“Do you often deputize for him?”

“The village of Saint-Martin is special to me. All that district is part of my marriage portion. But yes, I often stand in for my father, there and elsewhere.”

“It would be more usual for his wife to be his deputy.”

“True.”

“Your father likes to do things differently.” He spread his arms to indicate the castle. “This building, for example.”

Ragna could not tell whether Louis was disapproving or just intrigued. “My mother dislikes the work of governing, but I’m fascinated by it.”

Aldred put in: “Women sometimes do it well. King Alfred of England had a daughter called Ethelfled who ruled the great region of Mercia after her husband died. She fortified towns and won battles.”

It occurred to Ragna that she had an opportunity to impress Louis. She could invite him to see how she dealt with the ordinary folk. It was part of the duty of a noblewoman, and she knew she did it well. “Would you care to come with me to Saint-Martin, Father?”

“I would be pleased,” he said immediately.

“On the way, perhaps you can tell me about the household of the count of Reims. I believe he has a son my age.”

“He does indeed.”

Now that her invitation had been accepted, she found she was not looking forward to a day talking to Louis, so she turned to Aldred. “Will you come, too?” she said. “You’ll be back by the evening tide, so if the wind should change during the day you could still leave tonight.”

“I’d be delighted.”

They all got up from the table.

Ragna’s personal maid was a black-haired girl her own age called Cat. She had a tip-tilted nose with a sharp point. Her nostrils looked like the nibs of two quill pens laid side by side. Despite that, she was attractive, with a lively look and a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

Cat helped Ragna take off her silk slippers, then stored them in the chest. The maid then got out linen leggings to protect the skin of Ragna’s calves while riding, and replaced her slippers with leather boots. Finally she handed her a riding whip.

Ragna’s mother came to her. “Be sweet to Father Louis,” she said. “Don’t try to outsmart him—men hate that.”

“Yes, Mother,” Ragna said meekly. Ragna knew perfectly well that women should not try to be clever, but she had broken the rule so often that her mother was entitled to remind her.

She left the keep and made her way to the stables. Four men-at-arms, led by Bern the Giant, were waiting to escort her; the count must have forewarned them. Stable hands had already saddled her favorite horse, a gray mare called Astrid.

Brother Aldred, strapping a leather pad to his pony, looked admiringly at her brass-studded wooden saddle. “It’s nice-looking, but doesn’t it hurt the horse?”

“No,” Ragna said firmly. “The wood spreads the load, whereas a soft saddle gives the horse a sore back.”