In the days since his physical recovery she had developed a sense that he was in danger, an intuition that was getting stronger. She had come to Dreng’s Ferry to do something about it. She had a plan, and she was here to win support for it.

Dreng’s Ferry smelled of brewing ale, as it often did. She rode past a house with a display of silvery fish on a stone slab outside the door: the village had acquired its first shop. There was a new extension on the north side of the little church.

By the time she and Wilf reached the monastery, Aldred and the monks were lined up outside to greet them. Wilf and the men would sleep here tonight; Ragna and Agnes would cross to Leper Island and spend the night at the nunnery, where Ragna would be welcomed only too warmly by Mother Agatha.

For some reason she was reminded of her first meeting with Aldred, back in Cherbourg. He was still handsome, but his face now had worry lines that had not been there five years ago. He was not yet forty, she calculated, but he looked older.

She greeted him and said: “Are the others here?”

“Waiting in the church, in accordance with your instructions,” he replied.

She turned to Wilf. “Why don’t you go to the stable with the men and make sure the horses are looked after?”

“Good idea,” said Wilf.

Ragna went with Aldred to the church. “I see you’ve built an extension,” she said as they approached the entrance.

“Thanks to free stone from you, and a builder who takes reading lessons instead of pay.”

“Edgar.”

“Of course. The new transept is a side chapel for the relics of Saint Adolphus.”

They went in. A trestle table had been set up in the nave, with parchment, a bottle of ink, several quills, and a penknife with which to sharpen the points of the quills. Sitting on benches at the table were Bishop Modulf of Norwood and Sheriff Den.

Ragna felt confident of the support of Aldred for her scheme. The hard-faced Sheriff Den had consented in advance. She was not so sure of Modulf, a thin man with a sharp mind. He would help her if her plan made sense to him, but not otherwise.

She sat down with them. “Thank you, bishop, and you, sheriff, for agreeing to meet me here.”

Den said: “Always a pleasure, my lady.”

Modulf said warily: “I’m eager to hear the reason for this mysterious invitation.”

Ragna got straight down to business. “Ealdorman Wilwulf is now physically well, but as you eat supper with him this evening you’ll wonder about his mind. I can tell you now that he is not the man he used to be, mentally, and all the signs are that he will never return to normal.”

Den nodded. “I had wondered . . .”

Modulf said: “And what, exactly, do you mean when you say ‘mentally’?”

“His memory is erratic and he has difficulty with numbers. This leads him to make embarrassing mistakes. He addressed Thane Deorman of Norwood as ‘Emma’ and offered him a thousand pounds for his horse. If I’m present, which is nearly always, I laugh and try to brush it off.”