Edgar went out. Degbert, evidently having been relaxed by what he was drinking, was holding forth. “According to the calendars, we are in the nine hundred and ninety-seventh year of our Lord,” he said. “Jesus is nine hundred and ninety-seven years old. In three years’ time it will be the millennium.”

Edgar understood numbers, and he could not let that pass. “Wasn’t Jesus born in the year one?” he said.

“He was,” said Degbert. He added snootily: “Every educated man knows that.”

“Then he must have had his first birthday in year two.”

Degbert began to look unsure.

Edgar went on: “In year three, he became two years old, and so on. So this year, nine hundred and ninety-seven, he becomes nine hundred and ninety-six.”

Degbert blustered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you arrogant young pup.”

A quiet voice in the back of Edgar’s mind told him not to argue, but the voice was overwhelmed by his wish to correct an arithmetical error. “No, no,” he said. “In fact Jesus’ birthday will be on Christmas Day, so as of now he’s still only nine hundred and ninety-five and a half.”

Leaf, watching from the doorway, grinned and said: “He’s got you there, Degsy.”

Degbert was livid. “How dare you speak like that to a priest?” he said to Edgar. “Who do you think you are? You can’t even read!”

“No, but I can count,” Edgar said stubbornly.

Dreng said: “Take your string and be off with you, and don’t come back until you’ve learned to respect your elders and betters.”

“It’s just numbers,” Edgar said, backtracking when it was too late. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

Degbert said: “Get out of my sight.”

Dreng added: “Go on, get lost.”

Edgar turned and walked away, heading back along the riverbank, despondent. His family needed all the help it could get, but he had now made two enemies.

Why had he opened his fool mouth?

CHAPTER 4

Early July 997

he Lady Ragnhild, daughter of Count Hubert of Cherbourg, was sitting between an English monk and a French priest. Ragna, as she was called, found the monk interesting and the priest pompous—but the priest was the one she was supposed to charm.

It was the time of the midday meal at Cherbourg Castle. The imposing stone fort stood at the top of the hill overlooking the harbor. Ragna’s father was proud of the building. It was innovative and unusual.

Count Hubert was proud of many things. He cherished his warlike Viking heritage, but he was more gratified by the way the Vikings had become Normans, with their own version of the French language. Most of all, he valued the way they had adopted Christianity, restoring the churches and monasteries that had been sacked by their ancestors. In a hundred years the former pirates had created a law-abiding civilization the equal of anything in Europe.

The long trestle table stood in the great hall, on the upstairs floor of the castle. It was covered with white linen cloths that reached to the floor. Ragna’s parents sat at the head. Her mother’s name was Ginnlaug, but she had changed it to the more French-sounding Genevieve to please her husband.