“And supper last night?”

“Nothing. I walked here from Outhenham and arrived late. He said it was all gone.”

Ma looked angry. “Then eat as much as you want here,” she said. “As for the rest of you, shut up, and try to remember that my family will always be fed at my house.”

Edgar ate his third piece of bread.

Erman looked surly. Eadbald said: “How often are we going to have to feed Edgar, then, if Dreng won’t?”

“Don’t you worry,” said Ma, tight-lipped. “I’ll deal with Dreng.”

For the rest of the day Edgar wondered how Ma was going to fulfill her promise and “deal with” Dreng. She was resourceful and bold, but Dreng was powerful. Edgar had no physical fear of his master—Dreng punched women, not men—but he was the master of everyone in the house: husband of Leaf and Ethel, owner of Blod, and employer of Edgar. He was the second most important man in the little hamlet, and the number one was his brother. He could do more or less anything he liked. It was unwise to cross him.

Monday began like any other weekday. Blod went for water and Ethel made porridge. As Edgar was sitting down to his inadequate breakfast, Cwenburg came storming in, indignant and furious. Pointing an accusing finger at Edgar, she said: “Your mother is an old witch!”

Edgar had a feeling this was going to be welcome news. “I’ve often thought so myself,” he said good-humoredly. “But what has she done to you?”

“She wants to starve me to death! She says I can have only one bowl of porridge!”

Edgar guessed where this was going, and he smothered a grin.

Dreng spoke in the confident tones of the powerful. “She can’t do that to my daughter.”

“She just did!”

“Did she give any reason for it?”

“She said she’s not going to feed me any more than you feed Edgar.”

Dreng was startled. Clearly he had not anticipated anything like this. He looked baffled and said nothing for a moment. Then he turned on Edgar. “So you went crying to your mother, did you?” he sneered.

It was a feeble attack, and Edgar was untroubled. “That’s what mothers are for, isn’t it?”

“Right, that’s it, I’ve heard enough,” said Dreng. “You’re out of here, go home.”

But Cwenburg was not having that. “You can’t send him back to us,” she said to Dreng. “He’s another mouth, and there’s hardly enough to eat as it is.”

“Then you’ll come here.” Dreng was pretending to be in full control, but he was looking a bit desperate.

“No,” said Cwenburg. “I’m married, and I like it. And my baby needs a father.”

Dreng realized he was cornered, and he looked livid.

Cwenburg said: “You have to give Edgar more to eat, that’s all. You can afford it.”

Dreng turned to Edgar with a look loaded with malevolence. “You’re a sly little rat, aren’t you?”