Cat handed her the armband she had bought from Cuthbert in Dreng’s Ferry, and Ragna slipped it into the leather purse attached to her belt.
She stepped outside. There was a faint silvery glow on the eastern horizon. It had rained in the night, and the ground was muddy underfoot, but the day promised to be bright. Down in the dark town, the monastery bell tolled for the morning office of Prime. The compound was just beginning to come alive: she saw a boy slave in a threadbare tunic carrying a pile of firewood, then a strong-armed maid with a pail of fresh milk that steamed in the morning air. Everyone else was out of sight, probably still warm in bed, eyes shut tight, pretending it was not yet day.
Ragna crossed the compound to Wilf’s house.
There was one other person in view. A young woman stood outside Gytha’s door, leaning against the wall, yawning. She caught sight of Ragna and stood upright.
Ragna smiled. Gytha was keeping her under surveillance, not taking any chances. As it happened, that suited Ragna’s purpose today.
She went to Wilf’s door, watched by the maid.
It suddenly occurred to her that Wilf might bar his door at night: some people did. That could spoil her plan.
But when she lifted the latch the door opened, and she relaxed. Perhaps Wilf thought that to lock his door at night might make him seem timorous in the eyes of his men.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the watching maid scurry inside Gytha’s house.
Wilf had another reason for feeling confident. As Ragna stepped inside, she heard a deep growl. Wilf had a dog to warn him of intruders.
Ragna looked toward where she knew the bed to be. There was a glow from the embers of the fire, and a faint light coming through the small windows. She saw a figure sit upright in the bed and reach for a weapon.
Wilf’s voice said: “Who’s there?”
Ragna said quietly: “Good morning, my lord.”
She heard him chuckle. “It’s a good morning now that you’re here.” He lay down again.
There was a movement on the floor, and she saw a big mastiff resume his position lying by the fire.
She sat on the edge of the bed. This was a delicate moment. Her mother had urged her not to lie with Wilf until after the ceremony. He would want it, Genevieve had said, and Ragna had known that she would want it, too. But she was determined to resist the temptation. She could not say exactly why this was so important, especially as they had already done it once. Her feelings had to do with how happy they both would feel about their marriage when at last they were able to yield to their desires without guilt or fear.
All the same, she kissed him.
She leaned over his broad chest. She grasped the hem of his blanket in both hands, keeping it in place as an additional barrier between their bodies. Then she slowly lowered her head until their lips met.
He made a low sound of satisfaction.
She ran her tongue around his mouth, feeling his soft lips and the bristle of his mustache. He buried one big hand in the thickness of her hair, dislodging her scarf. But when his other hand reached for her breast she pulled away. “I have a gift for you,” she said.
“You have several,” he said in a voice thick with desire.
“I brought you a belt from Rouen with a lovely silver buckle, but it was stolen from me on the journey.”
“Where?” he said. “Where were you robbed?” He was responsible for law and order, she knew, and any theft reflected on him.
“Between Mudeford and Dreng’s Ferry. The thief wore an old helmet.”
“Ironface,” he said angrily. “The reeve of Mudeford has searched the forest but can’t find his hideout. I’m going to tell him to search again.”
She had not meant to complain, and she was sorry she had angered him. She moved quickly to rescue the romantic atmosphere. “I got you something else, something better,” she said. She got up, looked around, and spotted the whiteness of a candle. She lit it at the fire and stood it on a bench near the head of the bed. Then she took out the armband she had bought from Cuthbert.
“What’s this?” he said.
She brought the candle closer so that he could examine it. He ran a finger over the incised lines of the complex pattern, engraved in the silver and picked out with niello. “It’s exquisite work,” he said, “but it still has a bold, manly look about it.” He slipped it up his left arm, over the elbow. It fitted closely to the muscles of his upper arm. “You have such good taste!” he said.
Ragna was thrilled. “It looks magnificent.”
“I shall be the envy of all England.”
That was not quite what Ragna wanted to hear. She did not want to be a symbol of greatness, like a white horse, or an expensive sword.
