Edgar turned and looked across the river. Moments later he heard Blod cry out in pain. It was inevitable, he told himself: a slave was bound to be chastised for running off. A slave owned little or nothing, so could not pay a fine, which meant that the only possible punishment was a beating. It was common practice and it was legal.

Blod cried out again and began to sob. Edgar heard Dreng grunting with the effort of his blows and cursing his victim at the same time.

Dreng was within his rights, Edgar told himself. And he was Edgar’s master, too. Edgar had no right to intervene.

Blod began to beg for mercy. Edgar also heard the voices of Leaf and Ethel raised in protest, to no avail.

Then Blod screamed.

Edgar opened the door and burst in. Blod was on the floor, writhing in pain, her face covered with blood. Dreng was kicking her. When she protected her head, he kicked her stomach, and when she protected her body, he kicked her head. Leaf and Ethel were grabbing his arms and pulling him, trying to stop him, but he was too strong for them.

If this went on Blod would die.

Edgar grabbed Dreng from behind and pulled him away.

Dreng wriggled out of Edgar’s grasp, turned quickly, and punched Edgar’s face. He was a strong man and the blow hurt. Edgar reacted reflexively. He punched Dreng on the point of the chin. Dreng’s head flipped back like the lid of a chest, and he fell to the floor.

From the floor he pointed at Edgar. “Get out of this house,” he yelled. “And never come back!”

But Edgar had not finished. He dropped down with his knees on Dreng’s chest, then put both hands to his throat and squeezed. Dreng’s breath was cut off. He flailed at Edgar’s arms uselessly.

Leaf screamed.

Edgar bent down until his face was inches from Dreng’s. “If you ever strike her again, I will come back,” he said. “And I swear to God I will kill you.”

He released his grip. Dreng gasped and breathed hoarsely. Edgar looked at Dreng’s two wives, who were standing back, looking scared. “I mean it,” he said.

Then he got up and went out.

He walked along the riverbank heading for the farmhouse. He rubbed his left cheekbone: he was going to have a black eye. He wondered whether he had done any good. Dreng might beat Blod again as soon as he caught his breath. Edgar could only hope that his threat would give the man pause.

Edgar had lost his job. Dreng would probably get Blod to pole the ferry now. She would be able to do it when she recovered from the beating. Perhaps that would discourage Dreng from crippling her. It was something to hope for.

Erman and Eadbald were not visible in the fields, and as it was midday Edgar guessed they would be having dinner at the farmhouse. He saw them as he approached the place. They were sitting outside in the sun, at a trestle table Edgar had made, evidently having just finished the meal. Ma was holding baby Winnie, now four months, singing her a little song that seemed familiar, and Edgar wondered whether he was remembering it from his own childhood. Ma had rolled up the sleeves of her dress, and Edgar was shocked to see how thin her arms were. She never complained, but she was obviously ill.