by Ken Follett
“Yes. But if Ragna and the newborn were to die, that would still leave Osbert.”
Ragna’s first child was coming up to two years old, a ginger-haired baby Norman, named Osbert after Wilwulf’s father. Osbert was Wilf’s legitimate heir, and would be even if Ragna’s newborn died today. But Wynstan waved a hand dismissively. “A child without a mother is little threat,” he said. A two-year-old was not difficult to get rid of, he was thinking; but he did not say so, remembering Gytha’s black look.
She just nodded.
He studied her face. Thirty years ago that face had terrified him. She was in her middle fifties now, and her hair had been gray for years; but lately her dark eyebrows had grown silver strands, there were new little vertical lines above her upper lip, and her figure was not so much voluptuous as lumpy. But she still had the power to strike fear into his heart.
She was patient and still. Women could do that. Wynstan could not: he tapped his foot, shifted in his seat, and said: “Dear God, how much longer?”
“If the baby gets stuck, both mother and child usually die.”
“Pray for that. We need Garulf to inherit from Wilf. It’s the only way to hold on to everything we’ve won.”
“You’re right, of course.” Gytha made a sour face. “Although Garulf is not the wisest of men. Fortunately we can control him.”
“He’s popular. The men-at-arms like him.”
“I’m not sure why.”
“He’s always willing to buy a barrel of ale and let them take turns raping a prisoner.”
His mother gave him that look again. But her scruples were disposable. In the end she would do what was necessary for the family.
The screaming stopped. Wynstan and Gytha fell silent and waited, tense. Wynstan began to think his wish had come true.
Then they heard the unmistakable wail of a newborn. “It’s alive,” Wynstan said. “Hell.”
A minute later the door opened and a fifteen-year-old maid called Winthryth, daughter of Gilda, poked her head in, her hair wet with rain. “It’s a boy,” she said, grinning happily. “Strong as a bull calf and a big chin like his father’s.” She disappeared.
Wynstan muttered: “To hell with his damn chin.”
“So, the dice did not roll our way.”
“This changes everything.”
“Yes.” Gytha looked thoughtful. “This calls for a completely new approach.”
Wynstan was taken aback. “Does it?”
“We’ve been looking at this situation the wrong way.”
Wynstan did not see that, but his mother was usually right. “Go on,” he said.
“Our real problem is not Ragna.”
Wynstan raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t it?”
“Wilf is our problem.”
Wynstan shook his head. He did not see what she was getting at. But she was no fool, and he waited patiently to learn what she was thinking.
After a moment she said: “Wilf is so taken with her. He’s never before fallen so hard for a woman. He likes her, he loves her, and she seems to know how to please him in and out of bed.”
“That doesn’t stop him fucking Inge once in a while.”
Gytha shrugged. “A man’s love is never really exclusive. But Inge’s no great threat to Ragna. If Wilf had to choose between the two, he’d pick Ragna in a heartbeat.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance Ragna could be seduced into betraying him?”
Gytha shook her head. “She’s fond of that clever boy from Dreng’s Ferry, but nothing will ever come of it. He’s far beneath her.”
Wynstan remembered the boatbuilder from Combe who had moved to the farm at Dreng’s Ferry. He was a person of no importance. “No,” he said dismissively. “If she falls it will be for some good-looking town boy who charms his way up her skirt while Wilf is away fighting Vikings.”
“I doubt it. She’s too smart to jeopardize her position for a dalliance.”
“I agree, unfortunately.”
Winthryth surprised them by reappearing in the doorway, wetter than before but beaming even more. “And another boy!” she said.
Gytha said: “Twins!”
“This one smaller and dark-haired, but healthy.” Winthryth left.
“God damn them both,” said Wynstan.
Gytha said: “Now three males stand in Garulf’s way, instead of one.”
They were silent for a while. This was a major shift in the power politics of the ealdormanry. Wynstan mulled over the consequences, and he was sure his mother was doing the same.
Eventually he said frustratedly: “There must be something we can do to drive Wilf and Ragna apart. She’s not the only sexy woman in the world.”
“Perhaps another girl will come along and fascinate him. She’d be younger than Ragna, of course, and probably even more of a spitfire.”
“Can we make it happen?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you think it would work?”
“It might. And I can’t think of a better plan.”
“Where would we find such a woman?”
“I don’t know,” said Gytha. “Perhaps we could buy one.”
* * *
After a peaceful Christmas, Ironface struck again in January.
Edgar was preparing to build a smokehouse on his family’s farm. They often had more fish than they could sell, and their ceiling had started to look like an upside-down forest in winter, the eels like bare saplings growing down from the thatch. A stone-built smokehouse would have plenty of room and also be less likely to catch on fire. He was more and more confident as a stonemason. He had long ago finished buttressing the church, which was now stable. For two years he had been managing Ragna’s quarry at Outhenham, selling more stone than ever, making money for her and for himself. But demand was slack in winter and he had taken the opportunity to stockpile stones for his personal project.
His brother Eadbald appeared, rolling an empty barrel along the rough path on the bank of the river. “We need more ale,” he said. They could afford it now, thanks to the fishpond.
