Fat Bebbe overheard. “If it was Dreng, he’s killed his own wife,” she said.

The monks crossed themselves, and old Tatwine said: “God bless her soul.”

Aldred said: “Dreng is in Shiring. He can’t have started the fire.”

Edgar said: “Who else?”

No one answered the question.

Edgar studied the dying flames, assessing the damage. The far end of the bridge was gone. At the near end, the embers still glowed, and the entire structure was leaning downstream precipitously.

It was utterly beyond repair.

Blod came to him holding a cloak. After a moment he realized it was his own. She must have gone to his house and fetched it. She also had his shoes.

He put the cloak on. He was shivering too much to manage the shoes, so Blod knelt in front of him and put them on his feet.

“Thank you,” said Edgar.

Then he began to cry.

CHAPTER 31

June 1002

agna sat astride her horse and looked down the slope at the village of Dreng’s Ferry. The ruined bridge stood out like a gallows in a marketplace. The blackened timbers were twisted and broken. At the far end nothing was left but the deeply embedded abutment: the boats and the superstructure had become detached, and scorched beams littered the downstream banks. At the near side the flat-bottomed boats were still in place, but the framework and the roadbed had collapsed into them, forming a tragic heap of destroyed carpentry.

She felt for Edgar. He had talked passionately about this bridge whenever they met in Outhenham and Shiring: the challenge of building in the river, the need for strength enough to bear the weight of loaded carts, the beauty of well-fitting oak joinery. He had put his soul into that bridge, and now he must be heartbroken.

No one knew who had set the fire, but Ragna had no doubt about who was behind it. Only Bishop Wynstan was malicious enough to do such a thing and clever enough to get away with it.

She hoped to see Edgar today, to talk about the quarry, but she was not sure whether he was here or at Outhenham. She would be disappointed if she had missed him. However, that was not her main purpose here.

She touched Astrid’s flanks with her heels and moved slowly down the hill, followed by her entourage. Wilwulf was with her, and she had brought Agnes as her maid—Cat was back at the compound taking care of the children. Ragna was guarded by Bern and six men-at-arms.

Wilf now spent his days being cared for by Ragna and his nights with Carwen. He pleased himself, as he always had; in that respect he had not changed. He saw Ragna as a banquet table from which he could select what he wanted, leaving the rest. He had loved her body until he was distracted by another one; he relied more than ever on her intelligence to help him govern; and he acted as if she had no more soul than his favorite horse.