It would be her responsibility to maintain and increase that prosperity, for her own benefit as well as that of the people. Her father always said that nobles had duties as well as privileges.

The outskirts of the village had been almost deserted, and a minute later Ragna saw that most of the inhabitants had gathered on the green in the center, between the church and the alehouse.

In the middle of the space, Wynstan sat on a broad four-legged stool with a cushion, the type of seat used on formal occasions. Two men stood on either side of him. The one with the shaved head would be village priest, whose name—Ragna now recalled from her conversation with Edgar—was Draca. The other, a heavy, red-faced person, would be Dudda, the headman.

They were surrounded by goods. Some coins circulated in the countryside, but many peasants paid their rents in kind. Two large carts were being loaded with barrels and sacks, chickens in cages, and smoked and salted fish and meat. Piglets and young sheep were confined in temporary pens up against the wall of the church.

On a trestle table were numerous notched sticks and several piles of silver pennies. Wynstan’s assistant, Ithamar, sat at the table, holding in his hand a long sheet of parchment, old and stained and worn at the edges, covered with close-packed writing in neat lines, possibly in Latin. That would be a list of payments due from each man. Ragna resolved to seize that parchment.

This was a familiar sight, no different in Normandy, and she took it all in at a glance, then focused on Wynstan.

He stood up from his seat and stared, openmouthed, as he grasped the size and authority of the arriving contingent. His expression showed shock and dismay. No doubt he had thought that by causing Astrid to be lamed he had made sure Ragna could not leave Shiring. He was now beginning to realize how badly he had underestimated her. He said: “How did you—?” But he changed his mind and did not finish the question.

She continued to walk her horse toward him, and the crowd parted for her. She held the reins in her left hand and a riding crop in her right.

Wynstan, always a quick thinker, changed his tune. “Lady Ragna, welcome to the Vale of Outhen,” he said. “We’re surprised, but honored, to see you here.” He seemed about to grasp the bridle of her horse, but Ragna was not having that: she raised her riding crop just a little, as if to strike his hand away; but he saw her determination and aborted his move.

She rode past him.

She had often spoken to large groups in the open air, and she knew how to make her voice carry. “People of the Vale of Outhen,” she said. “I am the lady Ragna, and I am your lord.”

There was a moment of silence. Ragna waited. A man in the crowd went down on one knee. Others followed suit, and soon everyone was kneeling.