Cnebba then placed his box on the table and opened it. The weights inside were squat lead cylinders, each with a silver coin embedded in its top to guarantee that it was officially verified. Wynstan said: “I borrowed these from the Shiring mint.”

Cat moved to pick up a small chest that contained the dowry, but Ragna held up a hand to detain her. Ragna did not trust Wynstan. With Cnebba here to defend him, Wynstan might be tempted to just walk off with the chest under his arm. “Cnebba can leave us now,” Ragna said.

“I prefer him to stay,” said Wynstan.

“Why?” said Ragna. “Can he weigh coins better than you?”

“He’s my bodyguard.”

“Of whom are you afraid? Me? My maid, Cat?”

Wynstan looked at Bern but decided not to answer Ragna’s question. “Very well,” he said. “Wait outside, Cnebba.”

The bodyguard left.

Ragna said: “Let’s check the balance.” She put a five-pound weight in the tray, causing the short arm of the stilyard to drop. Then she moved the slide on the opposite side outward until the two arms were in balance. The slide stood at the five-pound mark. The balance was accurate.

Ragna nodded to Bern, who picked up the chest and put it on the table. Ragna unlocked it with a key she had around her neck on a thong.

The chest contained four small leather bags. Ragna put one on the stilyard in place of the five-pound weight. The two arms balanced almost perfectly: the bag was slightly heavier. “The leather accounts for the insignificant extra weight,” Ragna said.

Wynstan waved a dismissive hand at that. He had a more important concern. He said: “Show me the coins.”

Ragna emptied the bag onto the table. Hundreds of small silver coins poured out, all of them English, with a cross on one side and the head of King Ethelred on the other. The marriage contract specified English pennies, which contained more silver than French deniers.

Wynstan nodded in satisfaction.

Ragna returned the silver coins to the bag then repeated the entire exercise with the remaining three bags. Each weighed exactly five pounds. The dowry was as promised. She put the bags back in the chest.

Wynstan said: “I’ll take it now, then.”

Ragna gave the chest to Bern. “When I’m married to Wilf.”

“But you’ll be married by noon today!”

“Then the dowry will be handed over at twelve o’clock.”

“That means this check has been pointless. In the next two hours you could steal fifty coins out of each bag.”

Ragna locked the chest, then handed the key to Wynstan. “There,” she said. “Now I can’t open it and you can’t steal it.”

Wynstan pretended to think she was taking caution to ridiculous extremes. “The guests are arriving already!” he said. “The oxen and pigs have been roasting all night. The barrels of ale have been tapped. The bakers have a hundred loaves in the ovens. Do you seriously believe Wilf is going to grab your dowry now and cancel the wedding?”

Ragna smiled sweetly. “I’m going to be your sister-in-law, Wynstan,” she said. “You must learn to trust me.”

Wynstan grunted and left.

Cnebba came back in and took away the stilyard and the weights. As he went out, Wigelm arrived. He had the family big nose and chin, and the same fair hair and mustache, but there was a petulant cast to his face, as if he perpetually felt unfairly treated. He had on the clothes he had worn yesterday, a black tunic and a brown cloak, as if to tell the world that today was not a special day as far as he was concerned. “So, my sister,” he said, “today you lose your virginity.”

Ragna blushed, for she had lost it four months ago.

Fortunately Wigelm misunderstood the cause of her embarrassment. “Ah, don’t be shy,” he said with a lascivious chuckle. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise you.”

You have no idea, Ragna thought.

Wigelm was followed in by a short, voluptuous woman of about his own age, thirty. She was attractive in a plump way, and walked with the sway of a woman who knows she is sexy. She did not introduce herself, and Wigelm made no effort to explain her presence, so Ragna said to her: “I don’t think we’ve met.”

She did not reply, but Wigelm said: “My wife, Milly.”

Ragna said: “I’m glad to see you, Milly.” On impulse she stepped forward and kissed Milly’s cheek. “We are to be sisters,” she said.

Milly’s response was cool. “How strange that is,” she said, “when we hardly speak each other’s language.”

“Oh, anyone can learn a new language,” Ragna said. “All it takes is a little patience.”

Milly looked around the interior of the house. “I was told you had a carpenter in to transform the place,” she said.

“Edgar of Dreng’s Ferry has been working here for the past week.”

“It looks much the same to me.”

It had been a bit decrepit when Milly had been in charge of it, and no doubt this explained Milly’s unfriendliness: she must have felt slighted when Ragna insisted on improvements. Ragna shrugged and said: “Just a few running repairs,” making light of it.

Gytha came in, and Wigelm said: “Good day to you, Mother.” Gytha wore a new dress, dark gray with a red lining that showed in flashes, and her long gray hair was pinned up in an elaborate hat.

Ragna immediately felt wary. Gytha sometimes made the servants laugh by imitating Ragna’s accent. Cat had reported this to her mistress. Ragna had vaguely noticed the women smiling occasionally when she said something not intended to be amusing, and she guessed that her way of speaking had become a joke in the compound. She could live with that, but she was disappointed in Gytha, whom she wanted as a friend.

However, Gytha now surprised her by saying something kind. “Do you need any help with your dress and hair, Ragna? I’m ready, and I’ll be happy to send you one or two of my maids if you like.”

“I don’t need extra help, but thank you for being so thoughtful,” Ragna said. She meant it: Gytha was the fourth in-law to call on her this morning, but the first to say something nice. Ragna had not yet succeeded in winning the affections of her husband’s family, a project she had thought would be easier.

When Dreng limped in she almost groaned aloud.

The ferryman wore a cone-shaped hat that was so tall it looked comical. “I just dropped by to pay my respects to the lady Ragna on this auspicious morning,” he said, bowing low. “We’re already acquainted, aren’t we, cousin-in-law to be? You honored my humble alehouse with a visit on your journey here. Good morning, cousin Wigelm, I hope I see you well; and you, cousin Milly; and the lady Gytha—I never know whether to call you cousin or aunt.”

“More distant than either,” said Gytha sourly.

Ragna noted that Dreng was not warmly received by the family, no doubt because he so obviously exaggerated his closeness to them as a way of enhancing his own status.

Dreng pretended to misunderstand Gytha. “It is a long way to come, thank you for your concern, and of course I have a bad back—a Viking knocked me off my horse at the battle of Watchet, you know—but I couldn’t possibly miss this great occasion.”

Wilf walked in, and suddenly Ragna felt that all was well. He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately in front of everyone. He adored her, and the unfriendliness of his family meant nothing.

She broke the embrace, panting, and tried not to look triumphant.

Wilf said: “The clouds have blown away and the sky is blue. I was afraid we might have to move the banquet indoors, but now I think we can eat outside as planned.”

Dreng nearly burst with excitement. “Cousin Wilf!” he said, his voice breaking into a falsetto bleat. “I hope I see you well, such a pleasure to be here, I offer you a thousand congratulations, your bride is an angel, indeed an archangel!”

Wilf gave a nod of patient tolerance, as if to acknowledge that although Dreng was a fool he was family. “I welcome you, Dreng, but I think this house is getting crowded. My bride needs time to herself as she prepares for the wedding. Out, all of you, come on!”

It was exactly what Ragna wanted him to say, and she smiled in gratitude.

The family trooped out. Before Wilf went he kissed her again, longer this time, until she felt they were in danger of starting the honeymoon right there and then. Finally he pulled away, breathing hard. “I’ll welcome the guests,” he said. “Bar the door and give yourself an hour of peace.” He went out.

Ragna let out a long sigh. What a family, she thought: a man like a god, and relatives like a pack of yapping hounds. But she was marrying Wilf, not Wigelm or Dreng or Gytha or Milly.