“And do you propose a course of action?”

“There is only one. Ragna must marry Wigelm. Then Wigelm has no rivals.”

“Of course, that would resolve the issue,” said Ethelred. “But I’m not going to do it.”

Wynstan burst out: “Why on earth not?”

“First, because she has set her face against it. She might well refuse to take the vows.”

“You may leave it to me to deal with that,” Wynstan said. He knew how to make people do what they did not want to do.

Ethelred looked disapproving, but did not comment. Instead he said: “Second, because I have promised my wife that I will not force the marriage.”

Wynstan gave a man-to-man chuckle. “My lord king, a promise to a woman . . .”

“You don’t know much about marriage, do you, bishop?”

Wynstan bowed his head. “Of course not, my lord king.”

“I’m not willing to break my promise to my wife.”

“I understand.”

“Go away and think of a different solution.” Ethelred turned away dismissively.

Wynstan and Gytha bowed and left the house.

As soon as they were out of earshot Wynstan said: “So one troublemaking Norman bitch supports the other!”

Gytha said nothing. Wynstan glanced at his mother. She was deep in thought.

They went to Gytha’s house, and she poured a cup of wine for him.

He took a long draught and said. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“I have a suggestion,” said Gytha.

Wynstan came to Ragna’s house and said: “We need to have a serious talk.”

She looked at him with suspicion. He wanted something, of course. “Don’t ask me to marry your brother,” she said.

“I don’t think you understand your situation.”

He was his usual arrogant self, except that he touched his pectoral cross. She thought that was a sign of a hidden lack of confidence, which was unusual in Wynstan. She said: “Enlighten me.”

“You can leave here any time you like.”

“The king said so.”

“And you can take Wilwulf’s children.”

It took a moment for her to see the implication, but when she did she was horrified. “I will take all my children!” she said. “Including Alain.”

“You’re not being offered that option.” Wynstan touched the cross again. “You can leave Shiring, but you can’t take the ealdorman’s only son with you.”

“He’s my baby!”

“He is, and naturally you want to raise him yourself. That’s why you have to marry Wigelm.”

“Never.”

“Then you must leave your baby here. There is no third choice.”

A cold weight settled in the pit of Ragna’s stomach. Involuntarily she looked over at the cradle, as if to make sure Alain was still there. He was sleeping soundly.

Wynstan put on a treacly voice. “He’s a beautiful baby. Even I can see that.”

There was something so malign in the insincere compliment that Ragna felt nauseated.

“I have to raise him,” Ragna said. “I’m his mother.”

“There’s no shortage of mothers. Gytha, my own mother, is longing to take charge of her first grandchild.”