Cuthbert had a timid air. He said nervously: “May I open the box, my lady? I don’t want to intrude, but Edgar said you might be interested.”

“By all means,” said Ragna. “I’d love to see.”

“You don’t have to buy anything, don’t worry.” Cuthbert spread a blue cloth on the floor and opened the chest. It was full of objects wrapped in woolen cloth. He brought items out one by one, carefully unwrapped them, and laid them in front of Ragna, glancing anxiously at her all the time. She was pleased to see that the quality of the workmanship was high. He had made brooches, buckles, clasps, arm rings, and finger rings, mostly silver, all engraved with elaborate patterns, often inlaid with a black substance that Ragna assumed was niello, a mixture of metals.

Her eye lit on a chunky arm ring with a masculine look. She picked it up and found it satisfyingly heavy. It was silver with an engraved pattern of intertwining serpents, and she could picture it on Wilwulf’s muscular arm.

Cuthbert said slyly: “You’ve picked my best piece, my lady.”

She studied it. She felt sure Wilwulf would like it, and wear it with pride. She said: “What’s the price?”

“There’s a lot of silver in it.”

“Is the silver pure?”

“One part in twenty is copper, for strength,” he said. “Same as our silver coins.”

“Very good. How much?”

“Would it be for Ealdorman Wilwulf?”

Ragna smiled. He was not going to name a price until he had to. He was trying to figure out how much she would be willing to pay. Cuthbert might be timid, she thought, but he was sly, too. “Yes,” she replied. “A wedding gift.”

“In that case, I must let you have it for no more than it cost me, as my way of honoring your nuptial celebrations.”

“You’re very kind. How much?”

Cuthbert sighed. “A pound,” he said.

It was a lot of money: two hundred and forty silver pennies. But there was about half a pound of silver in the arm ring: the price was reasonable. And the more she looked at it, the more she wanted it. She imagined herself slipping it over Wilwulf’s hand and up his arm, then looking at his face to see him smile.

She decided not to haggle; it was undignified. She was not a peasant woman buying a ladle. But she pretended to hesitate, just for the sake of appearances.

Cuthbert said: “Don’t make me sell it for less than it cost me, dear lady.”

“Very well,” she said. “A pound.”

“The ealdorman will be delighted. This will look wonderful on his mighty arm.”

Cat had been watching the interchange, and now Ragna saw her quietly move to where their luggage was stowed and unobtrusively unlock an ironbound chest.

Ragna put the ring on her own arm. It was far too big, of course, but she liked the engraving.

Cuthbert wrapped up his remaining ornaments and lovingly stowed them away.

Cat came back with a small leather bag. Meticulously she counted out pennies in multiples of twelve. Cuthbert re-counted each twelve. Finally Cuthbert put the money in his chest, closed the box, and left, wishing Ragna a splendid wedding day and many years of happy marriage.

Supper was served at the two tables. The visitors ate first. There were no plates: instead, thick slices of bread were placed on the table and Ethel’s mutton with onions was ladled onto the bread. They all waited for Ragna to begin. She speared a piece of meat with her knife and put it in her mouth, then they all tucked in. The stew was simple but tasty.

Ragna felt cheered by food, ale, and the pleasure of buying a gift for the man she loved.

Night fell while they were eating, and lamps around the room were lit by the pregnant slave.

As soon as Ragna had finished eating she said: “Now I’m tired. Where do I sleep?”

Dreng said cheerfully: “Anywhere you like, my lady.”

“But where is my bed?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have beds, my lady.”

“No beds?”

“I’m sorry.”

Did they really expect her to wrap herself in her cloak and lie down in the straw with everyone else? The creepy Dreng would probably try to lie next to her. At the English monasteries she had been given a simple wooden bed with a mattress, and Thurstan of Lordsborough had provided a sort of box with leaves in the bottom. “Not even a box bed?” she said.

“No one in Dreng’s Ferry has a bed of any kind.”

Edgar spoke up. “Except the nuns.”

Ragna was surprised. “Nobody told me about any nuns.”

“On the island,” said Edgar. “There’s a small convent.”

