“God damn them both,” said Wynstan.

Gytha said: “Now three males stand in Garulf’s way, instead of one.”

They were silent for a while. This was a major shift in the power politics of the ealdormanry. Wynstan mulled over the consequences, and he was sure his mother was doing the same.

Eventually he said frustratedly: “There must be something we can do to drive Wilf and Ragna apart. She’s not the only sexy woman in the world.”

“Perhaps another girl will come along and fascinate him. She’d be younger than Ragna, of course, and probably even more of a spitfire.”

“Can we make it happen?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think it would work?”

“It might. And I can’t think of a better plan.”

“Where would we find such a woman?”

“I don’t know,” said Gytha. “Perhaps we could buy one.”

After a peaceful Christmas, Ironface struck again in January.

Edgar was preparing to build a smokehouse on his family’s farm. They often had more fish than they could sell, and their ceiling had started to look like an upside-down forest in winter, the eels like bare saplings growing down from the thatch. A stone-built smokehouse would have plenty of room and also be less likely to catch on fire. He was more and more confident as a stonemason. He had long ago finished buttressing the church, which was now stable. For two years he had been managing Ragna’s quarry at Outhenham, selling more stone than ever, making money for her and for himself. But demand was slack in winter and he had taken the opportunity to stockpile stones for his personal project.

His brother Eadbald appeared, rolling an empty barrel along the rough path on the bank of the river. “We need more ale,” he said. They could afford it now, thanks to the fishpond.

“I’ll give you a hand,” said Edgar. One man could manage an empty barrel but it took two to move a full one over uneven ground.

The two brothers took the empty to the alehouse, with Brindle trotting behind. While they were paying Leaf, two passengers arrived for the ferry. Edgar recognized them as Odo and Adelaide, a husband-and-wife courier team from Cherbourg. They had passed through Dreng’s Ferry two weeks earlier on their way to Shiring, accompanied by two men-at-arms, carrying letters and money to Ragna.

Edgar greeted them and said: “On your way home?”

Odo spoke with a French accent. “Yes, we hope to find a ship at Combe.” He was a big man of about thirty with fair hair cut in the Norman style, shaved to the scalp at the back. He wore a sturdy-looking sword.

They had no bodyguards, but this time they were not carrying a large sum of money.

Adelaide said excitedly: “We’re in a hurry, because we have good news to take home. The lady Ragna has given birth—to twin boys!” A small blonde, she was wearing a pendant of silver wire with an amber bead; it would suit Ragna, Edgar thought.