In his memory he relived the last four years and realized that Ragna had become the most important person in his life. They helped each other. He liked nothing better than talking to her—how long had that been his favorite occupation? He admired her brains and her determination and especially the way she combined unchallengeable authority with a common touch that made people love her.

He liked her, he admired her, and she was beautiful. That was not the same as the fire of passion, but it was like a pile of summer-dry wood that would burst into flames with a single spark, and today’s kiss had been the spark. He wanted to kiss her again, kiss her all day, all night—

Which would never happen. She was the daughter of a count: even if she had been single she would never marry a mere builder. And she was not single. She was married to a man who must never, ever find out about that kiss, for if he did he would have Edgar killed in a heartbeat. Worse, she showed every sign of loving her husband. And if that were not enough, she had three sons with him.

Is there something wrong with me? Edgar asked himself. I used to love a dead girl, now I love a woman who might as well be dead for all the chance I have of being with her.

He thought of his brothers, happily sharing a wife who was coarse and self-centered and not very intelligent. Why can’t I be like them, and take whatever woman comes my way? How could I be so foolish as to fall for a married noblewoman? I’m supposed to be the clever one.

He opened his eyes. There would be a feast in the village tonight. He could be near Ragna all evening. And tomorrow he would start work on the canal. That would give him plenty of reasons to talk to her over the next few weeks. She would never kiss him again, but she would be part of his life.

That would have to be enough.

* * *

Ragna spoke to Sheriff Den as soon as she got back to Shiring. She was eager to catch Ironface, who was a blight on the entire district. And Wilf would be very pleased to come home and find she had solved that problem—the kind of thing Carwen could never achieve.

The sheriff was equally keen, and agreed with her that Offa might provide clues to the whereabouts of the outlaw. They decided to question Offa the following morning.

Ragna just hoped she was not going to learn that Agnes and Offa were guilty of something, perhaps receiving stolen property.

At dawn the next day Ragna met Den outside the home of Offa and Agnes. It had been raining all night and the ground was sodden. Den was accompanied by Captain Wigbert, two other men-at-arms, and two servants with shovels. Ragna wondered what the shovels were for.

Agnes opened the door. When she saw the sheriff and his men, she looked frightened.

Ragna said: “Is Offa here?”

“What on earth do you want Offa for, my lady?”

Ragna felt sorry for her, but had to be stern. Ragna was the ruler of the ealdormanry, and she could not show indulgence during a criminal inquiry. She said: “Be quiet, Agnes, and speak when you’re spoken to. You’ll find out everything soon enough. Now let us in.”

Wigbert told the two men-at-arms to stay outside but beckoned the servants to follow him.

Ragna saw that the house was comfortably furnished, with wall hangings to keep out the draughts, a bed with a mattress, and a row of metal-rimmed cups and bowls on a table.

Offa sat up in bed, threw off a thick wool blanket, and stood up. “What’s the matter?”

Ragna said: “Agnes, show the sheriff the ring you were wearing in Outhenham.”

“I still have it on.” She held out her left hand to Den.

Ragna said: “Offa, where did you get this?”

He thought for a moment, scratching his twisted nose, as if he was trying to remember—or thinking of a plausible story. “I bought it in Combe.”

“Who sold it to you?” She was hoping to be given the name of a jeweler, but she was disappointed.

“A French sailor,” said Offa.

If this was a lie, it was a clever one, Ragna thought. A particular Combe jeweler could have been questioned, but a foreign sailor could not be found.

She said: “His name?”

“Richard of Paris.”

It was a name you might make up on the spur of the moment. There were probably hundreds of men called Richard of Paris. She began to feel suspicious of Offa, but she hoped for Agnes’s sake that her suspicions were unfounded. She said: “Why was a French sailor selling women’s jewelry?”

“Well, he told me he had bought it for his wife, then regretted the purchase when he lost all his money at dice.”

Ragna could usually tell when people were lying, but she could not read Offa. She said: “Where had Richard of Paris bought the ring?”

“I assumed he got it from a Combe jeweler, but he didn’t say. What is this about? Why are you questioning me? I paid sixty pennies for that ring. Is there something wrong?”

