Ragna said to Blod: “What a fool. If he prostitutes the poor girl she’s almost certain to get pregnant sooner or later—doesn’t he know that?”

“Who told you Dreng was a rational man?”

“I hope he isn’t going to punish that girl.”

Blod shrugged.

Ragna said: “The law is that a man can’t kill or beat a slave unreasonably.”

“But who says what is unreasonable?”

“I do, usually.”

They heard a cry of pain from inside, then a grunt of rage, then sobbing. Both women got to their feet, then hesitated. There was a silence for several seconds. Blod said: “If that’s all . . .”

Then they heard Mairead scream.

They rushed inside.

She was on the floor, covering her belly with her arms. She had a head wound, and bright red blood was soaking into her dark-red hair. Dreng stood over her, the shovel held in both hands and raised above his head. He was yelling incoherently. His wife, Ethel, was crouching in a corner, watching with a terrified face.

Ragna shouted: “Stop that at once!”

Dreng brought the shovel down hard on Mairead’s body.

Ragna repeated: “Stop that!”

From the corner of her eye she saw Blod grab the oak bucket that was kept on a peg behind the door. As Dreng raised the shovel to hit Mairead again, Blod lifted the heavy bucket to strike him. Then Dreng staggered.

He dropped the shovel, and one hand went to his chest.

Blod lowered the bucket.

Dreng groaned and fell to his knees, saying: “Jesus, it hurts!”

Ragna froze, staring at him. Why was he in pain? He had been giving a beating, not suffering one. Was this an act of a vengeful God?

Dreng toppled forward and fell with his face on the stone surround of the hearth. Ragna leaped to him, grabbed his ankles, and pulled him away from the flames. His body was limp. She rolled him over. His long nose had been smashed in the fall and there was blood all over his mouth and chin.

He was not moving.

She put her hand on his chest. He seemed not to be breathing. She could not feel a heartbeat.

She turned to Mairead. “How badly are you hurt?” she said.

“My head is agony,” she answered. She rolled over and sat upright with one hand on her belly. “But I don’t think he injured the baby.”

Ragna heard Cwenburg’s voice from the doorway. “Father! Father!”

Cwenburg ran in, dropped her basket of fish and fell to her knees beside Dreng. “Speak to me, Father!”

Dreng did not move.

Cwenburg looked over her shoulder at Blod. “You’ve killed him!” She leaped to her feet. “You murdering slave, I’m going to kill you!”

She flew at Blod, but Ragna intervened. She grabbed Cwenburg from behind, grasping both her arms, restraining her. “Stand still!” she commanded.

Cwenburg ceased to struggle but yelled: “She killed him! She hit him with that bucket!”

Blod still had the oak bucket in her hand. “I didn’t hit anyone,” she said. She put the bucket back on its peg. “Your father was the only person doing that.”