negligence would work in her favor. If asked, they would swear that they had been in the house all night, guarding their mistress as was their duty. Their dishonesty would give her an alibi.

Soon it would be a new day, a happy day, her first in a world without Wigelm.

She hardly dared to think about Alain. With Wigelm dead, surely she would get her child back? No one would want Meganthryth to raise him, now that Wigelm was no longer around to bully them—would they? It would make no sense, but it might be done out of spite. Wigelm was gone, but his evil brother, Wynstan, was still alive. People said Wynstan was going mad, but that only made him even more dangerous.

She fell into a fretful doze and was awakened by a knock at the door, three sharp taps, polite but urgent. A voice said: “My lady! Eanfrid here.”

Now for the aftermath, she thought.

She stood up, brushed off her dress, and smoothed her hair, then said: “Let him in, Ceolwulf.”

Dawn was breaking, she saw when the door was opened. Eanfrid entered, red-faced and panting from the effort of carrying his considerable bulk at a fast walk. Without preamble he said: “Wigelm is missing.”

Ragna adopted a tone of brisk efficiency. “Where was he when you last saw him?”

“He was in my alehouse, still drinking with Garulf and others, when I fell asleep.”

“Has anyone looked for him?”

“His men have been wandering around calling his name half the night.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Ragna turned to her servants. “Did you?”

Osgyth said quickly: “Nothing, my lady. It was quiet here the whole night through.”

Ragna was keen to get them both to commit to lying. She said: “Did either of you go outside at all in the night, even just to piss or anything?”

Osgyth shook her head, and Ceolwulf said firmly: “I didn’t move from my place by the door.”

“Right.” She was satisfied. It would now be difficult for them to change their story. “It’s daylight, so we must organize a systematic search.”

They walked to the village. Passing the canal brought grim thoughts, but Ragna pushed them to the back of her mind. She went to the priest’s house and banged on the door. The church did not have a bell tower, but Draca had a handbell. The shaven-headed priest appeared and Ragna said briskly: “Lend me your bell, please.” He produced it and she rang vigorously.

People who were already up and about came immediately to the green between the church and the alehouse. Others followed, buckling their belts and rubbing their eyes. Most of Wigelm’s party looked much the worse for their revels.

The sun was rising by the time everyone had assembled. Ragna spoke so that all could hear. “We’ll form three search parties,” she said in a tone that did not invite discussion. She pointed at the priest. “Draca, take three villagers and search the west pasture. Go around the edges and all the way to the riverbank.” Next she chose the baker, a solidly reliable man. “Wilmund, you take three men-at-arms and search the east ploughland. Again, make sure you’re thorough and go all the way to the canal.” Wilmund would find the corpse if he was meticulous. Finally she turned to Garulf, whom she wanted out of the way. “Garulf, take everyone else to the north wood. That’s where your uncle is most likely to be. My guess is he lost his way in a drunken stupor. You’ll probably find him asleep under a bush.” The men laughed. “All right, move out!”

The three search parties left.

Ragna knew she had to act normally. “I could do with some breakfast,” she said to Eanfrid, though in truth she was still too wound up to be hungry. “Get me some ale and bread and an egg.” She led the way into the tavern.

Eanfrid’s wife brought her a jug and a loaf and quickly cooked an egg. Ragna drank the ale and forced herself to eat, and she felt better despite her lack of sleep.

What would the men-at-arms say when the body was found? In the night Ragna had assumed that they would jump to the obvious conclusion, that Wigelm had died in a drunken accident. But now she saw that there were other possibilities. Would they suspect foul play? And if they did, what could they do about it? Fortunately, there was no one here who ranked high enough to challenge Ragna’s authority.

As she had intended, Wilmund’s group found the body.

What she had not expected was the shock she felt when she looked at the corpse of the man she had killed.

Wigelm was carried into the village by Wilmund and one of Wigelm’s entourage, Bada. As soon as Ragna saw it she began to feel the horror of what she had done.

Last night she had been full of fear until Wigelm died, and then suffused with relief that he was gone. Now she remembered that she had suffocated Wigelm, and had watched his face while, moment by moment, the life left his body. At the time she had felt nothing but terror, but now, when she remembered the scene, she was sick with guilt.

She had seen dead people plenty of times, but this was different. She felt she was going to faint, or cry, or scream.

She struggled to remain calm. She had to conduct an inquest, and she needed to manage it carefully. She must not seem too eager to reach the obvious verdict. And she must show no fear.

She ordered the men to lay the corpse on a trestle table in the church, and she sent messengers to recall the other two search parties.

Everyone crowded into the little church, whispering out of respect, staring at the dead white face of Wigelm, and watching his clothes drip canal water onto the floor.

Ragna began by speaking to Garulf, the highest-ranking man among Wigelm’s entourage. “Last night,” she said to him, “you were among the last drinkers in the alehouse.” Her voice seemed to her to sound unnaturally calm, but no one noticed. “Did you see Wigelm fall asleep?”

Garulf looked shocked and scared, and had trouble answering the simple question. “Um, I don’t know, wait, no, I think I closed my eyes before he did.”

Ragna led him along. “Did you see him again after that?”

He scratched his stubbled chin. “After I fell asleep? No, I was asleep. But hold on. Yes. He must have got up, because he stumbled over me and that woke me.”

“You saw his face.”

“In the firelight, yes, and heard his voice.”

“What did he say?”

“He said: ‘I’m going to piss in Edgar’s canal.’”

Some of the men laughed, then stopped abruptly when they realized it was inappropriate.

“And then he went out?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

Garulf was regaining his composure, and making more sense. “Some time later, someone woke me by saying: ‘Wigelm seems to be having a very long piss.’”

“What did you do?”

“I went back to sleep.”

“Did you see him again?”

“Not alive, no.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I think he fell into the canal and drowned.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. Ragna was pleased. She had led them to the result she wanted while letting them think it had been their own decision.

She looked around the church. “Did anyone see Wigelm after he left the tavern in the middle of the night?”

No one answered.

“To the best of our knowledge, then, the cause of death was accidental drowning.”

To her surprise Bada, the man-at-arms who had helped carry Wigelm from the canal to the church, spoke up in dissent. “I don’t think he drowned,” he said.

Ragna had been afraid of something like this. She hid her anxiety and put on an expression of interest. “What makes you say that, Bada?”

“I’ve taken a drowned man out of the water before. When you lift him, a lot of fluid comes out of his mouth. It’s the water he breathed in, the water that killed him. But when we lifted Wigelm, nothing came out.”

“Now that’s curious, but I’m not sure it gets us anywhere.” Ragna turned to the baker. “Did you see that, Wilmund?”

“I didn’t notice it,” the baker said.

Bada said insistently: “I did, though.”

“What do you think it signifies, Bada?”

“It shows that he was dead before he went in the water.”

Ragna remembered holding Wigelm’s mouth and nose so that he could not breathe. The picture kept returning to her mind no matter how hard she tried. With an effort she thought of the next question. “So how did he die?”

“Maybe someone killed him, then threw the body in the water.” Bada looked defiantly around the church. “Someone who hated him, perhaps. Someone who felt wronged by him.”

Ragna was being accused by implication. Everyone knew she had hated Wigelm. If the charge were made openly, she was confident that the villagers would loyally take her side; but she did not want things to go that far.

She walked slowly and deliberately around the body. With difficulty, she made her voice calm and confident. “Come closer, Bada,” she said. “Look carefully.”

The room went quiet.

Bada did as she said.

“If he didn’t drown, how was he killed?”