It was early evening. A small group sat on the benches outside Dreng’s alehouse, drinking from wooden cups as the sun went down. Edgar still had not tasted the ale, but the customers seemed to like it.

He had met all the villagers now, and he recognized the members of the group. Dean Degbert was talking to his brother, Dreng. Cwenburg and red-faced Bebbe were listening. There were three other women present. Leofgifu, called Leaf, was Cwenburg’s mother; Ethel, a younger woman, was Dreng’s other wife or perhaps concubine; and Blod, who was filling the cups from a jug, was a slave.

As Edgar approached, the slave looked up and said to him in broken Anglo-Saxon: “You want ale?”

Edgar shook his head. “I’ve no money.”

The others looked at him. Cwenburg said with a sneer: “Why have you come to an alehouse if you can’t afford a cup of ale?”

Clearly she was still smarting from Edgar’s rejection of her advances. He had made an enemy. He groaned inwardly.

Addressing the group, rather than Cwenburg herself, he said humbly: “My mother asks to borrow a length of stout cord to mend her shoe.”

Cwenburg said: “Tell her to make her own cord.”

The others were silent, watching.

Edgar was embarrassed, but he stood his ground. “The loan would be a kindness,” he said through gritted teeth. “We will repay it when we get back on our feet.”

“If that ever happens,” Cwenburg said.

Leaf made an impatient noise. She looked about thirty, so she must have been fifteen when she gave birth to Cwenburg. She had once been pretty, Edgar guessed, but now she looked as if she drank too much of her own strong brew. However, she was sober enough to be embarrassed by her daughter’s rudeness. “Don’t be so unneighborly, girl,” she said.

Dreng said angrily: “Leave her alone. She’s all right.”

He was an indulgent father, Edgar noted; that might account for his daughter’s behavior.

Leaf stood up. “Come inside,” she said to Edgar in a kindly tone. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He followed her into the house. She drew a cup of ale from a barrel and handed it to him. “Free of charge,” she said.

“Thank you.” He took a mouthful. It lived up to its reputation: it was tasty, and it instantly lifted his spirits. He drained the cup and said: “That’s very good.”

She smiled.

It crossed Edgar’s mind that Leaf might have the same kind of designs on him as her daughter. He was not vain and did not believe that all women must be attracted to him; but he guessed that in a small place every new man must be of interest to the women.

However, Leaf turned away and rummaged in a chest. A moment later she came up with a yard of string. “Here you are.”

She was just being kind, he realized. “It’s most neighborly of you,” he said.

She took his empty cup. “My best wishes to your mother. She’s a brave woman.”