ost of Ragna’s servants and men-at-arms were to return to Normandy. After the wedding she kept them with her as long as she reasonably could, but the time came when she had to relent, and they left on the last day of December.

A typical English drizzling rain fell on them as they carried their bags to the stables and loaded the packhorses. Only Cat and Bern were to stay: that had been the arrangement from the start.

Ragna could not help feeling sad and anxious. Although she was deliriously happy with Wilf, still she feared this moment. She was an Englishwoman now, surrounded by people she had met only a few weeks ago. As if she had lost a limb, she missed the parents, the relations, the neighbors, and the servants who had known her since before she could remember.

She told herself that thousands of noble brides must have felt the same. It was common for aristocratic girls to marry and move far from home. The wisest of them threw themselves into their new lives with energy and enthusiasm, and that was what Ragna was doing.

But that was small consolation today. She had known moments when the world seemed to be against her—and next time that happened, who would she turn to?

She would turn to Wilf, of course. He would be her friend and counselor as well as her lover.

They made love in the evening and often again in the morning, and sometimes in the middle of the night, too. After a week he had resumed his normal duties, riding out every day to visit some part of his domain. Fortunately there was no fighting: the Welsh raiders had gone home of their own accord, and Wilf said he would punish them in his own good time.

All the same, not every trip could be completed in a single day, so he began to spend some nights away. Ragna would have liked to go with him, but she was in charge of his home now, and she had not yet secured her grip on authority, so she stayed. The arrangement had an upside: he returned from such journeys hungrier than ever for her.

She was pleased when most of the residents of the compound came to say good-bye to the departing Normans. Although some of the English had at first been wary of the foreigners, that had quickly faded, and friendships had flourished.

As they were preparing to start the long journey home, the seamstress, Agnes, came to Ragna in tears. “Madame, I am in love with the Englishman Offa,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to leave.”

Ragna was only surprised that it had taken Agnes this long to make up her mind. The signs of the romance had been obvious. She looked around and caught the eye of Offa. “Come here,” she ordered him.

He stood in front of her. He would not have been Ragna’s choice. He had the heavy look and flushed skin of someone who ate and drank a little too well. The broken nose was perhaps not his fault, but all the same Ragna felt he looked untrustworthy. However, he was Agnes’s choice, not Ragna’s.

Agnes was small and Offa was large, and as they stood side by side they looked faintly comic. Ragna had to smother a smile.

She said: “Do you have something to say to me, Offa?”

“My lady, I beg permission to ask Agnes to be my wife.”

“You are the reeve of Mudeford.”

“But I have a house in Shiring. Agnes can still take care of your clothes.”

Agnes added hastily: “If you so wish, my lady.”

“I do,” Ragna said. “And I’m glad to give my consent to your marriage.”

They thanked her profusely. Sometimes, Ragna reflected, it was very easy to make people happy.

At last the group moved out. Ragna stood and waved them out of sight.

She would probably never see any of them again.

She did not allow herself to linger on her sense of loss. What did she need to do next? She decided to deal with Dunnere the carpenter. She was not going to put up with his slackness, even if he was Gytha’s nephew.

She returned to her house and sent Bern to fetch Dunnere and his men. To receive them she sat on the kind of seat her father had used for formal occasions, a four-legged stool in the shape of a broad rectangle, with a cushion for comfort.

There were three carpenters: Dunnere, Edric, and Edric’s son Hunstan. She did not invite them to sit. “From now on,” she said, “you will go into the forest once a week to fell trees.”

“What for?” Dunnere said sullenly. “We get wood when we need it.”

“You’re going to have a stockpile, which will reduce delays.”

Dunnere looked mutinous, but Edric said: “That’s a good idea.”

Ragna marked him down as more conscientious than Dunnere.

She said: “What’s more, you’re going to do it on the same day every week—Friday.”

“Why?” said Dunnere. “One day’s as good as another.”

“It’s to help you remember.” In truth it was to help her keep tabs on them.

Dunnere was not ready to give in. “Well, then, what if someone wants a repair done on a Friday? Milly, say, or Gytha?”

“You’ll be gone from here so early that you won’t know. You can take your breakfast with you. But if anyone asks you to do something different on a Friday—Milly or Gytha or anyone else—you just tell them to come and see me, because I’m in charge of you, and you’re not allowed to change the schedule without my permission. Is that clear?”

Dunnere sulked, but Edric said: “Very clear, mistress, thank you.”

“You may go now.”

They trooped out.

She knew this would cause trouble, but it was necessary. However, she would be wise to defend herself against a counterattack. Gytha might go behind Ragna’s back and complain to Wilf. Ragna needed to make sure of his response in that event.

She left the house, heading for Wilf’s place. She passed the house her men-at-arms had lived in for the last twelve weeks, empty now: she would need to think about what should be done with it.

She was surprised to see a woman she did not recognize coming out of the place. She did not yet know everyone in Shiring, but this particular person was striking. In her thirties, she wore tight clothing and red shoes, and she had a lot of wild-looking hair that was not quite tamed under a large soft hat. Respectable women did not show much hair in public, and although a few stray locks might be overlooked, the woman in the red shoes was pushing the boundary of decorum. Yet she appeared unembarrassed, and walked with a confident stride. Ragna was curious to speak to her, but at that moment she caught sight of Wilf. She postponed speaking to the woman and followed him into his house.

As always, he kissed her enthusiastically. Then he said: “I have to go to Wigleigh today. I need to make sure they’ve paid the correct rents to Dean Degbert.”

She said: “I’ve told our carpenters to go into the forest and fell a tree every Friday. They need a stockpile, so that they can do repairs without delay.”

“Good thinking,” said Wilf with a touch of impatience. He did not like to be bothered with domestic issues.

Ragna said: “I mention the carpenters to you only because Dunnere is a problem. He’s lazy and he’s a drunk.”

“You’d better come down hard on him.”

Despite Wilf’s impatience, Ragna continued to nudge him toward saying what she wanted to hear. “You don’t think he deserves special indulgence because he’s Gytha’s nephew?”

“No! It doesn’t matter who he is, he still owes me a good day’s work.”

“I agree, and I’m glad to have your backing.” She kissed him with her mouth open, and he forgot his irritation and responded ardently. “Now you must go,” she said.

They left the house together. The men-at-arms were assembling for the trip, and she watched Wilf join them, exchanging a joke or a few words with three or four. As they were about to leave, a young man of about sixteen years joined the group, and Ragna was surprised to see Wilf kiss him affectionately. Before she could ask who he was, they mounted and rode out.

As soon as Wilf had gone, Gytha approached Ragna. Here it comes, Ragna thought: she’ll be angry about the carpenters. Dunnere must have wasted no time in complaining to his aunt.

But Gytha surprised her by talking about something else. “The house that was occupied by your men-at-arms is empty now,” she said.

“Yes.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

Gytha was being carefully polite. That was a second surprise. Ragna responded: “Of course.”

“Perhaps we could allow Wigelm and Milly to use it again.”

Ragna nodded. “Good idea—unless there’s anyone else who might need it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I saw someone looking at it earlier—a woman in red shoes.”

“That’s Milly’s sister, Inge. She could look after the place while Wigelm and Milly are at Combe.”

“That sounds like sensible arrangement.”

“Thank you,” said Gytha, but the note in her voice was not gratitude. It sounded to Ragna more like triumph.

Gytha went away. Ragna frowned as she returned to her own place. Why was she uneasy about the conversation? She suspected Gytha, feeling that her surface courtesy concealed an underlying hostility.

Ragna’s intuition told her that something was wrong.

* * *