by Ken Follett
“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.
* * *
Ragna’s anxiety grew through the day. Who was the boy her husband had kissed? He might be a close relative, a beloved nephew perhaps, but if so why had he not been at the wedding? The kiss could not have been sexual: Ragna was as sure as a person could be that Wilf was not interested in sex with men. And what was Gytha up to, pretending to be so nice?
Ragna decided to question Wilf the minute he got home. But as the hours went by, she wavered. She might need to be more cautious. Something was going on that she did not understand, and her ignorance put her at a disadvantage. Her father would never go to an important meeting until he was sure he knew everything that might be said there. Ragna was in a foreign country whose customs were still not entirely familiar. She had to tread carefully.
Wigleigh was not far, and Wilf returned in midafternoon, but it was a short December day, and the light was already fading. A servant was lighting basket torches mounted on poles outside the main buildings. Ragna went with Wilf into his house and poured him a cup of ale.
He drank it in one draught then kissed her with the taste of ale on his tongue. He smelled of sweat and horse and leather. She was hungry for his love, perhaps because of the disquiet that had plagued her all day. She took his hand and pressed it between her thighs. He did not need much persuasion, and they made love right away.
Afterward, he fell into a light sleep, with his muscular arms outstretched and his long legs splayed, a strong man resting after an energetic day.
Ragna left him. She went to the kitchen and checked on the preparations for supper; she looked into the great hall to make sure it was ready for the evening meal; then she walked around the compound, observing who was working and who was lazing around, who was sober and who drunk, whose horse was fed and watered and whose had not even been unsaddled yet.
At the end of her peregrination she saw Wilf talking to the woman in the red shoes.
Something about them arrested her. She stopped and watched them from a distance. They were lit by the wavering light of the torch outside Wilf’s door.
There was no reason why they should not talk: Inge was a kind of sister-in-law to Wilf, and they might be innocently fond of each other. All the same, Ragna was taken aback by the intimacy suggested by their bodies: they stood close, and she touched him several times, casually gripping his forearm to make a point, rapping his chest with the back of her hand in a dismissive gesture as if telling him not to be so foolish, and once, putting the tip of her forefinger on his cheek affectionately.
Ragna could not move, could not tear her gaze away.
Then she saw the boy Wilf had kissed. He was young, with no beard, and though tall he gave the impression of being not quite full grown, as if the long limbs and wide shoulders had not yet knit together into a man’s body. He joined Wilf and Inge, and the three talked for a minute with relaxed familiarity.
These people have clearly been part of my husband’s life for many years, Ragna thought; how come I have no idea who they are?
Finally they split up, still without noticing her. Wilf headed for the stable, no doubt to make sure the grooms had taken care of his horse. Inge and the boy went into the house Ragna had agreed to allocate to Wigelm, Milly, and Inge.
Ragna could not live in doubt and suspense any longer, but still she was unwilling to confront Wilf. So who could she talk to?
There was really only one possibility: Gytha.
She hated the thought. She would be revealing her ignorance, showing herself weak, and giving Gytha the position of the wise, knowing one—just when Gytha seemed to be accepting that she was no longer the ruler of Wilf’s home.
But who else was there? Wynstan would be worse than Gytha. Aldred would be at prayers now. She did not know Sheriff Den well enough. She could not sink so low as to ask Gilda the kitchen maid.
She went to Gytha’s house.
She was glad to find Gytha alone. Gytha offered her a cup of wine, and Ragna took it, needing courage. They sat on stools near the fire, facing each other. Gytha looked wary, but Ragna sensed something else: Gytha knew why Ragna had come, knew the questions she was going to ask, and had been waiting for this moment.
Ragna swallowed a mouthful of wine and tried to assume a casual tone of voice. “I noticed a newcomer in the compound, an adolescent boy, about sixteen, tall.”
Gytha nodded. “That would be Garulf.”
“Who is he, and what is he doing here?”
Gytha smiled, and Ragna saw with horror that the smile was loaded with malice. Gytha said: “Garulf is Wilf’s son.”
Ragna gasped. “Son?” she said. “Wilf has a son?”
“Yes.”
That explained the kiss, at least.
Gytha added: “Wilf is forty years old. Did you think you married a virgin?”
“Of course not.” Ragna thought furiously. She knew that Wilf had been married before, but not that he had a child. “Are there others?”
“Not that I know of.”
So, one son. It was a shock, but she could bear it. However, she had one more question. “What connection does Garulf have with the woman in the red shoes?”
Gytha smiled broadly, and it was ominously clear that this was her great moment of triumph. “Why,” she said, “Inge is Wilf’s first wife.”
Ragna was so shocked that she jumped to her feet and dropped her cup. She let it lie there. “His first wife is dead!”
“Who told you that?”
“Wynstan.”
“Are you sure that’s what he said?”
Ragna remembered clearly. “He said: ‘Sadly his wife is no longer with us.’ I’m sure of it.”
“I thought as much,” Gytha said. “You see, no longer with us is not the same as dead, not at all.”
Ragna was incredulous. “He deceived me, and my father and mother?”
“There was no deceit. After Wilf met you, Inge was set aside.”
“Set aside? What in heaven’s name does that mean?”
“That she is no longer his wife.”
“So it’s a divorce?”
“Of sorts.”
“Then why is she here?”
“Just because she’s no longer his wife doesn’t mean he can’t see her. After all, they have a child together.”
Ragna was horrified. The man she had just married already had a family: a wife of many years, from whom he had had a divorce “of sorts,” and a son who was almost a man. And he was clearly fond of them both. And they had now moved into the compound.
She felt as if the world had shifted under her feet, and she struggled to keep her equilibrium. She kept thinking that surely this could not be true. It could not be that everything she had believed about Wilf was wrong.
Surely he could not have deceived her so badly.
She now felt she had to get away from Gytha’s exultant gaze. She could not bear that woman’s knowing eyes on her. She went to the door, then turned back. An even worse thought had struck her.
She said: “But Wilf cannot continue to have marital relations with Inge.”
“Can’t he?” Gytha shrugged. “My dear, you must ask him about that.”
CHAPTER 16
January 998
t was long past midnight when Ragna at last managed to stop crying.
She spent the night at her own house. She felt unable even to speak to Wilf. She ordered Cat to tell him that Ragna could not sleep with him because the woman’s monthly curse was upon her. That bought her time.
Her servants watched her fearfully by the firelight, but she could not bring herself to explain her anguish. “Tomorrow,” she kept saying. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
She thought she would never sleep again, but when her tears dried up, like an overused well, she did fall into a fitful doze. However, in her dreams she remembered the tragedy that had ruined her life, and she came wide awake with sudden horror and wept again.
At this time of year the compound began to stir well before the late-arriving dawn. Morning sounds brought Ragna to full alertness: men shouting to one another, dogs barking, birdsong, and the clang and clatter of a big kitchen gearing up to feed a hundred people.
It’s a new day, Ragna thought, and I don’t know what to do. I’m lost.
If only she had learned the truth a day earlier, she might have gone home to Cherbourg with her men-at-arms, she thought; but immediately she realized that was not true. Wilf would have sent an army after her, and she would have been captured and brought back to Shiring. No nobleman would permit his wife to leave him. It would be too humiliating.
Could she sneak away unnoticed and get a few days’ start? It was impossible, she saw. She was the ealdorman’s wife: her absence would be remarked within hours if not minutes. And she did not know the country well enough to evade pursuit.
What was more, to her dismay she found she did not really want to leave. She loved Wilf and desired him. He had deceived her and betrayed her, but still she could not bear the thought of living without him. She cursed her weakness.
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!”
