They stopped twice more at intervals of several hours.

That evening they arrived at Wilwulf’s hunting lodge in the forest.

Ragna had been there before, in the happy, early days of her marriage. She had always loved hunting, and it had reminded her of when she had hunted with Wilf in Normandy, and they had killed a boar together and then kissed passionately for the first time. But after the marriage started to go wrong, she had lost her enthusiasm for the chase.

The lodge was remote and isolated, she recalled. There were stables, kennels, stores, and a large house. A caretaker and his wife lived in one of the smaller buildings, but other than them no one had any reason to come here unless there was a hunting party.

Ragna and the others were carried into the big house and untied. The caretaker nailed boards over the two windows, making it impossible to open the shutters, and fixed a bar to the outside of the door. His wife brought a pot of porridge for their supper. Then they were left until morning.

That had been two months ago.

Agnes always brought them their food. They were allowed to exercise once a day, but Ragna was never let out at the same time as the children. There were always two of Wigelm’s personal bodyguard outside, Fulcric and Elfgar. As far as Ragna could tell there were never visitors.

Wigelm and Wynstan could not have done this to an English noblewoman. She would have had a powerful family, parents and siblings and cousins with money and men-at-arms, who would have come looking for her, would have demanded that the king enforce her rights, and failing that would have come to Shiring with an army. Ragna was vulnerable because her family was too far away to intervene.

Agnes enjoyed bringing bad news with the food. “Your boyfriend Edgar kicked up a fuss,” she had said early on.

“I knew he would,” Ragna had replied.

Cat had added: “He is a loyal friend.”

Agnes ignored that jibe. “He got beaten black and blue,” she said with malign satisfaction. “Fulcric held him still while Wigelm beat him with a club.”

Ragna whispered: “God save him.”

“I don’t know about God, but Gilda took him to Sheriff Den’s place. He couldn’t stand upright for twenty-four hours.”

At least he was alive, Ragna thought. Wigelm had not killed him. Already in trouble with the king, Wigelm had perhaps not wanted to add to his list of offenses.

Agnes was malign, but Ragna could beguile her into revealing information. “They can’t hide us here long,” she had said one day. “People know Wilwulf had a hunting lodge here—soon someone will show up looking for us.”

“No, they won’t,” Agnes had said with a triumphant look. “Wigelm has told people that this place burned down. He has even built a new hunting lodge near Outhenham. He says the game is more abundant there.”

That had been Wynstan’s idea, Ragna thought in despair; Wigelm was not clever enough to have thought of it.