“I’ll give you a hand,” said Edgar. One man could manage an empty barrel but it took two to move a full one over uneven ground.
The two brothers took the empty to the alehouse, with Brindle trotting behind. While they were paying Leaf, two passengers arrived for the ferry. Edgar recognized them as Odo and Adelaide, a husband-and-wife courier team from Cherbourg. They had passed through Dreng’s Ferry two weeks earlier on their way to Shiring, accompanied by two men-at-arms, carrying letters and money to Ragna.
Edgar greeted them and said: “On your way home?”
Odo spoke with a French accent. “Yes, we hope to find a ship at Combe.” He was a big man of about thirty with fair hair cut in the Norman style, shaved to the scalp at the back. He wore a sturdy-looking sword.
They had no bodyguards, but this time they were not carrying a large sum of money.
Adelaide said excitedly: “We’re in a hurry, because we have good news to take home. The lady Ragna has given birth—to twin boys!” A small blonde, she was wearing a pendant of silver wire with an amber bead; it would suit Ragna, Edgar thought.
He was pleased about the twins. Wilwulf’s heir would probably be one of Ragna’s offspring now, rather than Inge’s son, Garulf, who was both stupid and brutal. “Good for Ragna,” he said.
Dreng, who had heard the announcement, said: “I’m sure everyone would like to drink a toast to the new young princelings!” He made it sound as if the ale would be on the house, but Edgar knew that was one of his tricks.
The Normans did not fall for it. “We want to get to Mudeford Crossing before nightfall,” Odo said, and they took their leave.
Edgar and Eadbald rolled their new, full barrel to the farmhouse, then Edgar resumed unloading his raft, roping
the stones and dragging them from the waterside up the slope to the site of the smokehouse.
The winter sun was high and he was about to unload the last stone when he heard a shout from the other side of the river: “Help me, please!”
He looked across the water and saw a man with a woman in his arms. Both were naked and the woman appeared to be unconscious. Shading his eyes, he saw that they were Odo and Adelaide.
He jumped onto the raft and poled across the river. They had been robbed of everything, including their clothes, he guessed.
He reached the far bank and Odo stepped onto the raft, still cradling Adelaide, and sat down heavily on the one remaining rough-hewn quarry stone. He had blood on his face and one eye half closed, and some kind of injury to one leg. Adelaide’s eyes were shut and blood was congealing in her fair hair, but she was breathing.
Edgar felt a surge of compassion for the slight young figure, and a spasm of hatred for the men who had done this to her. He said: “There’s a nunnery on the island. Mother Agatha has some skill with injuries. Shall I take you straight there?”
“Yes, please, quickly.”
Edgar poled vigorously upstream. “What happened?” he said.
“It was a man in a helmet.”
“Ironface,” Edgar said, and he muttered ferociously: “The spawn of Satan.”
“And he had at least one companion. I was knocked unconscious. I suppose they left us for dead. When I came around we were naked.”
“They need weapons. It might have been your sword that attracted them. And Adelaide’s pendant.”
“If you know these men are in the forest, why don’t you capture them?” Odo’s tone was challenging, almost as if he thought Edgar condoned the thieves.
Edgar pretended not to notice the veiled accusation. “We’ve tried, believe me. We’ve searched every yard of the south bank. But they disappear into the undergrowth like weasels.”
“They had a boat. I saw it just before they attacked us.”
Edgar was startled. “What kind?”
“Just a small rowboat.”
“I didn’t know that.” Everyone had always assumed that Ironface hid out on the south bank, as he always robbed there; but if he had a boat then his hidey-hole could just as easily be on the north bank.
“Have you ever seen him?” Odo asked.
“I put an ax into his arm one night when he tried to steal our pig, but he got away. Here we are.” Edgar beached the raft on Leper Island and stood holding the rope while Odo stepped off, still holding Adelaide.
He carried her to the nunnery door, and Mother Agatha opened it. She ignored his nakedness and looked at the wounded woman.
Odo said: “My wife . . .”
“Poor woman,” said Agatha. “I will try to help her.” She reached for the unconscious form.
“I’ll bring her in.”
Agatha just shook her head silently.
Odo let her lift Adelaide from his arms. Agatha took the weight effortlessly and went back inside. An invisible hand closed the door.
Odo stood staring at the door for several moments, then turned away.
They boarded the raft. “I’d better go to the alehouse,” Odo said.
“You won’t be welcome there, with no money,” Edgar said. “But the monastery will take you in. Prior Aldred will give you a monk’s robe and some shoes, and clean your wounds, and feed you for as long as you need it.”
“Thank God for monks.”
Edgar poled across to the bank and tied up. “Come with me,” he said.
Odo stumbled as he disembarked, and went down on his knees. “Sorry,” he said. “My legs feel weak. I carried her a long way.”
Edgar hauled him up. “Just a bit farther.” He walked Odo to the building that had been the priests’ house and was now the monastery. He lifted the latch and half carried Odo inside. The monks were at dinner around the table, all but Aldred, who stood at the lectern Edgar had made, reading aloud.
He stopped when Edgar and Odo came in. “What happened?” he said.
“On his way home to Cherbourg Odo and his wife were beaten, robbed, stripped, and left for dead,” Edgar said.
Aldred closed the book and took Odo’s arm gently. “Come over here and lie down near the fire,” he said. “Brother Godleof, bring me some wine to clean his wounds.” He helped Odo lie down.
Godleof brought a bowl of wine and a clean rag, and Aldred began to wash the injured man’s bloody face.
Edgar said to Odo: “I’ll leave you. You’re in good hands.”
Odo said: “Thank you, neighbor.”
Edgar smiled.
* * *
Ragna named the elder twin Hubert, after her father, and called the younger Colinan. They were not identical, and it was easy to tell which was which because one was big and fair and the other small and dark. Ragna had enough milk to feed them both: her breasts felt swollen and heavy.
She had no shortage of help looking after them. Cat had been present at the birth and doted on them from the start. Cat had married Bern the Giant, and had a baby of her own the same age as Ragna’s Osbert. She seemed happy with Bern, although she had told the other women that his belly was so big that she always had to get on top. They had all giggled, and Ragna had wondered how men would feel if they knew the way women talked about them.
The seamstress Agnes was equally fond of the twins. She had married an Englishman, Offa, the reeve of Mudeford, but they had no children, and all her frustrated maternal feelings were focused on Ragna’s babies.
Ragna left the twins for the first time when she heard what had happened to Odo and Adelaide.
She was terribly worried. The couriers had come to England on a mission for Ragna’s benefit, and she felt responsible. The fact that they were Normans, as she was, made her sympathy sharper. She had to see them and find out how badly they were hurt and whether she could do anything for them.
She put Cat in charge of the children, with two wet nurses to make sure they did not go hungry. She took Agnes as her maid and Bern as her bodyguard. She packed clothes for Odo and Adelaide, having been told that they had been left naked. She rode out of the compound with a heavy heart: how could she leave her little ones behind? But she had her duty.
She missed them every minute of the two-day journey to Dreng’s Ferry.
She arrived late in the afternoon and immediately took the ferry to Leper Island, leaving Bern at the alehouse. Mother Agatha welcomed her with a kiss and a bony hug.
Without preamble Ragna said: “How is Adelaide?”
“Recovering fast,” Agatha said. “She’s going to be fine.”
Ragna slumped with relief. “Thank God.”
“Amen.”
“What injuries does she have?”
“She suffered a nasty blow to the head, but she’s young and strong, and it seems there are no long-term effects.”
“I’d like to speak to her.”
“Of course.”
Adelaide was in the dormitory. She had a clean rag tied over her blond head, and she was dressed in a drab nun’s shift, but she was sitting upright in bed, and she smiled happily when she saw Ragna. “My lady! You shouldn’t have troubled to come all this way.”
“I had to be sure you were recovering.”
“But your babies!”
“I’ll hurry back to them now that I’ve seen you’re all right. But who else would have brought you fresh clothes?”
“You’re so kind.”
“Nonsense. How is Odo? They told me he wasn’t hurt as badly as you.”
“Apparently he’s fine, but I haven’t seen him—men aren’t allowed here.”
“I’m going to have Bern the Giant escort you to Combe, whenever you both feel well enough to go.”
“I can go tomorrow. I don’t even feel ill.”
“All the same I’m going to lend you a horse.”
“Thank you.”
“You can ride Bern’s mount, and he can ride it back to Shiring after he’s seen you off on a ship to Cherbourg.”
Ragna gave Adelaide money and a few feminine necessities: a comb, a small jar of oil for cleaning her hands, and a linen loincloth. Then she took her leave—with another kiss from Agatha—and returned to the mainland.
Odo was at the priory with Aldred. His face was bruised, and he favored his left leg when he stood up and bowed to her, but he looked cheerful. She handed him the men’s clothes she had brought from Shiring. “Adelaide wants to leave tomorrow,” Ragna told him. “How do you feel?”
“I think I’m fully recovered.”
“Be guided by Mother Agatha. She has taken care of many sick people.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Ragna left the monastery and returned to the waterfront. She would take the ferry back to the island and spend the night in the nunnery.
Edgar was outside the alehouse. “I’m very sorry that this has happened to your couriers,” he said, although it obviously was not his fault.
Ragna said: “Do you think they were attacked by the same thieves who stole the wedding present I had for Wilf three years ago?”
“I’m sure of it. Odo described a man in an iron helmet.”
“And I gather that all efforts to catch him have failed.” Ragna frowned. “When he steals livestock he and his gang just eat it; and they keep weapons and money; but they must turn clothes and jewelry into cash. I wonder how they manage that?”
Edgar said thoughtfully: “Perhaps Ironface takes the stuff to Combe. There are several dealers in secondhand clothes there, and two or three jewelers. The jewelry can be melted down, or at least altered so that it’s not easily recognizable, and any distinctive clothes can be remade.”
“But outlaws look disreputable.”
“There must be people willing to buy things without asking too many questions.”
Ragna frowned. “I just think outlaws would be noticed. On the few occasions when I’ve seen such men they looked ragged and unhealthy and dirty. You lived in Combe. Do you recall men who looked as if they lived rough in the forest coming into town to sell things?”
