Across from Ragna’s house, Aldred was supervising a mixed group of monks and laborers who were pulling up tree stumps and clearing bushes on the site of the proposed new church. He saw Ragna and Blod, and came over. “You’ll have a rival soon,” he said to Blod. “I’m planning to build an alehouse here in the marketplace and lease it to a man from Mudeford.”

Blod said: “Dreng will be outraged.”

“He’s always outraged about something,” Aldred replied. “The town is big enough now for two alehouses. On market days we could do with four.”

Ragna said: “Is an alehouse an appropriate thing for a monastery to own?”

“This one will have no prostitutes,” Aldred said with a severe look.

Blod said: “Good for you.”

Ragna looked toward the river and saw two monks crossing the bridge on horseback. The King’s Bridge monks traveled a lot, now that the monastery owned property all over the south of England, but something about these two made her heart beat faster. Their clothes were grubby, the leather of their baggage looked battered, and their horses were tired. They had come a long way.

Aldred followed Ragna’s gaze, and spoke with a frisson of excitement. “Could those two be William and Athulf, back from Normandy at last?”

If so, Edgar was not with them. Ragna felt the pain of disappointment so severely that she winced as if she had been lashed.

Aldred hurried down the hill to meet them, and Ragna and Blod followed.

The monks dismounted and Aldred embraced them both. “You’ve come safely home,” he said. “Praise God.”

“Amen,” said William.

“Did you find Edgar?”

“Yes, though it took a long time.”

Ragna hardly dared to hope.

Aldred said: “And what did he say to our proposal?”

“He declined the invitation,” William said.

Ragna put her hands over her mouth to stop herself moaning in despair.

Aldred said: “Did he give a reason?”

“No.”

Ragna found her voice. “Is he married?”

“No . . .”

She heard the hesitation. “What, then?”

“People in the town where he’s living say he will marry the daughter of the master mason and eventually become master himself.”

Ragna began to cry. They were all looking at her now, but she cared nothing for her dignity. “He’s made a new life for himself there, then?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And he doesn’t want to leave it.”

“So it seems. I’m sorry.”

Ragna could not contain herself. She burst into sobs. She turned away and hurried up the slope, finding her way through a blur of tears to her house. Inside, she threw herself down in the straw and cried her heart out.

“I’ll go back to Cherbourg,” Ragna said firmly to Blod a week later.

It was a warm day, and the children were splashing in the shallows at the edge of the river. Ragna was sitting on the bench outside the alehouse, watching them and thirstily drinking a cup of Blod’s ale. On the pasture alongside the alehouse, a well-trained dog was watching over a small flock of sheep. The shepherd, Theodberht Clubfoot, was inside.