How should she respond? If she showed her pain, he would feel manipulated and become angry, and then he would want to teach her a lesson, probably by paying all the more attention to Carwen. No, there had to be a more subtle way.

All through the meal Ragna made sure she was more alluring than ever, though she felt miserable. She laughed at Wilf’s jokes, and whenever he made some allusion to love or sex she looked at him from under her eyelids in a way that always made him feel amorous.

When the food was finished and the men were getting drunk, she left the table, along with most of the women. She returned to her own house, carrying a rush lamp to light her way. She did not take off her cloak, but stood in the doorway looking out, watching the movements dimly visible around the compound, thinking, trying out speeches in her mind.

Cat said: “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for a quiet moment.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want Gytha to see me going to Wilf’s house.”

Cat sounded fearful. “That’s where the slave is. What are you going to do to her?”

“I’m not sure. I’m thinking about it.”

“Don’t make Wilf angry with you.”

“We’ll see.”

A few minutes later Ragna saw a silhouette move from Gytha’s house to Wilf’s, carrying a candle. She guessed Gytha was checking on her gift, making sure Carwen was still presentable.

Ragna waited patiently. Soon Gytha left Wilf’s house and returned to her own. Ragna gave her a minute to settle. A woman and her drunk husband came out of the great hall and staggered across the compound. At last the coast was clear, and Ragna quickly crossed the short distance and went into Wilf’s house.

Carwen was still bound, but able to sit upright. Being naked, she was cold, and she had squirmed closer to the fire. The left side of her face bore a huge purple bruise where Wilf had slapped her.

Ragna sat on a stool and wondered whether the slave spoke English. She said: “I’m sorry this has happened to you.”

Carwen showed no response.

“I’m his wife,” Ragna said.

Carwen said: “Ha!”

So she understood.

“He’s not a cruel man,” Ragna went on. “At least, no more cruel than men generally are.”

Carwen’s face relaxed a fraction, perhaps with relief.

“He’s never hit me the way he hit you today,” Ragna said. “Mind you, I’ve been careful not to displease him.” She held up a hand as if to forestall argument. “I’m not judging you, just telling you how it is.”

Carwen nodded.

That was progress.

Ragna took a blanket from Wilf’s bed and put it around Carwen’s thin, white shoulders. “Would you like some wine?”

“Yes.”

Ragna went to the table and poured wine from a jug into a wooden cup. She knelt beside Carwen and held the cup to her lips. Carwen drank. Ragna half expected her to spit the wine at her, but she swallowed it gratefully.