Blod rolled over and sat with her back to the wall. Her normal expression of guarded hostility had been wiped away, and she just looked pale and exhausted. Leaf gave her the baby, and Blod’s face changed again, softening and brightening at the same time. She looked with love at the tiny body in her arms. The baby’s head turned toward her, so that his face pressed against her chest. She pulled down the front of her dress and put the baby to her breast. He seemed to know what to do: his mouth closed eagerly around the nipple and he began to suck.

Blod closed her eyes and looked contented. Edgar had never seen her like that before.

Leaf helped herself to another cup of ale and drained it in a gulp.

Brindle stared at the baby, fascinated. A tiny foot stuck out from the bundle and Brindle licked it.

Getting rid of spoiled straw was normally Blod’s job, and Edgar decided that now he had better do it. He picked up the mess where Blod had stood, including the afterbirth, and took it outside.

Dreng was sitting on a bench in the moonlight. Edgar said: “The baby is born.”

Dreng put his cup to his mouth and drank.

Edgar said: “It’s a boy.”

Dreng said nothing.

Edgar dumped the straw next to the dunghill. When it was dry he would burn it.

Back inside, both Blod and the baby seemed to be sleeping. Leaf was lying down with her eyes closed, exhausted or drunk or both. Ethel was still out cold.

Dreng came in. Blod opened her eyes and looked warily at him, but he only went to the barrel and refilled his tankard. Blod closed her eyes again.

Dreng took a long draught of ale, then put his tankard on the table. In a swift, confident move he bent over Blod and picked up the baby. The rag fell to the floor and he said: “A boy it is, the little bastard.”

Blod said: “Give him to me!”

“Oh, so you can speak English!” said Dreng.

“Give me my baby.”

Ethel did not stir, but Leaf said: “Give her the baby, Dreng.”

“I think he needs fresh air,” Dreng said. “Too smoky in here for a baby.”

“Please,” said Blod.

Dreng took the baby outside.

Leaf went after him. Blod tried to get up but fell back. Edgar followed Leaf. “Dreng, what are you doing?” Leaf cried fearfully.

“There,” Dreng said to the baby. “Taste the clean air from the river. Isn’t that better?” He moved down the slope to the water’s edge.

The fresh air probably was better for the baby, Edgar thought, but was that really what was on Dreng’s mind? Edgar had never seen him be kind to anyone other than Cwenburg. Had the drama of childbirth reminded him of when Cwenburg came into the world? Edgar followed Dreng at a distance, watching.

Dreng turned to face Edgar and Leaf. The moonlight shone white on the baby’s tiny body. Summer had turned to autumn, and the cold air on bare skin woke the baby and made him cry.