“Six.”

Ragna was dismayed. “Wilf, can you not see clearly?”

He made no reply.

Hildi said: “His eyesight is fine, but I’m not sure about his mind.”

“God save him.”

Hildi said: “Wilwulf, what is your wife’s name?”

“Ragna.” He smiled.

That was a relief.

“What’s the king’s name?”

There was a long pause, then he said: “King.”

“And his wife?”

“I forget.”

“Can you name one of Jesus’ brothers?”

“Saint Peter.”

Everyone knew that Jesus’s brothers were James, Joseph, Jude, and Simeon.

“What number comes after nineteen?”

“Don’t know.”

“Rest now, Ealdorman Wilwulf.”

Wilf closed his eyes.

Ragna said: “Will the wound heal?”

“The skin will grow back and cover the hole, but I don’t know whether the bone will regrow. He needs to keep as still as possible for several weeks.”

“I’ll make sure of that.”

“It will help to tie a bandage around his head, to reduce movement. Give him watered wine or weak ale to drink, and feed him soup.”

“I will.”

“The most worrying sign is the loss of much of his memory, and it’s hard to say how serious that is. He remembers your name, but not the king’s. He can count up to three but not to seven, and certainly not to twenty. There’s nothing you can do about that but pray. After a head wound, sometimes people recover all their mental abilities, and sometimes they don’t. I know no more than that.” She looked up, noticing someone else entering, and she added: “And nor does anyone else.”

Ragna followed her glance. Gytha had come in with Father Godmaer, a priest at the cathedral who had studied medicine. He was a big, heavy man with a shaved head. A younger priest followed him in. “What is that midwife doing here?” said Godmaer. “Stand aside, woman. Let me look at the patient.”

Ragna considered telling him to leave. She had more faith in Hildi. But a second opinion could do no harm. She stepped back, and others followed suit, allowing Godmaer to kneel beside Wilf.

He was not as gentle as Hildi, and when he touched the swelling Wilf groaned in pain. It was too late for Ragna to protest.

Wilf opened his eyes and said: “Who are you?”

“You know me,” Godmaer said. “Have you forgotten?”

Wilf closed his eyes.

Godmaer turned Wilf’s head to one side, looked into his ear, then turned it again to look in the other ear. Hildi frowned anxiously and Ragna said: “Gently, please, Father.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Godmaer said haughtily, but he became a little less rough. He opened Wilf’s mouth and peered in, then pushed up his eyelids, and finally sniffed his breath.

He stood up. “The problem is an excess of black bile, especially in the head,” he announced. “This is causing fatigue, dullness, and memory loss. The treatment will be trepanning, to let the bile out. Pass me the bow drill.”

His young companion handed him the tool, which was used by carpenters to drill small holes. The sharpened iron bit was twisted into the string of the bow so that, when the bit was held firmly against a plank and the shaft of the bow moved to and fro, the point spun fast and pierced the wood.