“What’s in it for anyone? But still there are pagans.”

Edgar was not convinced. “In England?”

“Perhaps not.”

Edgar was struck by a thought. “I vaguely remember Wynstan visiting Combe when we lived there. Young men aren’t very interested in the clergy, and I never took much notice, but he used to stay at the house of his brother, Wigelm—I remember my mother commenting that you’d expect a bishop to stay at the monastery.”

“And why would he go to Combe?”

“It’s a good place to indulge your lusts. At least it was before the Vikings burned it, and it probably recovered quickly. There’s a woman called Mags who keeps a bawdy house, several houses where men gamble for high stakes, and more alehouses than churches.”

“The fleshpots of Babylon.”

Edgar smiled. “Also a lot of ordinary people like me just pursuing a trade. But, yes, the town gets a lot of visitors, mostly sailors, and that gives it a certain character.”

There was a moment of quiet, and they both heard a soft sound from outside the room. Aldred jumped to his feet and threw the door wide.

Edgar saw the figure of a monk moving away.

“Hildred!” said Aldred. “I thought you were at Nones. Were you eavesdropping?”

“I had to come back for something.”

“What?”

Hildred hesitated.

“Never mind,” said Aldred, and he slammed the door.

* * *

The ealdorman’s compound was even busier than the town. The army was to leave at dawn, and all the men were getting ready, sharpening arrows and polishing helmets and loading saddlebags with smoked fish and hard cheese.

Edgar noticed that some of the women seemed dressed up, and he wondered why; then it occurred to him that they feared this night might be their last with their husbands, and they wanted to make it a memorable one.

Ragna looked different. The last time Edgar had seen her had been at her wedding, when she had shone with gladness and hope. She was still beautiful, but in a different way. Now the light she radiated was more like that of a full moon, bright but cold. She was as poised and composed as ever, and beautifully dressed in the rich brown color that suited her so well; but a certain girlish enthusiasm had gone, to be replaced by an air of angry determination.

He looked carefully at her figure—never a burdensome task—and decided that she was not yet pregnant. She had been married for only a little more than three months, so it was early days yet.

She welcomed him into her house and gave him bread with soft cheese and a cup of ale. He wanted to know about Wilf and Inge, but he did not dare to ask her such personal questions. Instead he said: “I’ve just been to Outhenham.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Buying stone for the new brewhouse I’m building at Dreng’s Ferry.”

“I’m the new lord of the Vale of Outhen.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted to see you. I think you’re being cheated.”

“Go on, please.”

He told her the story of Gab and his sticks. “I can’t prove that you’re being robbed, but I’m sure of it,” he said. “You may want to check.”

“I certainly do. If Dudda the headman is defrauding me that way he’s probably doing it in a dozen other ways, too.”

Edgar had not thought of that. Ragna had an instinct for government, he realized, just as he had an instinct for the construction of shapes in wood and stone. His respect for her rose higher.

She said thoughtfully: “What are the other villagers like? I’ve never been there.”

“There’s an elder called Seric who seems more sensible than most.”

“That’s useful to know. Thank you. And how are you?” Her tone became bright and somewhat brittle. “You’re old enough to be married. Is there a girl in your life?”

Edgar was taken aback. After their conversation at her wedding, when he had told her about Sungifu, how could she ask him a lighthearted question about romance? “I’m not planning to marry,” he said shortly.

She sensed his reaction, and said: “I’m sorry. I forgot, for a moment, just how very serious you are, for someone your age.”

“I think we have that in common.”

She thought about that. He feared he had been impudent, but all she said was: “Yes.”

It was an intimate moment, and he was emboldened to say: “Aldred told me about Inge.”

A wounded look came over her lovely face. “It was a shock to me,” she said.

Edgar guessed she was not that frank with everyone, and he felt privileged. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I feel mortified that you’ve been so misled by the English.” In the back of his mind he was thinking that he was not as sad as he should have been. Somehow the idea that Wilf had turned out to be an unsatisfactory husband did not displease him as much as it ought to have. He put the ungenerous thought out of his mind and said: “That’s why I’m so cross about Gab the quarrymaster. You know that we English are not all the same, though, don’t you?”

“Of course. But I only married one.”

Edgar risked a bold question. “Do you still love him?”

She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

He was surprised.

He must have shown it for she said: “I know. He’s deceived me, and he’s unfaithful, but I love him.”

“I see,” he said, though he did not.

“You shouldn’t be shocked,” she said. “You love a dead woman.”

That was harsh, but they were having a frank conversation. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.

Suddenly she seemed to feel they had gone far enough. She stood up and said: “I have a lot to do.”

“I’m glad to have seen you. Thank you for the cheese.” He turned to go.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you for telling me about the quarrymaster at Outhenham. I appreciate it.”

He felt a glow of satisfaction.

To his surprise she kissed his cheek. “Good-bye,” she said. “I hope I see you again soon.”

* * *

In the morning Aldred and Edgar went out to see the army ride off.

Aldred was still chewing over the mystery of Dreng’s Ferry. The place had something to hide. He had wondered why the ordinary villagers there were hostile to strangers. It was because they were guarding a secret—all except Edgar and his family, who were not in on it.

Aldred was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Edgar had with him the sack of lime he was going to carry for the next two days. “It’s a good thing you’re strong,” Aldred said. “I’m not sure I could carry it for two hours.”

“I’ll manage,” said Edgar. “It was worth it for the chance to talk to Ragna.”

“You’re fond of her.”

Edgar’s hazel eyes twinkled in a way that made Aldred’s heart beat faster. “Not in the way you seem to imply,” Edgar said. “Which is just as well, since the daughters of counts never marry the sons of boatbuilders.”

Aldred was familiar with impossible love. He almost said so, but bit his tongue. He did not want his tendresse for Edgar to become embarrassing to them both. That might end their friendship, and friendship was all he had.

He glanced at Edgar and saw, with relief, that his expression was untroubled.

There was a noise from up the hill, hoofbeats and cheering. The sound got louder, then the army appeared. At its head was a big iron-gray stallion with a mad look in its eye. Its rider, in a red cloak, was surely Wilf, but his identity was hidden by a gleaming full-face helmet with a plume. Looking more closely, Aldred saw that the helmet was made of more than one metal, and was engraved with complex designs that could not be made out at a distance. It was decorative, Aldred guessed, intended to impress: Wilf would probably wear a less valuable one into battle.

Wilf’s brother Wigelm and son, Garulf, came next, riding side by side; then the men-at-arms, dressed less finely but still showing some bright colors. After them came a crowd of young men on foot, peasant boys and poor town lads, dressed in the usual worn brown tunics, most armed with homemade wooden spears, others having nothing more than a kitchen knife or a hand ax, all hoping to change their fortunes in battle and come home with a bag of looted jewelry or a valuable pair of teenage captives to sell as slaves.

They all crossed the square, waving at the townspeople, who clapped and cheered as they went by; then they disappeared to the north.

Edgar was going east. He shouldered his sack and took his leave.

Aldred returned to the abbey. It was almost time for the service of Terce, but he was summoned to Abbot Osmund.

As usual, Hildred was with the abbot.

Aldred thought: What now?

Osmund said: “I’ll get right to the point, Brother Aldred. I don’t want you to make an enemy of Bishop Wynstan.”

Aldred understood immediately, but pretended not to. “The bishop is our brother in Christ, of course.”

Osmund was too smart to be diverted by this sort of platitude. “You were overheard talking to that lad from Dreng’s Ferry.”

“Yes. I caught Brother Hildred eavesdropping.”

Hildred said: “And a good thing, too! You were plotting against your abbot!”