Their looks were wary, and she guessed they were not certain how to respond to her. Was she a foreign usurper, come to steal the most eligible man in the west of England away from more deserving local girls?

She noticed that her men had instinctively formed a protective ring around her. That was a mistake, she realized. The people of Shiring needed to see their princess. “We look too defensive,” she said to Bern. “This won’t do. You and Odo ride ten paces ahead, just to clear the way. Tell the rest to fall back. Let the townsfolk see me.”

Bern looked worried, but he changed the formation as instructed.

Ragna began to interact with the people. She met the eyes of individuals and smiled at them. Most people found it hard not to return a smile, but here she sensed a reluctance. One woman gave a tentative wave, and Ragna waved back. A group of thatchers putting a roof on a house stopped work and called out to her: they spoke English with a broad accent that she could not understand, so she was not sure whether their shouted comments represented enthusiasm or mockery, but she blew them a kiss. Some onlookers smiled in approval. A little crowd of men drinking outside an alehouse waved their caps in the air and cheered. Other bystanders followed suit. “That’s better,” said Ragna, her anxiety easing a little.

The noise drew people out of their houses and shops to see what was going on, and the crowd thickened ahead. Everyone followed behind the entourage, and as Ragna headed up the hill to the compound the buzz became a roar. She was infected by their enthusiasm. The more she smiled, the more they cheered; and the more they cheered, the happier she felt.

The wooden stockade had a big double gate, and both sides stood wide. Just inside, another crowd had gathered, presumably Wilwulf’s servants and hangers-on. They applauded as Ragna came into view.

The compound was not very different from that at Cherbourg apart from the lack of a castle. There were houses, stables, and storerooms. The kitchens were open-sided. One house was double-size, and had small windows at both ends: that would be the great hall, where the ealdorman held meetings and hosted banquets. The other houses would be homes for important men and their families.

The crowd formed two lines and clearly expected Ragna to ride between them to the great hall. She went slowly, taking time to look at the faces and smile at individuals. Almost every expression was welcoming and happy; just a handful were stonily noncommittal, as if warily withholding judgment, waiting for further evidence that she was all right.

Outside the door of the long house stood Wilwulf.

He was just as she remembered him, tall and loose-limbed, with a mane of fair hair and a mustache but no beard. He wore a red cloak with an enameled brooch. His smile was broad but relaxed, as if they had parted company only yesterday, rather than two months ago. He stood in the rain without a hat, not caring about getting wet. He spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome.