“I’m astonished there’s one.”

“I’m a bit startled myself.”

Ragna laughed. This boy was quick-witted and did not take himself too seriously. She liked that.

Edgar saw the people and animals onto the vessel then untied it and began to pole across. Ragna was amused to see Agnes the seamstress begin a conversation with him in halting Anglo-Saxon. “My lady is to marry the ealdorman of Shiring.”

“Wilwulf?” said Edgar. “I thought he was already married.”

“He was, but his wife died.”

“So your mistress is going to be everyone’s mistress.”

“Unless we all drown in the rain on the way to Shiring.”

“Doesn’t it rain in Cherbourg?”

“Not like this.”

Ragna smiled. Agnes was single and eager to marry. She could do worse than this resourceful young Englishman. It would be no great surprise if one or more of Ragna’s maids found a husband here: among small groups of women, marriage was infectious.

She looked ahead. The church on the hill was built of stone but was nevertheless small and mean-looking. Its tiny windows, all different shapes, were placed haphazardly in its thick walls. In a Norman church the windows were no bigger, but they were generally all the same shape and set in regular rows. Such consistency spoke more eloquently of the orderly god who had created the hierarchical world of plants, fish, animals, and people.

The boat reached the north bank. Once again Edgar jumped out and tied it up, then invited the passengers to disembark. Again Ragna went first, and her horse gave confidence to the rest.

She dismounted outside the alehouse door. The man who came out reminded her momentarily of Wilwulf. He was the same size and build, but his face was different. “I can’t accommodate all these people,” he said in a tone of resentment. “How am I going to feed them?”

Ragna said: “How far is it to the next village?”

“Foreigner, are you?” he said, noticing her accent. “The place is called Wigleigh, and you won’t get there today.”

He was probably just working up to asking outrageous prices. Ragna became exasperated. “Well, then, what do you suggest?”

Edgar intervened. “Dreng, this is the lady Ragna from Cherbourg. She’s going to marry Ealdorman Wilwulf.”

Dreng immediately became obsequious. “Forgive me, my lady, I had no idea,” he said. “Please step inside, and welcome. You’re going to be my cousin-in-law, you may not know.”

Ragna was disconcerted to hear that she was to be related to this alehouse keeper. She did not immediately accept his invitation to go inside. “No, I did not know,” she said.

“Oh, yes. Ealdorman Wilwulf is my cousin. You’ll be family to me after the wedding.”

Ragna was not pleased.

He went on: “My brother and I run this little village, under Wilwulf’s authority, of course. My brother, Degbert, is dean of the minster up the hill.”

“That little church is a minster?”

“Just half a dozen clergy, quite small. But come inside, please.” Dreng put his arm around Ragna’s shoulders.