She needed someone to talk to.

She sat up and threw off her blanket. Cat, Agnes, and Bern were staring at her, waiting apprehensively to see what she would do or say.

“Bishop Wynstan deceived us all,” she said. “Wilf’s first wife is not dead. Her name is Inge, and she has been ‘set aside,’ which seems to be a strange kind of divorce, for she has moved into the house that our men-at-arms vacated yesterday.”

Bern said: “Nobody told us!”

“People probably assumed we knew. These English don’t seem very shocked when a man has more than one wife. Remember Dreng the ferryman.”

Cat was looking thoughtful. She said: “Edgar told me, more or less.”

“Did he?”

“The first time we met him, when he took us across the river, I said my lady was going to marry the ealdorman, and he said: ‘I thought he was already married.’ And I said: ‘He was, but his wife died.’ And Edgar said he had not realized that.”

Ragna said: “The other thing they didn’t tell us was that Inge has a son by Wilf, a young man called Garulf, who has moved in with his mother.”

Bern said: “I still think it’s strange that no one else mentioned the first wife to us.”

“It’s more than strange,” said Ragna. “They went further than just staying quiet. They kept Inge and Garulf out of sight until after the wedding and after most of my people had gone home. That’s not accidental. Wynstan organized it.” She was silent for a moment, then she voiced the most horrible thought: “And Wilf must have been in on the plot.”

The others said nothing, and Ragna knew that meant they agreed.

Ragna felt an urge to talk to someone who was not her servant. She wanted a more detached point of view to help her get the calamity into some kind of perspective. She thought of Aldred. He had said: “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. Come to the abbey.”

“I’m going to talk to Brother Aldred,” she announced.

Then she recalled that Aldred had had second thoughts and added: “Or just send a message.”

“Bern, go to the abbey,” she said. “Wait. Let me think.” She did not want Aldred to come to the compound. Something held her back from that. Questioning the reason for her instinct, she decided that she did not want people such as Gytha and Inge to know who her allies might be.

So where could she meet Aldred?

The cathedral.

“Ask Aldred to come to the cathedral,” she said. “Tell him I’ll be waiting.” The doors of the big church were rarely locked. “Wait. You can walk there with me.”

She dried her eyes and put a little oil on her face. Agnes fetched her cloak. Ragna put it on and pulled the hood over her head.

She and Bern went out of the compound and down the hill. On the way she kept her head bent and did not speak to anyone: she could not cope with normal conversation. When they reached the square, Bern went to the monastery and Ragna entered the cathedral.

She had been here several times before for services. It was the biggest church she had seen so far in England, with a nave twenty or thirty yards long and about eight yards wide, and everyone in town crammed into it on special days such as Christmas. It was always cold. The stone walls were thick, and she guessed the place was chilly even in summer. Today it was icy. She stood by a carved stone baptismal font and looked around. The small windows dimly lit a colorful interior: red-and-black patterned floor tiles, wall tapestries of biblical scenes, and a large painted wooden sculpture of the Holy Family. Peering through the arch into the chancel she saw a stone altar covered with a white linen cloth. Behind the altar was a wall painting of the Crucifixion in garish blue and yellow.

The storm in her heart eased a little. The gloom and the chill within the massive stone walls gave her a sense of eternity. Earthly troubles were temporary, even the worst of them, the church seemed to say. Her heart beat normally again. She found she could breathe without gasping. She knew her face was still red, despite the oil, but her eyes were dry, and no new tears came.

She heard the door open and close, and a moment later Aldred stood next to her. “You’ve been crying,” he said.

“All night.”

“What on earth has happened?”

“My husband has another wife.”

Aldred gasped. “You didn’t know about Inge?”

“No.”

“And I never mentioned it. I thought you’d prefer not to talk about her.” Aldred was struck by a thought. “He wants a son.”

“What?”

“You said that to me about Wilf. ‘He wants a son.’ I knew there was something odd in that conversation, but I couldn’t figure out what. Now I know. Wilf already had a son—but you didn’t know. What a fool I am.”

