She decided to impress the villagers with her education. “How far have you got this morning?” she asked Ithamar.

“To Wilmund the baker.”

She ran a finger down the list. “Wilmundus Pistor,” she read aloud. “It says here that he owes thirty-six pence per quarter.” There was a murmur of surprise from the crowd: not only could she read, but she could translate Latin. “Step forward, Wilmund.”

The baker was a plump young man with floury streaks of white in his dark beard. He stepped forward with his wife and a teenage son, each of them holding a small purse. Wilmund slowly counted out twenty pence in whole coins, then his wife counted another ten in halves.

Ragna said: “What’s your name, baker’s wife?”

“Regenhild, my lady,” she said nervously.

“And is this your son?”

“Yes, my lady, he’s Penda.”

“He’s a fine lad.”

Regenhild relaxed a little. “Thank you, my lady.”

“How old are you, Penda?”

“Fifteen, my lady.”

“You’re tall, for fifteen.”

Penda blushed. “Yes.”

He counted out six pence in quarters, and the family’s rent was paid. They returned to the crowd, smiling at the attention they had received from a noblewoman. All she had done was to show interest in them as people, not just tenants, but they would remember it for years.

Ragna turned to Dudda, the headman. Feigning ignorance, she said: “Tell me about these notched sticks.”

“They are from Gab the quarrymaster,” Dudda replied. “He keeps a different stick for each man who buys stone. One stone in five belongs to the lord.”

“Which is me.”

Dudda said sulkily: “So we are told.”

“Which of you is Gab?”

A thin man with scarred hands stepped forward and coughed.

There were seven sticks, and only one of them bore five notches. She picked it up as if at random. “So, Gab, to which buyer does this stick refer?”

“That would be Dreng the ferryman.” Gab’s voice was hoarse, no doubt from breathing stone dust.

As if seeking to understand the system, Ragna said: “So Dreng bought five stones from you.”

“Yes, my lady.” Gab looked uneasy, as if wondering where this was leading. He added: “And I owe you the price of one of them.”

She turned to Dudda. “Is that right?”

He looked anxious, as if fearing a surprise but unable to figure out what it might be. “Yes, my lady.”

“Dreng’s builder is here with me today,” Ragna said.

She heard two or three startled exclamations, quickly supressed, and she guessed that some villagers must have known about Gab’s fraud. Gab himself suddenly looked sick, and Dudda’s red face paled.

Ragna said: “Come forward, Edgar.”

Edgar emerged from the middle of the group of men-at-arms and servants, and came to stand beside Ragna. Dudda directed a look of hatred at him.

Ragna said: “How many stones did you buy from my quarry, Edgar?”

Gab said quickly: “It was five, wasn’t it, young man?”

Edgar said: “No. Five stones isn’t enough to tile the roof of a brewhouse. I bought ten.”