“They must have taken the coast road, as Ethelred didn’t pass through Shiring this time.”

“Correct.”

“Has the king held court anywhere in the Shiring region?”

“Not as far as we know. He has neither confirmed Wigelm as ealdorman nor issued any new orders about Ragna.”

“Hell. She’s been a prisoner for nearly ten months now.”

“I’m sorry, Edgar. Sorry for her and sorry for you.”

Edgar did not want anyone’s pity. He glanced toward the tavern and saw Dreng outside. He was standing near Bebbe but looking at Edgar and Aldred. Edgar shouted: “What are you staring at?”

“You two,” Dreng said. “Wondering what you’re plotting now.”

“We’re building a bridge.”

“Aye,” said Dreng. “Take care, though. It would be a shame if this one were to burn down, too.” He laughed, then turned around and went inside.

Edgar said: “I hope he goes to hell.”

“Oh, he will,” said Aldred. “But while we wait for that I have another plan.”

Aldred went to Shiring and returned a week later with Sheriff Den and six men-at-arms.

Edgar heard the horses and looked up from his work. Blod came out of the brewhouse to see. Within a couple of minutes most of the village had gathered at the riverside. Despite the season the weather was cool, with a chill breeze. The sky was gray and threatened rain.

The men-at-arms were grim-faced and silent. Two of them dug a narrow hole in the ground outside the alehouse and fixed a stake into it. The villagers asked questions but got no answers, which made them all the more curious.

However, they could guess that someone was about to be punished.

Edgar’s brothers had got wind that something was happening, and showed up with Cwenburg and the children.

When the stake was firmly embedded, the men-at-arms seized Dreng.

“You let me go!” he shouted, struggling.

They pulled off his clothes, causing everyone to laugh.

“My cousin is the bishop of Shiring!” he yelled. “You’ll all pay a heavy price for this!”

Ethel, Dreng’s surviving wife, rained feeble blows on the men-at-arms with her fist, saying: “Leave him alone!”

They ignored her and roped her husband to the stake.

Blod looked on expressionlessly.

Prior Aldred spoke to the crowd. “King Ethelred has ordered a bridge to be built here,” he said. “Dreng threatened to burn it down.”

“I did not!” said Dreng.

Fat Bebbe was watching. “You did, though,” she said. “I was there, I heard you.”

Sheriff Den said: “I represent the king. He is not to be defied.”

Everyone knew that.

“I want each person to go home, find a bucket or a pot, and bring it back here, quickly.”

The villagers and the monks obeyed with alacrity. They were keen to see what was going to happen. Among the few who declined to join in were Cwenburg, Dreng’s daughter, and her two husbands, Erman and Eadbald.

When they had reassembled, Den said: “Dreng threatened a fire. We will now put out his flames. Everyone, fill your vessel from the river and pour the water over Dreng.”