“I didn’t come here to put the blame on you.” On the north wall was a built-in stone bench: at the Christmas service, when the whole town had crowded in here, older citizens who were unable to stand for a whole hour had sat tightly packed on that cold, narrow shelf. Now Ragna nodded toward it and said: “Let’s sit down.”

When they were settled, Aldred said: “Inge was the reason King Ethelred gave for refusing to acknowledge your marriage.”

That shocked her. “But Wynstan had royal approval in advance—he told us!” she said indignantly.

“Either Wynstan lied, or Ethelred changed his mind. But I think Inge is just a pretext. Ethelred was angry with Wilf for not paying the fine.”

“This is why the bishops didn’t come to my wedding—because the king disapproved of the marriage.”

“I’m afraid so. Then Ethelred fined Wilf sixty pounds for marrying you. But Wilf hasn’t paid the fine. Now he’s even more out of favor.”

Ragna was dismayed. “Can’t Ethelred do anything?”

“He could ravage Shiring. That’s what he did to Rochester about fifteen years ago, in a quarrel with Bishop Elfstan, but it’s a bit extreme, and Ethelred later regretted it.”

“So a nobleman can just defy the king and get away with it?”

“Not indefinitely,” said Aldred. “It reminds me of the famous case of Thane Wulfbald. He repeatedly ignored the rulings of the royal court and refused to pay fines and got away with it. Eventually his lands passed into the possession of the king, but not until Wulfbald was dead.”

“I had no idea my husband was so badly at odds with his king—no one told me!”

“I assumed you knew but did not want to talk about it. Wynstan would have told Wilf’s family not to say anything to you. The servants probably don’t even know about it, although they seem to find these things out eventually.”

“Am I even married to Wilf?”

“Yes, you are. Inge was set aside, and Wilf married you. The church disapproves of the setting aside and of the marriage, but English law does not forbid either.”

“What am I to do?”

“Fight back.”

“It’s not just Inge, it’s Wynstan and Gytha and Wigelm and Milly and even Garulf.”

“I know. They form a powerful faction. But you have a magic weapon that will overcome them all.”

She wondered if he was going to turn pious on her. “Do you mean God?”

“No, though it’s always wise to ask for His help.”

“So what is my special weapon?”

“Wilf’s love.”

Ragna gave him a skeptical look. What did he know about love?

Aldred read her mind. “Oh, I realize everyone thinks monks are ignorant of love and marriage, but it’s not quite true. Besides, anyone with eyes can see how much Wilf loves you. It’s frankly embarrassing. He stares at you all the time. His hands are itching to touch you.”

Ragna nodded. After they were married, she somehow stopped feeling embarrassed by this.

“He adores you, he worships you,” Aldred went on. “That makes you stronger than all the others put together.”

“I don’t see what good it does me. Wilf has still brought his first wife to live next door to me.”

“That’s not the end, it’s the beginning.”

“I just don’t understand what you want me to do.”

“First, don’t lose his love. I can’t tell you how to keep it, but I’m sure you know.”

I do, Ragna thought.

“Impose your will,” Aldred went on. “Pick small fights with Gytha and Wynstan and Inge, and win small victories, then larger. Let everyone know that in a conflict, Wilf’s first instinct will always be to support you.”

Like the argument about Wigelm’s house, she thought, or the one about Dunnere the carpenter.

“And build up your strength. Develop allies. You’ve got me, but you need more—all you can get. Men of power.”

“Such as Sheriff Den.”

“Very good. And Bishop Elfheah of Winchester: he hates Wynstan, so make Elfheah your friend.”

“You sound as if you’re talking about war, not marriage.”

Aldred shrugged. “I’ve spent twenty years living with monks. A monastery is awfully like a big, powerful family: rivalry, jealousy, squabbling, hierarchy—and love. And it’s hard to escape from. I’m glad when I see trouble coming, because I can deal with it. The real danger comes from surprises.”

They sat in silence for a minute, then Ragna said: “You’re a good friend.”

“I hope so.”