“A day and a half’s journey up the river.”

“What’s it called?”

“Dreng’s Ferry.”

CHAPTER 3

Late June 997

hey walked for a day and a half, following a barely visible footpath beside the meandering river, three young men, their mother, and a brown-and-white dog.

Edgar felt disoriented, bewildered, and anxious. He had planned a new life for himself, but not this one. Destiny had taken a turn that was completely unexpected, and he had had no time to prepare for it. In any case, he and his family still had little idea of what was ahead of them. They knew almost nothing of the place called Dreng’s Ferry. What would it be like? Would the people be suspicious of newcomers, or welcome them? How about the farm? Would the ground be light soil, easy to cultivate, or recalcitrant heavy clay? Were there pear trees or honking wild geese or wary deer? Edgar’s family believed in plans. His father had often said that you had to build the entire boat in your imagination before picking up the first piece of timber.

There would be a lot of work to do to reinvigorate an abandoned farm, and Edgar found it difficult to summon up enthusiasm. This was the funeral of his hopes. He was never going to have his own boatyard, never build ships. He felt sure he would never marry.

He tried to interest himself in his surroundings. He had never walked this far before. He had once sailed many miles, to Cherbourg and back, but in between he had looked at nothing but water. Now for the first time he was discovering England.

There was a lot of forest, just like the one in which the family had been felling trees for as long as he could remember. The woodland was broken up by villages and a few large estates. The landscape became more undulating as they trudged farther inland. The woods grew thicker but there were still habitations: a hunting lodge, a lime pit, a tin mine, a horse-catcher’s hut, a small family of charcoal burners, a vineyard on a south-facing slope, a flock of sheep grazing a hilltop.

They met a few travelers: a fat priest on a skinny pony, a well-dressed silversmith with four grim-faced bodyguards, a burly farmer driving a big black sow to market, and a bent old woman with brown eggs to sell. They stopped and talked to each one, exchanging news and information about the road ahead.

Everyone they met had to be told about the Viking raid on Combe: this was how people got their news, from travelers. Ma gave most people a short version, but in affluent settlements she sat down and told the whole story, and the four of them got food and drink in return.

They waved at passing boats. There were no bridges, and just one ford, at a place called Mudeford Crossing. They could have spent the night in the alehouse there, but the weather was fine and Ma decided they would sleep outside and save money. However, they made their beds within shouting distance of the building.