However, she noticed a lot of men milling around outside, and recalled that the stables had been crowded. “So many men,” she said to Gytha. “Is something going on?”

“Yes. Wilf is mustering an army.” That was the second time Ragna had heard someone call him “Wilf.” It was obviously the familiar short form of his name. “The South Welsh have raided across the border,” Gytha went on. “They sometimes do at this time of year—after the harvest, when our barns are full. But don’t worry, Wilf won’t go until after the wedding.”

Ragna felt a chill of fear. Her husband was going into battle right after they got married. It was normal, of course; she had seen her father ride off many times, armed to the teeth, to kill or be killed. But she never got used to it. It scared her when Count Hubert went to war, and it would scare her when Wilwulf did the same. She tried to put it out of her mind. She had other things to think about.

The great hall was in the center of the compound. To one side was an assortment of domestic buildings: the kitchen, the bakery, the brewhouse, and several stores. On the other side were individual residences.

Ragna went into the kitchen. As was usual, the cooks were men, but they were assisted by half a dozen women and girls. She greeted the men politely, but she was more interested in the females. A big, good-looking woman of about thirty struck her as the type who might be a leader. Ragna said to her: “Dinner smells good!”

The woman gave her a friendly smile.

Ragna asked: “What’s your name?”

“Gildathryth, my lady, called Gilda for short.”

Next to Gilda was a girl washing mud off a huge stack of small purplish carrots. She looked a bit like Gilda, and Ragna said: “Is this pretty child related to you?” It was a fairly safe guess: in a small community most people were related somehow.

“My daughter Wilnod,” Gilda said proudly. “Twelve years old.”

“Hello, Wilnod. When you grow up, will you make lovely dinners, like Mummy?”

Wilnod was too shy to speak, but she nodded.

“Well, thank you for washing the carrots,” Ragna said. “When I eat one, I will think of you.”

Wilnod beamed with pleasure.

Ragna left the kitchen.

Over the next few days she would speak to everyone who lived or worked in the compound. It would be hard to remember all the names, but she would do her best. She would ask about their children and grandchildren, their ailments and their superstitions, their homes and their clothes. She would not need to pretend interest: she had always been curious about the everyday lives of the people around her.

Cat would find out more, especially as her English became more confident. Like Ragna, she befriended people quickly, and soon the maids would share gossip with her: which laundress had a lover, which stable hand liked to lie with men rather than women, who was stealing from the kitchen, which man-at-arms was afraid of the dark.