She sat on a stool for Cat to do her hair. As the maid combed, teased, and pinned, Ragna made herself calm. She knew how to behave at ceremonies: move slowly, smile at everyone, do what you’re told, and if no one tells you what to do, stand still. Wilf had outlined the program to her, and she had memorized every word. She might still make mistakes, not knowing anything about English rituals, but if she did she would just smile and try again.

Cat finished the hairdo with a silk scarf the color of autumn chestnuts. It covered Ragna’s head and neck and was held in place by an embroidered headband. Now Ragna was ready for the dress. She had bathed earlier and was already wearing the plain tan linen underdress, which would hardly be seen. Over it she donned a wool dress in a color between green and blue that seemed to make her eyes brighter. It had flared sleeves, the cuffs of which were embroidered with a geometric pattern in gold thread. Cat put a silver cross on a silk band around Ragna’s neck so that it hung outside the dress. Finally she put on a blue cloak with a gold-colored lining.

When she was fully dressed, Cat stared at her and burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” Ragna said.

Cat shook her head. “Nothing,” she sobbed. “You’re so beautiful.”

There was a knock at the door and a voice called: “The ealdorman is ready.”

Bern said gruffly: “That’s a bit sooner than expected!”

“You know Wilf,” said Ragna. “He’s impatient.” She raised her voice to speak to the man outside. “The bride is ready whenever Wilf cares to come and get her.”

“I’ll tell him.”

A few minutes went by, then there was a banging at the door, and Wilf’s voice said: “The ealdorman comes for his bride!”

Bern picked up the chest containing the dowry. Cat opened the door. Wilf stood outside in a red cloak. Ragna held her head high and walked out.

Wilf took her arm and they walked slowly across the compound to the front of the great hall. A great cheer went up from the waiting crowd. Despite the morning’s showers, the townspeople had dressed up. None but the wealthiest could afford new complete outfits, but most had a new hat or kerchief, and the sea of brown and black was enlivened by celebratory flashes of yellow and red.

Ceremony was important. Ragna had learned from her father that gaining power was easier than keeping it. Conquest could be a matter merely of killing men and entering a stronghold, but holding on to power was never so simple—and appearances were crucial. People wanted their leader to be big and strong and handsome and rich, and his wife to be young and beautiful. Wilf knew this as well as Ragna did, and together they were giving his subjects what they wanted, and thereby consolidating his authority.

Wilf’s family stood in front of the crowd in a semicircle. To one side Ithamar sat at a table with parchment, ink, and pens. Although a wedding was not a religious sacrament, the details of property transfers had to be written down and witnessed, and the people who could write were mostly clergy.

Wilf and Ragna faced each other and held hands. When the cheering died down, Wilf said in a loud voice: “I, Wilwulf, ealdorman of Shiring, take you, Ragna of Cherbourg, to be my wife, and I vow to love you and care for you and be true to you for the rest of my life.”

Ragna could not match the power of his voice, but she spoke clearly and confidently. “I, Ragna, daughter of Count Hubert of Cherbourg, take you, Wilwulf of Shiring, to be my husband, and I vow to love you and care for you and be true to you for the rest of my life.”

They kissed, and the crowd cheered.

Bishop Wynstan blessed the marriage and said a prayer, then Wilf took from his belt a large ornamental key. “I give you the key to my house, for it is now your house, to make a home for me by your side.”

Cat passed Ragna a new sword in a richly decorated sheath, and Ragna presented it to Wilf, saying: “I give you this sword so that you can guard our house, and protect our sons and daughters.”

The symbolic gifts having been exchanged, they moved to the more important financial transactions.

Ragna said: “As promised by my father to your brother Bishop Wynstan, I give you twenty pounds of silver.”

Bern stepped forward and placed the chest at Wilwulf’s feet.

Wynstan stepped out of the crowd to say: “I witness that the chest contains the agreed amount.” He handed the key to Wilf.

