by Ken Follett
They walked to the village. Passing the canal brought grim thoughts, but Ragna pushed them to the back of her mind. She went to the priest’s house and banged on the door. The church did not have a bell tower, but Draca had a handbell. The shaven-headed priest appeared and Ragna said briskly: “Lend me your bell, please.” He produced it and she rang vigorously.
People who were already up and about came immediately to the green between the church and the alehouse. Others followed, buckling their belts and rubbing their eyes. Most of Wigelm’s party looked much the worse for their revels.
The sun was rising by the time everyone had assembled. Ragna spoke so that all could hear. “We’ll form three search parties,” she said in a tone that did not invite discussion. She pointed at the priest. “Draca, take three villagers and search the west pasture. Go around the edges and all the way to the riverbank.” Next she chose the baker, a solidly reliable man. “Wilmund, you take three men-at-arms and search the east ploughland. Again, make sure you’re thorough and go all the way to the canal.” Wilmund would find the corpse if he was meticulous. Finally she turned to Garulf, whom she wanted out of the way. “Garulf, take everyone else to the north wood. That’s where your uncle is most likely to be. My guess is he lost his way in a drunken stupor. You’ll probably find him asleep under a bush.” The men laughed. “All right, move out!”
The three search parties left.
Ragna knew she had to act normally. “I could do with some breakfast,” she said to Eanfrid, though in truth she was still too wound up to be hungry. “Get me some ale and bread and an egg.” She led the way into the tavern.
Eanfrid’s wife brought her a jug and a loaf and quickly cooked an egg. Ragna drank the ale and forced herself to eat, and she felt better despite her lack of sleep.
What would the men-at-arms say when the body was found? In the night Ragna had assumed that they would jump to the obvious conclusion, that Wigelm had died in a drunken accident. But now she saw that there were other possibilities. Would they suspect foul play? And if they did, what could they do about it? Fortunately, there was no one here who ranked high enough to challenge Ragna’s authority.
As she had intended, Wilmund’s group found the body.
What she had not expected was the shock she felt when she looked at the corpse of the man she had killed.
Wigelm was carried into the village by Wilmund and one of Wigelm’s entourage, Bada. As soon as Ragna saw it she began to feel the horror of what she had done.
Last night she had been full of fear until Wigelm died, and then suffused with relief that he was gone. Now she remembered that she had suffocated Wigelm, and had watched his face while, moment by moment, the life left his body. At the time she had felt nothing but terror, but now, when she remembered the scene, she was sick with guilt.
She had seen dead people plenty of times, but this was different. She felt she was going to faint, or cry, or scream.
She struggled to remain calm. She had to conduct an inquest, and she needed to manage it carefully. She must not seem too eager to reach the obvious verdict. And she must show no fear.
She ordered the men to lay the corpse on a trestle table in the church, and she sent messengers to recall the other two search parties.
Everyone crowded into the little church, whispering out of respect, staring at the dead white face of Wigelm, and watching his clothes drip canal water onto the floor.
Ragna began by speaking to Garulf, the highest-ranking man among Wigelm’s entourage. “Last night,” she said to him, “you were among the last drinkers in the alehouse.” Her voice seemed to her to sound unnaturally calm, but no one noticed. “Did you see Wigelm fall asleep?”
Garulf looked shocked and scared, and had trouble answering the simple question. “Um, I don’t know, wait, no, I think I closed my eyes before he did.”
Ragna led him along. “Did you see him again after that?”
He scratched his stubbled chin. “After I fell asleep? No, I was asleep. But hold on. Yes. He must have got up, because he stumbled over me and that woke me.”
“You saw his face.”
“In the firelight, yes, and heard his voice.”
“What did he say?”
“He said: ‘I’m going to piss in Edgar’s canal.’”
Some of the men laughed, then stopped abruptly when they realized it was inappropriate.
“And then he went out?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
Garulf was regaining his composure, and making more sense. “Some time later, someone woke me by saying: ‘Wigelm seems to be having a very long piss.’”
“What did you do?”
“I went back to sleep.”
“Did you see him again?”
“Not alive, no.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think he fell into the canal and drowned.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. Ragna was pleased. She had led them to the result she wanted while letting them think it had been their own decision.
She looked around the church. “Did anyone see Wigelm after he left the tavern in the middle of the night?”
No one answered.
“To the best of our knowledge, then, the cause of death was accidental drowning.”
To her surprise Bada, the man-at-arms who had helped carry Wigelm from the canal to the church, spoke up in dissent. “I don’t think he drowned,” he said.
Ragna had been afraid of something like this. She hid her anxiety and put on an expression of interest. “What makes you say that, Bada?”
“I’ve taken a drowned man out of the water before. When you lift him, a lot of fluid comes out of his mouth. It’s the water he breathed in, the water that killed him. But when we lifted Wigelm, nothing came out.”
“Now that’s curious, but I’m not sure it gets us anywhere.” Ragna turned to the baker. “Did you see that, Wilmund?”
