It was usual to ask royal permission for aristocratic nuptials. Wynstan said: “I have taken the precaution of asking for his consent in advance.” He directed an oily smile at Ragna. “I told him that she is a beautiful and well-brought-up girl who will bring great credit to my brother, to Shiring, and to England. The king agreed readily.”

Genevieve spoke for the first time. “Does your brother live in a home like this?” She raised her hands to indicate the stones of the castle.

“Madam, no one lives in a building like this in England, and I believe there are few like it even in Normandy and the Frankish lands.”

Hubert said proudly: “That’s true. There is only one building like this in Normandy, at Ivry.”

“There are none in England.”

Genevieve said: “Perhaps that’s why you English seem so unable to protect yourselves from the Vikings.”

“Not so, my lady. Shiring is a walled town, strongly defended.”

“But clearly it doesn’t have a stone-built castle or keep.”

“No.”

“Tell me something else, if you will.”

“Anything, of course.”

“Your brother is somewhere in his thirties?”

“A young-looking forty, my lady.”

“How come he is unmarried, at that age?”

“He was married. In fact that’s why he did not propose marriage while he was here in Cherbourg. But sadly his wife is no longer with us.”

“Ah.”

So that was it, Ragna thought. He couldn’t propose in July because he was married then.

Her head filled with speculation. Why had he been unfaithful to his wife? Perhaps she had already been ill, and her death anticipated. She might have suffered a slow deterioration, and been unable for some time to perform her wifely duty—that would explain how come Wilwulf had been so hungry for love. Ragna had a dozen questions, but she had promised to remain silent, and she clenched her jaw in frustration.

Wynstan said: “May I take home a positive answer?”

Hubert replied: “We will let you know. We must consider what you’ve said very carefully.”

“Of course.”

Ragna tried to read Wynstan’s face. She had the feeling he was not enthusiastic about his brother’s choice. She wondered why he might be ambivalent. No doubt he wanted to succeed in the mission his high-ranking brother had given him. But perhaps there was something about it that he did not like. He could have a candidate of his own: aristocratic marriages were highly political. Or perhaps he just did not like Ragna—but that, she was aware, would be unusual in a normal, red-blooded man. Whatever the reason, he did not seem unduly dismayed by Hubert’s lack of enthusiasm.

Wynstan stood up and took his leave. As soon as the door closed behind him, Genevieve said: “Outrageous! He wants to take her to live in a wooden house and be a prey to Vikings. She could end up in the slave market at Rouen!”

“I think that’s perhaps a little exaggerated, my dear,” said the count.

“Well, there can be no doubt that Guillaume is superior.”

Ragna burst out: “I don’t love Guillaume!”

“You don’t know what love is,” her mother said. “You’re too young.

Her father said: “And you’ve never been to England. It’s not like here, you know. It’s cold and wet.”

Ragna felt sure she could put up with rain for the sake of the man she loved. “I want to marry Wilwulf!”

“You talk like a peasant girl,” said her mother. “But you’re the child of nobility, and you don’t have the right to marry anyone you choose.”

“I will not marry Guillaume!”

“Yes, you will, if your father and I say so.”

Hubert said: “In your twenty years you’ve never known what it’s like to be freezing cold or starving hungry. But there’s a price to be paid for your privileged existence.”

Ragna was silenced. Her father’s logic was more effective than her mother’s bluster. She had never thought of her life that way. She felt sobered.

But she still wanted Wilwulf.

Genevieve said: “Wynstan needs something to do. Take him for a ride. Show him the district.”

Ragna suspected her mother was hoping Wynstan would say or do something to put her off going to England. She really wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but she would entertain Wynstan and learn more about Wilwulf and Shiring. “I’ll be glad to,” she said, and she went out.

Wynstan agreed readily to the idea and together they went to the stable, taking Cnebba and Cat with them. On the way Ragna said quietly to Wynstan: “I love your brother. I hope he knows that.”

“He was anxious that the manner of his departure from Cherbourg may have soured any feelings you may have had for him.”

“I ought to have hated him, but I couldn’t.”

“I’ll reassure him of that as soon as I get home.”

She had a lot more to say to Wynstan, but she was interrupted by the noise of a small, excited crowd. Some yards beyond the stable two dogs were fighting, a short-legged black hound and a gray mastiff. The stable hands had come out to watch. They were yelling encouragement at the dogs and making bets on which would win.

Irritated, Ragna went into the stable to see if anyone was there to help saddle the horses. She saw that the hands had brought dry straw, as she had ordered, but all of them had abandoned their work for the dogfight, and most of the straw stood in a pile just inside the door.

She was about to go and drag one or two away from the excitement when her nostrils twitched. She sniffed and smelled burning. Her senses went on high alert. She spotted a wisp of smoke.

She guessed that someone had brought a brand from the kitchen to light a lamp in a dark corner then had abandoned the project and put the brand down carelessly when the fight began. Whatever the explanation, some of the new straw was smoldering.

Ragna looked around and saw a water barrel that supplied the horses’ needs, with a wooden bucket upside down on the floor nearby. She grabbed the bucket, filled it, and threw the water on the smoking straw.

She saw immediately that this would not be enough. In the few seconds it had taken her, the fire had grown, and now she saw flames licking up. She handed the bucket to Cat. “Throw more water on it!” she ordered. “We’ll go to the well.”

She ran out of the stable. Wynstan and Cnebba followed her. As she ran, she shouted: “Fire in the stable! Fetch buckets and pots!”

At the well she told Cnebba to operate the winch—he looked strong enough to do it tirelessly. Cnebba did not understand her, of course, but Wynstan rapidly translated into the guttural-sounding English language. Several people grabbed nearby containers and Cnebba started to fill them.

The hands were so wrapped up in the dogfight that none of them had yet become aware of the emergency. Ragna yelled at them, but failed to get their attention. She ran into the crowd, violently shoving men aside, and reached the fighting dogs. She grabbed the black dog by its back legs and lifted it off the ground. That stopped the fight. “Fire in the stable!” she yelled. “Form a line to the well and pass the water along.”

There was chaos for a few moments, but in commendably quick time the hands had formed a bucket chain.

Ragna went back inside the stable. The new straw was blazing fiercely and the fire had spread. The horses were neighing in fear, kicking out, and struggling to break the ropes that kept them in their places. She went to Astrid, tried to calm her, untied her, and led her out.

She saw Guillaume watching the activity. “Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Do something to help!”

He seemed surprised. “I don’t know what to do,” he said vaguely.

How could he be so useless? In exasperation she said: “You idiot, if you can’t think of anything else just piss on it!”

Guillaume looked insulted and stalked off.

Ragna gave Astrid’s rope to a little girl and ran back inside. She untied all the horses and let them run out, hoping they would not injure anyone in their panic. For a few seconds they constrained the firefighters, but their departure left room to maneuver, and after a few more minutes the flames were extinguished.

The thatched roof had not caught fire, the stable had been saved, and numerous costly horses had been spared from death.

Ragna stopped the bucket chain. “Well done, everyone,” she called. “We caught the blaze in time. No great damage has been done, and no people or horses are hurt.”

One of the men shouted: “Thanks to you, Lady Ragna!”

Several others agreed loudly, and then they all cheered.

She caught Wynstan’s eye. He was looking at her with something like respect.

She looked around for Guillaume. He was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Someone must have heard what she said to Guillaume, for by suppertime everyone in the compound seemed to know about it. Cat told her they were all talking about it, and after that she noticed that when people caught her eye, they smiled at her, then murmured to one another and laughed, as if recalling the punch line of a joke. Twice she overheard someone say: “If you can’t think of anything else just piss on it!”