Agnes began to sob.

“Keep digging,” Den told the servants.

A few minutes later they pulled a wooden chest a foot long out of the hole. Ragna could see by the way they handled it that it was heavy.

It was not locked. Den lifted the lid. Inside were thousands of silver pennies, together with a few items of jewelry.

Den said: “The proceeds of many years of thievery—plus a few souvenirs.”

On top of it all was a belt of soft leather with a silver buckle and strap end. Ragna gasped.

Den said: “Do you recognize something?”

“The belt. It was to be my present to Wilf—until it was stolen by Ironface.”

Den turned to Offa. “What is Ironface’s real name, and where does he hide out?”

“I don’t know,” said Offa. “I bought that belt. I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Den nodded to Wigbert, who stood in front of Offa. The two men-at-arms gripped Offa tighter.

Wigbert took from his belt a heavy club made of polished oak. With a swift movement he smashed the club into Offa’s face. Ragna cried out, but Wigbert ignored her. With a rapid series of well-aimed blows he hit Offa’s head, shoulders, and knees. The crack of the hard wood hitting bones sickened Ragna.

When he paused, Offa’s face was covered in blood. He was unable to stand, but the men-at-arms held him upright. Agnes moaned as if in pain herself.

Den repeated: “What is Ironface’s real name, and where does he hide out?”

Through smashed teeth and bloody lips Offa said: “I swear I don’t know.”

Wigbert raised the club again.

Agnes shrieked: “No, please, don’t! Ironface is Ulf! Don’t hit Offa again, please!”

Den turned to Agnes. “The horse catcher?” he said.

“Yes, I swear it.”

“You’d better be telling me the truth,” said Den.

Edgar did not believe that Ulf the horse catcher was Ironface. He had met Ulf a few times and recalled him as a small man, though energetic and strong, as he would need to be to tame wild forest ponies. Edgar had vivid memories of the two occasions on which he had seen Ironface, and felt sure the man was of medium height and build. “Agnes might be mistaken,” he said to Den, when the sheriff came to Dreng’s Ferry on his way to arrest Ulf.

“You might be mistaken,” said Den.

Edgar shrugged. Agnes could have been lying, too. Or she might have shouted out a name at random, just to stop the torture, having in fact no idea whose head was inside the rusty iron helmet.

Edgar and the other men of the village joined Den and his group. Den had no need of reinforcements, but the villagers did not want to miss the excitement, and they had the excuse that they were responsible for upholding the law in their hundred.

On the way they picked up Edgar’s brothers, Erman and Eadbald.