She decided she would stay in the Vale of Outhen for a week or so after Lady Day. She was determined to make a personal tour of her property and find out in detail what she owned. She would show herself to her tenants and her subjects, getting to know them. She would hold court in each village and begin to establish a reputation as a fair judge.

When she spoke to the head groom, Wignoth, he shook his head and sucked in the air between his brown teeth. “We haven’t got enough horses,” he pointed out. “Every spare mount has been commandeered for the harrying of the Welsh.”

Ragna could not possibly arrive on foot. People judged by appearances, and a noble who did not have a horse would be seen as lacking authority. “But Astrid is still here,” she said. She had brought her favorite horse from Cherbourg.

“You’ll have several people with you on your visit, of course,” said Wignoth.

“Yes.”

“Apart from Astrid, all we have is an elderly mare, a pony with one eye, and a packhorse that’s never been ridden.”

There were other horses in the town: both the bishop and the abbot had several mounts, and the sheriff had a large stable. But they needed them for their own purposes. “What we have here must suffice,” Ragna said firmly. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll manage.”

As she walked away from the stable she saw two young townsmen lounging near the kitchen, talking to Gilda and the other kitchen maids. Ragna stopped and frowned. She had no moral objection to flirting—in fact she was good at it herself when it suited her purpose. But with husbands away fighting, dalliances could be dangerous. Illicit affairs did not usually remain secret for long, and soldiers returning from battle could be quick to resort to violence.

Ragna changed direction and approached the two men.

A cook called Eadhild was skinning fish with a sharp knife and bloody hands. None of the maids noticed Ragna’s approach. Eadhild was telling the men to go away, but in a playful tone that clearly showed she did not mean it. “We don’t want your sort here,” she said, but then she giggled.

Ragna noticed that Gilda looked disapproving.

One of the men said: “Women never want our sort—until they do!”

“Oh, go on with you,” said Eadhild.

Ragna said abruptly: “Who are you men?”

They looked startled and said nothing for a moment.

Ragna said: “Give me your names or I’ll have you both thrashed.”

Gilda pointed with a skewer. “He’s Wiga and the other one is Tata. They work at the Abbey Alehouse.”

Ragna said: “And what do you think will happen, Wiga and Tata, when these women’s husbands come home, with their swords as bloody as that fish knife of Eadhild’s, and find out what you’ve been saying to their wives?”

Wiga and Tata looked shamefaced and made no answer.

“Murder,” Ragna said. “That’s what will happen. Now go back to your alehouse, and don’t let me see you inside this compound until Ealdorman Wilf comes home.”