“Is it not satisfactory?”

“I’ll discuss it with Wilf.”

“Good idea. He wishes for nothing more than your happiness.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’ve come for your dowry.”

“Really?”

Wynstan frowned severely. “You did bring it?”

“Of course.”

“Twenty pounds of silver. That was what I agreed with your father.”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you would let me have it.”

Ragna did not trust Wynstan, and this request sharpened her misgivings. “I shall give it to Wilf when we are married. That was what you agreed with my father.”

“But I must count it.”

Ragna did not want Wynstan to know even which box it was in. “You may count it on the morning of the wedding. Then, after the vows have been taken, it will be handed over—to my husband.”

Wynstan gave her a look that mingled dislike with respect. “As you wish, of course,” he said, and he went out.

Ragna got up before dawn the next day.

She thought carefully about what to wear. Yesterday she had arrived in a fawn dress and a red cloak, a fetching outfit, but the clothes had been damp and muddy, and she had not looked her best. Today she wanted to be like a flower that had bloomed at daybreak. She chose a yellow silk dress with embroidery at the neck, cuffs, and hem. Cat washed the corners of her eyes and brushed her thick red hair, then tied a green scarf over her head.

While it was still dark, Ragna ate some bread dipped in weak ale and concentrated on what she was about to do. She had spent much of the night thinking over her strategy. Wigelm must be punished, but that was a secondary matter. Her big task was to prove that she, not Gytha, was now in charge of Wilf’s home life. Ragna did not want a quarrel, but she could not let Gytha’s rule continue even for a day, because every moment that she seemed to accept it left her weaker. She had to take immediate action.

It was risky, though. She might displease her husband-to-be, and that would be bad enough; but worse, she might lose the battle, and a victory for Gytha at this stage could be permanent.

Cat handed her the armband she had bought from Cuthbert in Dreng’s Ferry, and Ragna slipped it into the leather purse attached to her belt.

She stepped outside. There was a faint silvery glow on the eastern horizon. It had rained in the night, and the ground was muddy underfoot, but the day promised to be bright. Down in the dark town, the monastery bell tolled for the morning office of Prime. The compound was just beginning to come alive: she saw a boy slave in a threadbare tunic carrying a pile of firewood, then a strong-armed maid with a pail of fresh milk that steamed in the morning air. Everyone else was out of sight, probably still warm in bed, eyes shut tight, pretending it was not yet day.