“I didn’t notice it,” the baker said.
Bada said insistently: “I did, though.”
“What do you think it signifies, Bada?”
“It shows that he was dead before he went in the water.”
Ragna remembered holding Wigelm’s mouth and nose so that he could not breathe. The picture kept returning to her mind no matter how hard she tried. With an effort she thought of the next question. “So how did he die?”
“Maybe someone killed him, then threw the body in the water.” Bada looked defiantly around the church. “Someone who hated him, perhaps. Someone who felt wronged by him.”
Ragna was being accused by implication. Everyone knew she had hated Wigelm. If the charge were made openly, she was confident that the villagers would loyally take her side; but she did not want things to go that far.
She walked slowly and deliberately around the body. With difficulty, she made her voice calm and confident. “Come closer, Bada,” she said. “Look carefully.”
The room went quiet.
Bada did as she said.
“If he didn’t drown, how was he killed?”
Bada said nothing.
“Do you see a wound? Any blood? A bruise, even? Because I don’t.”
She was suddenly scared by a new thought. The strap she had used to pull the corpse along the canal might have left a red mark. Discreetly, she looked hard at the skin of his throat, but to her relief nothing was visible.
“Well, Bada?”
Bada just looked sulky.
“Anybody,” Ragna said to the crowd. “Come as near as you like. Inspect the body. Look for signs of violence.”
Several people stepped forward and peered closely at Wigelm. One by one they shook their heads and stepped back.
Ragna said: “Sometimes a man just drops dead, especially one who has been getting
drunk every evening for years. It’s possible Wigelm suffered some kind of seizure while pissing in the canal. Perhaps he died and then fell into the water. We may never know. But there’s no sign that it was anything but an accident, is there?”
Once again the crowd murmured assent.
Bada looked mulish. “I’ve heard tell,” he said, “that if a murderer touches the corpse of his victim, the dead man will bleed afresh.”
A chill went through Ragna. She had heard that, too, though she had never seen it happen and did not really believe it. But she was going to have to test the truth of the superstition now.
She said to Bada: “Who would you would like to see touch the body?”
“You,” said Bada.
Ragna struggled to hide her fear. Pretending supreme confidence, she said: “Watch, everyone.” Unfortunately she could not quite stop the tremor in her voice. She lifted her right arm high, then brought it down slowly.
In the version she had heard, when she touched Wigelm, blood would pour from his nose, mouth, and ears.
At last she laid a hand on Wigelm’s heart.
She kept it there for a long moment. The church was silent. The body was horribly cold. She felt faint.
Nothing happened.
The corpse did not move. No blood appeared. Nothing.
Feeling as if her life had been saved, she lifted her hand, and the crowd gave a collective sigh of relief.
Ragna said: “Anyone else you suspect, Bada?”
Bada shook his head.
Ragna said: “Wigelm died in the canal when drunk. That is the verdict, and this inquest is over.”
The people began to leave the church, talking among themselves. Ragna listened to the tone of the collective murmur and heard satisfied conviction.
But they were not the only people she needed to convince. The city of Shiring was much more important. She needed to make sure her version of events, as backed up by the Outhenham verdict, was the one repeated in the alehouses and brothels tomorrow.
And for that she had to get there first.
The men most likely to make trouble for her were Garulf and Bada. She thought of a way to make sure they were detained here in Outhenham.
She summoned them. “You two are responsible for the ealdorman’s body,” she said. “Go now to Edmund the carpenter and tell him I command him to make a coffin for Wigelm. He should be able to finish it by this evening or tomorrow morning. Then you are to escort the body to Shiring for burial in the cathedral graveyard. Is that clear?”
Bada looked at Garulf.
“Yes,” Garulf said. He seemed glad to have someone tell him what to do.
Bada was not so compliant.
Ragna said: “Bada, is that clear?”
He was forced to back down. “Yes, my lady.”
Ragna would leave immediately, but without warning. Quietly, she said: “Ceolwulf, find the oarsmen and bring them to the quarry.”
Ceolwulf was young enough to be cheeky. He said: “What for?”
She made her voice coldly severe. “Don’t you dare question me. Just do as you’re told.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Osgyth, come with me.”
Back at the house she told Osgyth to pack. When Ceolwulf arrived she ordered him to saddle Astrid.
One of the oarsmen said: “Are we going back to King’s Bridge?”
Ragna did not want to give anyone a chance to betray her plans. “Yes,” she said. It was half true.
When they were ready, she rode along the side of the canal with her servants accompanying her on foot. At the riverside they boarded the barge.
Then she told the oarsmen to row her to the opposite bank. Having heard Ceolwulf snapped at for insolence, they did not question her.
They tied up and she walked Astrid off the barge.
“Ceolwulf and Osgyth come with me,” she said. “You two, row the barge back to King’s Bridge and wait for me there.”
Then she turned her horse in the direction of Shiring.
* * *
Ragna was nervous about being reunited with her child.
