Ma said: “Here’s a penny.”

Cwenburg ignored the proffered coin. “There’s five of you, with the dog.”

“The dog can swim across.”

“Some dogs can’t swim.”

Ma became exasperated. “In that case she can either stand on the bank and starve or jump in the river and drown. I’m not paying for a dog to ride in a ferry.”

Cwenburg shrugged, brought the boat to the water’s edge, and took the coin.

Edgar boarded first, kneeling down and holding both sides to stabilize the boat. He noticed that the old tree trunk had tiny cracks, and there was a puddle in the bottom.

Cwenburg said to him: “Where did you get that ax? It looks expensive.”

“I took it from a Viking.”

“Did you? What did he say about that?”

“He couldn’t say much, because I split his head in half with it.” Edgar took some satisfaction in saying that.

The others boarded and Cwenburg pushed off. Brindle jumped into the river without hesitation and swam after the boat. Away from the shade of the forest, the sun was hot on Edgar’s head.

He asked Cwenburg: “What’s on the island?”

“A nunnery.”

Edgar nodded. That would be the stone building he had glimpsed.

Cwenburg added: “There’s a gang of lepers, too. They live in shelters they make out of branches. The nuns feed them. We call the place Leper Island.”

Edgar shuddered. He wondered how the nuns survived. People said that if you touched a leper you could catch the disease, though he had never heard of anyone who had actually done that.

They reached the north bank, and Edgar helped Ma out of the boat. He smelled the strong brown odor of fermenting ale. “Someone’s brewing,” he said.

Cwenburg said: “My mother makes very good ale. You should come into the house and refresh yourselves.”

“No, thanks,” Ma said immediately.

Cwenburg persisted. “You may want to sleep here while you fix up the farm buildings. My father will give you dinner and breakfast for a halfpenny each. That’s cheap.”

Ma said: “Are the farm buildings in bad condition, then?”

“There were holes in the roof of the house last time I walked past.”

“And the barn?”

“Pigsty, you mean.”

Edgar frowned. This did not sound good. Still, they had thirty acres: they would be able to make something of that.

“We’ll see,” said Ma. “Which house does the dean live in?”

“Degbert Baldhead? He’s my uncle.” Cwenburg pointed. “The big one next to the church. All the clergy live there together.”

“We’ll go and see him.”

They left Cwenburg and walked a short distance up the slope. Ma said: “This dean is our new landlord. Act nice and friendly. I’ll be firm with him if necessary, but we don’t want him to take against us for any reason.”

The little church looked almost derelict, Edgar thought. The entrance arch was crumbling, and was prevented from collapse only by the support of a stout tree trunk standing in the middle of the doorway. Next to the church was a timber house, double the normal size, like the alehouse. They stood outside politely, and Ma called: “Anyone home?”