Ragna thought over what he had said. His loss made her feel very fortunate to have Wilf.

She drained her cup of ale, got up from the trestle table, and returned to her house. Suddenly she felt weary. She was not sure why; she had done nothing physically exhausting. Perhaps it was the strain of being on display to the world for hours on end.

She took off her cloak and her overdress and lay on her mattress. Cat barred the door so that people such as Dreng could not barge in. Ragna thought about the evening ahead. At some point she would be summoned to Wilf’s house. To her surprise, she felt a bit nervous. That was silly. She had already had sexual intercourse with him: what was left to be nervous about?

She was also curious. When they had sneaked into the hay store at Cherbourg Castle at dusk, everything had been furtive and hurried and dimly lit. From now on they would make love at leisure. She wanted to spend time looking at his body, exploring it with her fingertips, studying and feeling the muscles and the hair and the skin and the bones of the man who was now her husband. Mine, she thought; all mine.

She must have dozed off, for the banging at the door woke her with a start.

She heard a muffled interchange, then Cat said: “It’s time.” Cat looked as excited as if it had been her own honeymoon night.

Ragna got up. Bern turned his back while she slipped out of her underdress and put on the new nightdress, dark ochre yellow, made especially for this occasion. She put on shoes, for she did not want to get into Wilf’s bed with muddy feet. Finally she donned her cloak.

“You two stay here,” she said. “I don’t want any fuss.”

In that she was disappointed.

When she stepped outside she saw that Wigelm and the men-at-arms were lined up to cheer her along. Mostly drunk after the party, they blew whistles and banged cooking pots and pans. Wynstan’s man Cnebba cavorted with a broomstick between his legs sticking up like a huge wooden penis, which made the men hoot with laughter.

Ragna was mortified, but tried not to show it: a protest by her would be seen as weakness. She walked slowly and with dignity between the two lines of mocking men. When they saw her hauteur they became more vulgar, but she knew she must not descend to their level.

At last she reached Wilf’s door, opened it, then turned to the men. Their noise diminished as they wondered what she would do or say.

She gave them a grin, blew a kiss, then quickly stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

She heard them cheering and knew she had done the right thing.

Wilf stood beside his bed, waiting.

He too wore a new nightshirt. It was the blue of a starling’s egg. She looked closely at his face and saw that he was remarkably sober for one who had appeared to be roistering all day. She guessed that he had been careful to limit his intake.