He said: “I want to spend all day kissing you.”
That was more like it, and she leaned toward him again. Now he was more assertive, and when he grasped her breast and she tried to pull away he prevented her, and drew her toward him. She became a little anxious. She still had the physical advantage while he was lying down, but if it came to a real struggle she could not resist him.
Then came the interruption she was expecting. The dog growled, the door creaked, and Gytha’s voice said: “Good morning, my son.”
Ragna took her time breaking the clinch: she wanted Gytha to see how much Wilf wanted her.
Gytha said: “Oh! Ragna! I didn’t know you were here.”
Liar, thought Ragna. The maid had told Gytha that Ragna had gone into Wilf’s house, and Gytha had dressed hastily and come to see what was going on.
Ragna turned slowly. She was entitled to kiss her fiancé, and she took pains not to look guilty. “Mother-in-law,” she said. “Good morning.” She was polite, but she allowed a hint of irritation into her voice. Gytha was the intruder here, the one who had ventured where she had no right to go.
Gytha said: “Shall I send the barber to shave your chin, Wilf?”
“Not today,” he said with a touch of impatience. “I’ll shave on the morning of the wedding.” He spoke as if she should have known this, and it was obvious that she had asked only because she needed a pretext for being there.
Ragna rearranged her headdress, taking more time than she needed, underlining the fact that Gytha had intruded upon a moment of intimacy. While tying the scarf she said: “Show Gytha your gift, Wilf.”
Wilf pointed to the band on his arm. It glinted in the firelight.
“Very attractive,” said Gytha without warmth. “Silver is always good value.” It was cheaper than gold, she was implying.
Ragna ignored the jibe. “And now, Wilf, I must ask you for something.”
“Anything, my beloved.”
“You’ve put me in a very poor house.”
He was startled. “Have I?”
His surprise confirmed Ragna’s suspicion that he had left this to Gytha. Ragna said: “It has no window, and the walls let in the cold air at night.”
Wilf looked at Gytha. “Is this true?”
She said: “It’s not that bad.”
That answer angered Wilf. “My fiancée deserves the best of everything!” he said.
“It’s the only house available,” Gytha protested.
Ragna said: “Not quite.”
“There is no other empty house,” Gytha insisted.
“But Wigelm doesn’t really need a house for himself and his men-at-arms,” Ragna said in a tone of gentle rationality. “His wife isn’t even here. Their home is at Combe.”
Gytha said: “Wigelm is the ealdorman’s brother!”
“And I am the ealdorman’s bride.” Ragna was working hard to suppress her anger. “Wigelm is a man, with a man’s simple needs, but I am a bride preparing for my wedding day.” She turned her gaze to Wilf. “Which of us do you wish to favor?”
There was only one possible answer a bridegroom could make. “You, of course,” he said.
“And after the wedding,” she said, holding Wilf’s gaze, “I will be closer to you at night, for Wigelm’s house is right next door.”
He smiled. “That clinches it.”
Wilf had made up his mind, and Gytha gave in. She was too wise to argue when she had already lost. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll swap Ragna and Wigelm.” She could not resist adding: “Wigelm won’t like it.”
Wilf said crisply: “If he complains, just remind him which brother is the ealdorman.”
Gytha bowed her head. “Of course.”
Ragna had won, and Wilf was displeased with Gytha. Ragna decided to push her luck. “Forgive me, Wilf, but I need both houses.”
Gytha said: “What on earth for? No one has two houses.”
“I want my men nearby. At present they’re lodged in the town.”
Gytha said: “Why do you need men-at-arms?”
Ragna gave her a haughty look. “It is my preference,” she said. “And I am about to be the ealdorman’s wife.” She turned her face to Wilf.
Now he was losing patience. “Gytha, give her what she wants, and no more arguments.”
“Very well,” said Gytha.
“Thank you, my love,” said Ragna, and she kissed him again.
CHAPTER 12
Mid?October 997
n the day of the hundred court, Edgar was nervous but determined.