Wigelm said: “The Vale of Outhen has been in our family for generations. I question whether my brother Wilf has the right to give it away.”

Bishop Wynstan said: “It’s in the marriage contract!”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Wigelm said. “It belongs in the family.”

“And it remains in the family,” said Wynstan. “It now belongs to Wilf’s wife.”

“And she will leave it to her children when she dies.”

“And they will be Wilf’s children, and your nephews and nieces. Why do you raise this objection today? You’ve known the details of the contract for months.”

“I raise it in front of witnesses.”

Wilf intervened. “Enough,” he said. “Wigelm, you’re not making any sense. Step back.”

“On the contrary—”

“Be quiet, or I shall become angry.”

Wigelm shut up.

The ceremony moved on, but Ragna was puzzled. Wigelm must have known that his protest would be spurned. Why had he chosen to court rejection at a very public moment? He could not possibly have expected Wilf to change his mind about Outhen. Why had he started a fight he was bound to lose? She shelved the mystery for later consideration.

Wilf said: “As a pious gift, to mark my wedding, I give the village of Wigleigh to the Church, specifically to the minster at Dreng’s Ferry, with the stipulation that the clergy there will pray for my soul, and the soul of my wife, and the souls of our children.”

This kind of gift was commonplace. When a man had achieved wealth and power, and was settling down with a wife to have children, his thoughts turned from earthly desires to heavenly blessings, and he did what he could to secure the comfort of his soul in the afterlife.

The formalities were coming to an end, and Ragna was happy that the ceremony had gone smoothly, except for Wigelm’s strange intervention. Ithamar was now writing the names of the witnesses to the marriage, starting with Wilf himself, and followed by all the important people there: Wynstan, Osmund, Degbert, and Sheriff Denewald. It was not a long list, and Ragna had expected other visiting clergy, perhaps the neighboring bishops—Winchester, Sherborne, and Northwood—and leading monks, such as the abbot of Glastonbury. But no doubt English customs were different.

She was sorry none of her family were present. But she had no relations in England, and the journey from Cherbourg could be long—it had taken her two weeks. It was never easy for a count to travel far from his domain, but she had hoped that her mother might make the effort, and perhaps bring her brother, Richard. However, Mother had been against this marriage, and perhaps she had been disinclined to give it her blessing.

She banished such thoughts.

Wilf raised his voice and said: “And now, friends and neighbors, let us feast!” The crowd cheered, and the kitchen staff began to bring out great platters of meat, fish, vegetables, and bread, plus jugs of ale for the common folk and mead for the special guests.