She had not seen Alain for six months, which was a long time in the life of a toddler. He was now three years old. Did he now think Meganthryth was his mother? Would he even remember Ragna? When she took him away, would he cry for Meganthryth? Should Ragna tell him that his father was dead?
She did not have to confront these questions immediately upon arrival. It was dark. The search and the inquest at Outhenham had taken up most of the morning, so she arrived in Shiring in the evening, when little children were asleep and the grown-ups were preparing supper. She would not wake Alain. When she was married to Wigelm he had sometimes taken it into his head to visit his son late in the evening, and always insisted on waking the child. Alain would grizzle sleepily until he was put down again, and then Wigelm would accuse Ragna of turning his son against him. But the fault was his own. Ragna would not make the same mistake. She would not go to the ealdorman’s compound until the morning. “We’ll stay with Sheriff Den tonight,” she said to her servants.
She found Den sitting with his wife, Wilburgh, while supper was prepared in his great hall. “I’ve just come from Outhenham,” Ragna said. “Wigelm died there last night.”
Wilburgh said: “Heaven be praised.”
Den asked the key question. “How did he die?” he said calmly.
“He got drunk and fell in the canal and drowned.”
“No surprise.” Den nodded. “It’s a pity you were there, though. People will suspect you.”
“I know. But there were no signs of violence on the body, and the villagers are satisfied that it was an accident.”
“Good.”
“I need to spend the night here in your compound.”
“Of course. Let’s get you settled in, then you and I must talk about what happens next.”
Den assigned her an empty house. It might have been the one in which she had lain with Edgar, for the first and only time, four years ago. She remembered every detail of their lovemaking, but she was not sure which house they had had. She wished she could make love to him again.
She left Osgyth and Ceolwulf to light the fire and make the place comfortable, and she returned to Den’s house. “I’m going to take my son Alain back tomorrow morning,” she said. “There’s no reason for him to stay with Wigelm’s concubine.”
Wilburgh said: “I should think so, too.”
“I agree,” said Den.
“Sit down, my lady, please,” said Wilburgh. She brought a jug of wine and three cups.
Ragna said: “I hope King Ethelred will support me.”
“I believe he will,” said Den. “In any case, it will be the least of his concerns.”
Ragna had not thought about the king’s other concerns. “What do you mean?”
“The main question is who will become ealdorman now.”
Ragna had had too much else to worry about: the body, the inquest, getting to Shiring first, and most of all Alain. But now that Den had raised the subject she saw that it was a matter of pressing urgency. It would affect her future profoundly. She wished she had given it more thought.
Den said: “I’m going to tell the king that there’s only one practical answer.”
Ragna could not guess what he meant. “Tell me.”
“You and I have to rule Shiring together.”
Ragna was thunderstruck. She said nothing for a long moment. Finally she managed: “Why?”
“Think about it,” Den said. “Wigelm’s heir is Alain. Your son inherits the town of Combe. And the king ruled that Wigelm was Wilwulf’s heir, so all of Wilwulf’s lands also now come to Alain.” He paused to let that sink in, then he said: “Your little boy is now one of the richest men in England.”
“Of course
he is.” Ragna felt stupid. “I just hadn’t thought it through.”
“He’s two years old, isn’t he?”
Wilburgh said: “More like three, now.”
“Yes,” said Ragna. “He’s three.”
“So you will be lord of all his lands for the next decade at least. In addition to the Vale of Outhen.”
“This depends on the king’s approval.”
“True, but I can’t imagine him doing anything else. Every nobleman in England will be watching to see how Ethelred handles this. They like to see wealth passed from father to son, because they want their own sons to inherit.”
Ragna sipped wine thoughtfully. “The king doesn’t have to do everything the nobles want, of course, but if he doesn’t they can make trouble.”
“Exactly.”
“But who will be named as the new ealdorman?”
“If it could be a woman, Ethelred would choose you. You have the wealth and status, and you’re known to be a fair judge. They call you Ragna the Just.”
“But a woman can’t be ealdorman.”
“No. Nor raise armies and lead them into battle against the Vikings.”
“So you will do that.”
“I’m going to propose to the king that he make me regent until Alain is old enough to rule as ealdorman. I will manage the defense of Shiring against Viking raids, and continue to collect taxes for the king. You will hold court, on behalf of Alain, in Shiring and Combe as well as Outhenham, and administer all the smaller courts. That way the king and the nobles get what they want.”
Ragna felt excited. She had no greed for wealth, perhaps because she had never lacked for money, but she was eager to gain the power to do good. She had long felt it was her destiny. And now she seemed on the brink of becoming the ruler of Shiring.
She found that she badly wanted the future that Den painted for her. She began to think about how to make sure of it.
“We should do more,” said Ragna. Her strategic brain was back on track. “Remember what Wynstan and Wigelm did after they killed Wilwulf? They took charge the very next day. No one had time to figure out how to stop them.”
Den looked thoughtful. “You’re right. They still needed royal approval, of course—but once they were in place it was difficult for Ethelred to dislodge them.”