Ragna guessed that Offa must have known or at least suspected that the ring was stolen property, but wanted to protect whoever had sold it to him. She was not sure what to ask next. After a pause, Den took over. Turning to the two servants he said brusquely: “Search the house.”

Ragna was not sure how that would help. They needed to loosen Offa’s tongue, not search his home.

There were two locked chests and several boxes storing food. Ragna watched patiently while the servants went through everything thoroughly. They patted down the clothing hanging from pegs, dipped into a barrel of ale all the way to the bottom, and overturned all the rushes on the floor. Ragna was not sure what they were looking for, but in any event they found nothing of interest.

Ragna was relieved. She wanted Offa to be innocent, for Agnes’s sake.

Then Den said: “The fireplace.”

Now Ragna saw what the shovels were for. The servants used them to scoop up the embers in the fire and throw them through the door. The hot logs hissed as they hit the wet ground outside.

Soon the earth below the fireplace was revealed, then the servants began to dig.

A few inches down their shovels hit wood.

Offa ran out of the door. It happened so fast that no one in the house could stop him. But there were two men-at-arms outside. Ragna heard a roar of frustration and the sound of a heavy body hitting the mud. A minute later the men-at-arms brought Offa back, each man holding one of his arms very firmly.

Agnes began to sob.

“Keep digging,” Den told the servants.

A few minutes later they pulled a wooden chest a foot long out of the hole. Ragna could see by the way they handled it that it was heavy.

It was not locked. Den lifted the lid. Inside were thousands of silver pennies, together with a few items of jewelry.

Den said: “The proceeds of many years of thievery—plus a few souvenirs.”

On top of it all was a belt of soft leather with a silver buckle and strap end. Ragna gasped.

Den said: “Do you recognize something?”

“The belt. It was to be my present to Wilf—until it was stolen by Ironface.”

Den turned to Offa. “What is Ironface’s real name, and where does he hide out?”

“I don’t know,” said Offa. “I bought that belt. I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Den nodded to Wigbert, who stood in front of Offa. The two men-at-arms gripped Offa tighter.

Wigbert took from his belt a heavy club made of polished oak. With a swift movement he smashed the club into Offa’s face. Ragna cried out, but Wigbert ignored her. With a rapid series of well-aimed blows he hit Offa’s head, shoulders, and knees. The crack of the hard wood hitting bones sickened Ragna.

When he paused, Offa’s face was covered in blood. He was unable to stand, but the men-at-arms held him upright. Agnes moaned as if in pain herself.

Den repeated: “What is Ironface’s real name, and where does he hide out?”

Through smashed teeth and bloody lips Offa said: “I swear I don’t know.”

Wigbert raised the club again.

Agnes shrieked: “No, please, don’t! Ironface is Ulf! Don’t hit Offa again, please!”

Den turned to Agnes. “The horse catcher?” he said.

“Yes, I swear it.”

“You’d better be telling me the truth,” said Den.

* * *

Edgar did not believe that Ulf the horse catcher was Ironface. He had met Ulf a few times and recalled him as a small man, though energetic and strong, as he would need to be to tame wild forest ponies. Edgar had vivid memories of the two occasions on which he had seen Ironface, and felt sure the man was of medium height and build. “Agnes might be mistaken,” he said to Den, when the sheriff came to Dreng’s Ferry on his way to arrest Ulf.

“You might be mistaken,” said Den.

Edgar shrugged. Agnes could have been lying, too. Or she might have shouted out a name at random, just to stop the torture, having in fact no idea whose head was inside the rusty iron helmet.

Edgar and the other men of the village joined Den and his group. Den had no need of reinforcements, but the villagers did not want to miss the excitement, and they had the excuse that they were responsible for upholding the law in their hundred.

On the way they picked up Edgar’s brothers, Erman and Eadbald.

A dog barked as they approached Theodberht Clubfoot’s sheepfold. Theodberht and his wife asked what they were doing, and Den said: “We’re looking for Ulf the horse catcher.”

“You’ll find him at home this time of year,” said Theodberht. “The wild horses are hungry. He puts out hay and they come to him.”