Wilf said: “Let the clerk record that I give you the Vale of Outhen, with its five villages and its quarry, and all the income therefrom, for you and your heirs to hold until the Day of Judgment.”

Ragna had not yet seen the Vale of Outhen. She had been told that it was a prosperous neighborhood. She already owned the district of Saint-Martin in Normandy, and her income would be doubled by the addition of the Vale of Outhen. Whatever problems the future held for her, money was unlikely to be among them.

Grants of territory such as this were the everyday currency of politics in Normandy as well as England. The sovereign gave lands to the great noblemen, who in turned parceled them out to lesser rulers—called thanes in England, knights in Normandy—thereby creating a web of people who were loyal because they had gained wealth and hoped for more. Every nobleman had to strike a careful balance between giving away enough to generate support and keeping enough to give him superiority.

Now, to everyone’s surprise, Wigelm stepped out of the crowd and said: “Wait.”

Wouldn’t it be just like him, Ragna thought, to spoil my wedding somehow?

Wigelm said: “The Vale of Outhen has been in our family for generations. I question whether my brother Wilf has the right to give it away.”

Bishop Wynstan said: “It’s in the marriage contract!”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Wigelm said. “It belongs in the family.”

“And it remains in the family,” said Wynstan. “It now belongs to Wilf’s wife.”

“And she will leave it to her children when she dies.”

“And they will be Wilf’s children, and your nephews and nieces. Why do you raise this objection today? You’ve known the details of the contract for months.”

“I raise it in front of witnesses.”

Wilf intervened. “Enough,” he said. “Wigelm, you’re not making any sense. Step back.”

“On the contrary—”

“Be quiet, or I shall become angry.”

Wigelm shut up.

The ceremony moved on, but Ragna was puzzled. Wigelm must have known that his protest would be spurned. Why had he chosen to court rejection at a very public moment? He could not possibly have expected Wilf to change his mind about Outhen. Why had he started a fight he was bound to lose? She shelved the mystery for later consideration.

Wilf said: “As a pious gift, to mark my wedding, I give the village of Wigleigh to the Church, specifically to the minster at Dreng’s Ferry, with the stipulation that the clergy there will pray for my soul, and the soul of my wife, and the souls of our children.”

This kind of gift was commonplace. When a man had achieved wealth and power, and was settling down with a wife to have children, his thoughts turned from earthly desires to heavenly blessings, and he did what he could to secure the comfort of his soul in the afterlife.

The formalities were coming to an end, and Ragna was happy that the ceremony had gone smoothly, except for Wigelm’s strange intervention. Ithamar was now writing the names of the witnesses to the marriage, starting with Wilf himself, and followed by all the important people there: Wynstan, Osmund, Degbert, and Sheriff Denewald. It was not a long list, and Ragna had expected other visiting clergy, perhaps the neighboring bishops—Winchester, Sherborne, and Northwood—and leading monks, such as the abbot of Glastonbury. But no doubt English customs were different.

She was sorry none of her family were present. But she had no relations in England, and the journey from Cherbourg could be long—it had taken her two weeks. It was never easy for a count to travel far from his domain, but she had hoped that her mother might make the effort, and perhaps bring her brother, Richard. However, Mother had been against this marriage, and perhaps she had been disinclined to give it her blessing.

She banished such thoughts.

Wilf raised his voice and said: “And now, friends and neighbors, let us feast!” The crowd cheered, and the kitchen staff began to bring out great platters of meat, fish, vegetables, and bread, plus jugs of ale for the common folk and mead for the special guests.

Ragna wanted nothing more than to get into bed with her husband, but she knew they had to join in the banquet. She would not eat much, but it was important for her to talk to as many people as possible. This was her chance to make a good impression on the townsfolk, and she seized it eagerly.

Aldred introduced her to Abbot Osmund, and she sat beside him for several minutes, asking questions about the monastery. She took the opportunity to praise Aldred, saying she shared his view that Shiring could become an international center of scholarship—under Osmund’s leadership, of course. Osmund was flattered.