“I was asking questions.”

Osmund said: “Listen to me. We had a difference of opinion with Wynstan about Dreng’s Ferry, but the matter has been resolved and is now closed.”

“Not really. The minster is still an abomination in the sight of the Lord.”

“That’s as may be, but I have decided not to quarrel with the bishop. I don’t accuse you of plotting against me, despite Hildred’s hot words, but really, Aldred, you must not undermine me.”

Aldred felt shame mixed with indignation. He had no wish to offend his kindly but lazy superior. On the other hand, it was wrong for a man of God to overlook wickedness. Osmund would do anything for a quiet life, but a monk was obliged to do more than seek a quiet life.

However, this was not the time to make a stand. “I’m sorry, my lord abbot,” he said. “I will try harder to remember my vow of obedience.”

“I knew you’d see sense,” said Osmund.

Hildred looked skeptical. He did not believe that Aldred was sincere.

And he was right.

* * *

Edgar arrived back in Dreng’s Ferry on the afternoon of the following day. He was dead beat. It had been a mistake to carry a sack of lime that distance. He was strong, but not superhuman. He had a crippling backache.

The first thing he saw was a pile of stones on the bank of the river. His brothers had unloaded the raft but had not carried the stones to the site of the brewhouse. At that moment he felt he could have murdered them both.

He was too tired even to walk into the tavern. He dumped his sack by the stones and lay on the ground right there.

Dreng came out and saw him. “So you’re back,” he said superfluously.

“Here I am.”

“The stones have arrived.”

“So I see.”

“What have you brought?”

“A sack of lime. I saved you the cost of horse transport, but I’ll never do it again.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

Dreng smiled with an odd look of malicious satisfaction.

Edgar said: “Except for one thing.” He took out the purse. “You gave me too much money.”

Dreng looked startled.

Edgar said: “The stones were a penny each. We paid a penny at the alehouse in Outhenham for supper and beds. The lime was four pence. There are nine pennies left.”

Dreng took the purse and counted the coins. “So there are,” he said. “Well, well.”

Edgar was puzzled. A man as mean as Dreng should have been horrified to learn that he had handed over more money than necessary. But he was just mildly surprised.

“Well, well,” Dreng said again, and he went back into the alehouse.

Lying supine, waiting for his back to stop hurting, Edgar mused. It was almost as if Dreng knew he had given too much and was surprised to get some back.

Of course, Edgar thought; that was it.

He had been given a test. Dreng had deliberately put temptation in his way, to see what he would do.

His brothers would have swallowed the bait. They would have stolen the money and been found out. But Edgar had simply given it back.

All the same, Erman and Eadbald had been right about one thing. They had said that Edgar would get no thanks from Dreng. And no thanks was just what he had got.

CHAPTER 18

    March 998

t should have been a simple matter for Ragna to go to the Vale of Outhen.

She had mentioned it to Wilf the day before he left for Wales, and he had nodded agreement without hesitation. But after the army had left, Wynstan had come to her house. “This is not a good moment for you to visit Outhen,” he said, using the soft voice and insincere smile he deployed when pretending to be reasonable. “It’s the time of spring ploughing. We don’t want to distract the peasants.”

Ragna was wary. Wynstan had never before shown an interest in agricultural matters. “Naturally I don’t want to do anything that would interfere with their work,” she said, temporizing.

“Good. Postpone your visit. Meanwhile, I’ll collect your rents and hand the proceeds over to you, as I did at Christmas.”

It was true that Wynstan had given her a large sum of money a few days after Christmas, but he had offered no accounting, so she had no way of knowing whether she had received what was due to her. At the time she had been too distraught about Inge to care, but she did not intend to let this laxness continue. As he turned to leave, she put a hand on his arm. “When would you suggest?”

“Let me think about that.”

Ragna suspected she knew more about the farming cycle than he did. “You see, there’s always something urgent to be done in the fields.”

“Yes, but—”

“After the ploughing comes the sowing.”

“Yes—”

“Then the weeding, then the reaping, then the threshing, then the grinding.”

“I know.”

“And then it’s time for winter ploughing.”

He looked irritated. “I’ll let you know when the time is right.”

Ragna shook her head firmly. “I have a better idea. I’ll visit Outhen on Lady Day. It’s a holiday, so they won’t be working anyway.”

He hesitated, but apparently could not think of a rejoinder. “Very well,” he said tersely, and as he walked away, Ragna knew she had not heard the last of this.

But she was not intimidated. On Lady Day she would receive her rents in Outhenham. And there she would ambush Gab the quarrymaster.

She wanted to take Edgar with her for the confrontation. She sent a messenger to summon him from Dreng’s Ferry, pretending she needed him to do more carpentry.

An extra reason for her wanting to go away was that there was a tiresome atmosphere in the compound with the husbands away. The only males left were either too young to fight or too old. Ragna found that the women behaved badly when their men could not see them. They squabbled, shrieked, and ran one another down in ways that their husbands would have derided. No doubt men, too, misbehaved when the opposite sex was not there to be disdainful. She would have to ask Wilf about that.

She decided she would stay in the Vale of Outhen for a week or so after Lady Day. She was determined to make a personal tour of her property and find out in detail what she owned. She would show herself to her tenants and her subjects, getting to know them. She would hold court in each village and begin to establish a reputation as a fair judge.

When she spoke to the head groom, Wignoth, he shook his head and sucked in the air between his brown teeth. “We haven’t got enough horses,” he pointed out. “Every spare mount has been commandeered for the harrying of the Welsh.”

Ragna could not possibly arrive on foot. People judged by appearances, and a noble who did not have a horse would be seen as lacking authority. “But Astrid is still here,” she said. She had brought her favorite horse from Cherbourg.

“You’ll have several people with you on your visit, of course,” said Wignoth.

“Yes.”

“Apart from Astrid, all we have is an elderly mare, a pony with one eye, and a packhorse that’s never been ridden.”

There were other horses in the town: both the bishop and the abbot had several mounts, and the sheriff had a large stable. But they needed them for their own purposes. “What we have here must suffice,” Ragna said firmly. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll manage.”

As she walked away from the stable she saw two young townsmen lounging near the kitchen, talking to Gilda and the other kitchen maids. Ragna stopped and frowned. She had no moral objection to flirting—in fact she was good at it herself when it suited her purpose. But with husbands away fighting, dalliances could be dangerous. Illicit affairs did not usually remain secret for long, and soldiers returning from battle could be quick to resort to violence.

Ragna changed direction and approached the two men.

A cook called Eadhild was skinning fish with a sharp knife and bloody hands. None of the maids noticed Ragna’s approach. Eadhild was telling the men to go away, but in a playful tone that clearly showed she did not mean it. “We don’t want your sort here,” she said, but then she giggled.

Ragna noticed that Gilda looked disapproving.

One of the men said: “Women never want our sort—until they do!”

“Oh, go on with you,” said Eadhild.

Ragna said abruptly: “Who are you men?”

They looked startled and said nothing for a moment.

Ragna said: “Give me your names or I’ll have you both thrashed.”

Gilda pointed with a skewer. “He’s Wiga and the other one is Tata. They work at the Abbey Alehouse.”

Ragna said: “And what do you think will happen, Wiga and Tata, when these women’s husbands come home, with their swords as bloody as that fish knife of Eadhild’s, and find out what you’ve been saying to their wives?”

Wiga and Tata looked shamefaced and made no answer.

“Murder,” Ragna said. “That’s what will happen. Now go back to your alehouse, and don’t let me see you inside this compound until Ealdorman Wilf comes home.”

They scurried off.