He had been sure she had escaped. How could she have been recaptured after this length of time? He recalled that Ealdorman Wilwulf had been harrying the Welsh: he must have brought her back among his captives. What tragic misfortune, to get free and then be enslaved a second time!

She raised her face and saw him but did not seem to have the strength to acknowledge him. Her shoulders were slumped and her shoeless feet were bleeding.

The man on the horse was about Edgar’s age but bigger, and he wore a sword. When he saw Edgar he said: “Are you the ferryman?”

Edgar got the impression the man was not very bright. “I work for Dreng the ferryman.”

“I’ve brought his slave back.”

“So I see.”

Dreng came out of the tavern. He recognized the rider. “Hello, Stiggy, what do you want? By the gods, is that little slut Blod?”

Stiggy said: “If I’d known she was yours I would have left her in Wales and captured another girl.”

“She is mine, though.”

“You have to pay me for bringing her back.”

Dreng did not like that idea. “Do I, now?”

“Bishop Wynstan said.”

“Oh. And did he say how much?”

“Half what she’s worth.”

“She’s not worth much, the miserable whore.”

“I was asking a pound and the lady Ragna offered half.”

“So you say I owe you half of half a pound, which is sixty pence.”

“Ragna might have paid a hundred and eighty.”

“She didn’t, though. Go on, untie the bitch and come inside.”

“I’ll have the money, first.”

Dreng softened his voice, pretending to be friendly. “Don’t you want a bowl of stew and a tankard of ale?”

“No. It’s only midday. I’m going to head back right away.” Stiggy was not completely stupid, and he probably knew the ways of alehouse keepers. If he got drunk here and stayed the night, there was no telling how much would be deducted from his sixty pence in the morning.

“Very well,” said Dreng. He went inside. Stiggy got off his horse and untied Blod. She sat on the ground, waiting.

After a long pause Dreng came out with money wrapped in a rag and handed it to Stiggy, who put it into his belt pouch.

Dreng said: “Aren’t you going to count it?”

“I trust you.”

Edgar smothered a laugh. It took a fool to trust Dreng. But Stiggy probably could not count up to sixty.

Stiggy mounted his horse.

Dreng said: “Sure we can’t tempt you to have some of my wife’s famous ale?” He was still hoping to get some of those pennies back.

“No.” Stiggy turned the horse around and headed back the way he had come.

Dreng said to Blod: “Get inside.”

As she passed him, he kicked her backside. She let out a cry of pain, stumbled, and regained her balance. “That’s just the beginning,” he said.

Edgar followed them, but Dreng turned at the door and said: “You stay outside.” He went in and shut the door.