Dreng looked cross. “You can’t go there, my lady. They look after lepers and all sorts. That’s why it’s called Leper Island.”

Ragna was skeptical. Many nuns cared for the sick, and they rarely caught the infections of their patients. Dreng just wanted the prestige of hosting Ragna overnight.

Edgar said: “The lepers aren’t allowed into the convent.”

Dreng said crossly: “You know nothing, you’ve only lived here a quarter of a year, keep your mouth shut.” He smiled unctuously at Ragna. “I couldn’t let you risk your life, my lady.”

“I’m not asking your permission,” Ragna said coldly. “I shall make up my own mind.” She turned to Edgar. “What are the sleeping arrangements at the nunnery?”

“I’ve only been there once, to repair the roof, but I think there are two bedrooms, one for the mother superior and her deputy, and a large room for the other five or six nuns. They all have wooden bedsteads with mattresses and blankets.”

“That sounds perfect. Will you take me there?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Cat and Agnes will come with me. The rest of my servants will remain here. If the nunnery turns out to be unsuitable for any reason, I’ll come straight back.”

Cat picked up the leather bag that contained the few items Ragna needed at night, such as a comb and a piece of Spanish soap. She had discovered that England had only liquid soap.

Edgar took a lamp from the wall and Cat another. If Dreng objected he did not dare say so.

Ragna caught Bern’s eye and gave him a hard look. He nodded, understanding her. He was in charge of the chest containing the money.

She followed Edgar out, and Cat and Agnes came behind. They made their way to the waterside and boarded the boat while Edgar untied the rope. His dog jumped aboard. Edgar picked up a pole and the boat moved off.

Ragna hoped the nunnery was as advertised. She was badly in need of a clean room and a soft bed and a warm blanket. She felt like a thirsty person whose throat burns with desire on seeing a flagon of cold cider.

She said: “Is the nunnery wealthy, Edgar?”

“Moderately,” he said. He poled the boat effortlessly and had no shortage of breath for talking. “They own land at Northwood and St.-John-in-the-Forest.”

Agnes said: “Are you married to one of the ladies in the tavern, Edgar?”

Ragna smiled. Clearly Agnes was attracted to Edgar.

He laughed. “No. Two of them are Dreng’s wives, and the pregnant girl is a slave.”

“Are men allowed to have two wives in England?”

“Not really, but the priests can’t stop it.”

“Are you the father of the slave’s baby?”

Another pointed question, Ragna thought.

Edgar was mildly offended. “Certainly not.”

“Who is?”

“No one knows.”

Cat said: “We don’t have slaves in Normandy.”

It was still raining. No moon or stars were visible. Ragna could see very little. But Edgar knew his way, and in a short time the ferry nudged a sandy bank. By the light of the lamps Ragna made out a little rowboat tied to a post. Edgar moored the ferry.

“The bank drops off steeply,” he said to the women. “Shall I carry you? It’s only two steps, but you will get your dresses wet.”

Cat answered. “Carry my lady, please,” she said briskly. “Agnes and I will manage.”

Agnes made a disappointed sound, but did not dare to argue with Cat.

Edgar stood in the water beside the boat. It came up to his thighs. Ragna sat on the edge of the boat with her back to him, then turned her body and put an arm around his neck, and finally swung her legs over the side. He took her weight on both arms, supporting her effortlessly.

She found herself enjoying his embrace. She felt a little ashamed: she was in love with another man, and about to marry him—she had no business snuggling up to someone else! But she had a good excuse and it was over in no time. Edgar took two steps through the water then set her down on the bank.

They followed a footpath up a slope. At its end was a large stone building. Its outlines were not clear in the lamplight, but Ragna thought she saw twin gables, and guessed that one marked the church and the other the convent. To the side of the convent was a little tower.

Edgar knocked on the wooden door.

After a while they heard a voice. “Who’s knocking at this time of night?”

Nuns went to bed early, Ragna recalled.

Edgar said: “This is Edgar the builder. I’ve brought the lady Ragna from Cherbourg, who commands your hospitality.”