“Thank you, lord!” said Edgar with eager enthusiasm. “Do you want us to build you a ship?”

“No.”

Edgar’s face fell. “What, then?”

“Fetch your mother and I’ll tell you.”

“Yes, lord.”

Edgar went away and came back with Mildred, who looked warily at Wynstan, and two young men who were evidently his brothers, both bigger than Edgar but lacking his look of inquiring intelligence. Three strong boys and a tough mother: it was a good combination for what Wynstan had in mind.

He said: “I know of a vacant farm.” Wynstan would be doing Wigelm a favor by ridding him of the seditious Mildred.

Edgar looked dismayed. “We’re boatbuilders, not farmers!”

Mildred said: “Shut your mouth, Edgar.”

Wynstan said: “Can you manage a farm, widow?”

“I was born on a farm.”

“This one is beside a river.”

“But how much land is there?”

“Thirty acres. That’s generally considered enough to feed a family.”

“That depends on the soil.”

“And on the family.”

She was not to be fobbed off. “What’s the soil like?”

“Much as you’d expect: a bit swampy beside the river, light and loamy farther up the slope. And there’s a crop of oats in the ground, just shooting green. All you’ll have to do is reap it, and you’ll be set for the winter.”

“Any oxen?”

“No, but you won’t need them. A heavy plough is unnecessary on that light soil.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why is it vacant?”

It was a shrewd question. The truth was that the last tenant had been unable to grow enough on the poor soil to feed his family. The wife and three small children had died, and the tenant had fled. But this family was different, with three good workers and only four mouths to feed. It would still be a challenge, but Wynstan had a feeling they would manage. However, he was not going to tell them the truth. “The tenant died of a fever and his wife went back to her mother,” he lied.

“The place is unhealthy, then.”

“Not in the least. It’s by a small hamlet with a minster. A minster is a church served by a community of priests living together, and—”

“I know what a minster is. It’s like a monastery but not as strict.”

“My cousin Degbert is the dean, and also landlord of the hamlet, including the farm.”

“What buildings does the farm have?”

“A house and a barn. And the previous tenant left his tools.”

“What’s the rent?”

“You’ll have to give Degbert four fat piglets at Michaelmas, for the priests’ bacon. That’s all!”

“Why is the rent so low?”

Wynstan smiled. She was a suspicious cow. “Because my cousin is a kindly man.”

Mildred snorted skeptically.

There was a silence. Wynstan watched her. She did not want the farm, he could see; she did not trust him. But there was desperation in her eyes, for she had nothing else. She would take it. She had to.

She said: “Where is this place?”