Bern looked hard at Garulf and said: “Will anyone else try to lay hands on the ealdorman’s wife?”

Garulf thought about it. His gaze went from the heavy body of Bern to the precious body of the ealdorman’s wife and back. Then he stepped away.

Ragna said to Bern: “Give me your knife.”

Bern’s belt knife was a large dagger with a sharp blade. Ragna put the ball on the ground, inserted the point of the knife under the stitching of the ball, and cut the thread.

Garulf gave a cry of protest and stepped forward.

Ragna pointed the knife at him.

Bern took a step toward Garulf.

Ragna continued to cut the threads until she had opened the ball sufficiently to let out all the stuffing.

Finally she stood up and threw the mangled leather into the middle of the pond.

She handed the knife back to Bern, handle first, and said: “Thank you.”

With Bern at her side she returned to her house. Her left arm hurt where Stiggy had punched her, but her heart sang with victory.

Wilf returned that afternoon, and not much later Ragna was summoned to his house. She was not surprised to find Gytha there.

Wilf looked bad-tempered. “What’s all this about a ball?” he said.

Ragna smiled. “My beloved husband, you should not trouble yourself about foolish squabbles.”

“My stepmother has complained that you stole a gift she had given to my son.”

Ragna was pleased, but concealed it. Gytha had allowed indignation to impair her judgment. She was onto a loser. She could not win this argument.

Ragna spoke in a light tone appropriate for something trivial. “The ball game has become too violent. One of your servants was injured by the ball today.”

Gytha snorted with derision. “She slipped in the mud.”

“She was hit on the head. Worse injuries would have followed. I told them to play outside the compound, but they disobeyed me, so I stopped the game and destroyed the ball. Really, Wilf, I’m sorry you’ve been pestered with this.”

He looked skeptical. “Is that really all that happened?”

“Well, no.” Ragna pulled up her left sleeve, showing a fresh bruise. “The boy Stiggy punched me,” she said. “So Bern knocked him down.”

Wilf looked darkly at Gytha. “A boy laid hands on the ealdorman’s wife? You didn’t tell me that part, mother.”

Gytha said: “He just tried to grab the ball back!” But the bruise told its own story, and Gytha was on the defensive.

Wilf said: “And what did Garulf do?”

“He looked on,” said Ragna.

“And did not defend his father’s wife?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Wilf was furious, as Ragna had foreseen. “Stiggy shall be flogged,” he said. “A childish punishment for a childish man. Twelve strokes of the lash. But I don’t know what to do with Garulf. My son should know what’s right and wrong.”

Ragna said: “May I suggest something?”

“Please.”

“Make Garulf do the flogging.”

Wilf nodded. “Perfect,” he said.