Watching them, Ragna experienced a rare moment of contentment. These boys would grow up to be men like her father, she thought: strong but not cruel, wise but not sly. If they became rulers, they would enforce the laws, not their own whims. They would love women without using them. They would be respected, not feared.

Her mood was soon spoiled. Wigelm approached her and said: “I must speak to you.”

Wigelm might have been mistaken for Wilf, though not for long. He had the same big nose, fair mustache, and jutting chin, and he walked with the same swagger; but he had none of Wilf’s easy charm, and always looked as though he were on the point of making a complaint.

Ragna was certain that Wigelm had been involved somehow in the murder of Wilf. She might never know the details, now that Carwen had been killed, but she had no doubt. She felt a loathing so intense that it nauseated her. “I have no wish to talk to you,” she said. “Go away.”

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said.

She was mystified. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re an angel. There is no one like you.”

“This is a crude joke.” She looked around. “Your dopey friends are at the side of the house, listening and sniggering, hoping you’ll make a fool of me. Go away.”

He produced an arm ring from inside his tunic. “I thought you might like to have this.” He offered it to her.

She took it. It was silver with an engraved pattern of intertwining serpents, beautifully done, and she recognized it instantly. It was the one she had bought from Cuthbert and given to Wilf on their wedding day.

Wigelm said: “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Why? You stole Wilf’s treasury and found this in the chest. But I’m Wilf’s heir, so the arm ring is already mine. I won’t thank you until you give me back everything.”

“That might be possible.”

Here it comes, she thought. Now I’ll find out what he really wants. She said: “Possible? How?”

“Marry me.”

She let out a short, sharp laugh, shocked by the absurdity of the proposal. “Ridiculous!” she said.

Wigelm flushed angrily, and she sensed that he wanted to hit her. He clenched his fists but restrained himself from raising them. “Do not dare to call me ridiculous,” he said.

“But you’re already married—to Milly, Inge’s sister.”

“I have put her aside.”

“I’m afraid I don’t like your English ‘putting aside.’”

“You’re not in Normandy now.”

“Doesn’t the English Church forbid the marriage of a widow to a near kinsman? You’re my brother-in-law.”

“Half brother-in-law. That’s separation enough, according to Bishop Wynstan.”

She realized she had taken the wrong tack. People like Wigelm could always find ways around the rules. Feeling exasperated, she said: “You don’t love me! You don’t even like me.”

“But our marriage will solve a political problem.”