To enforce this and any other edicts, she dismissed Dudda and appointed a new headman, one of the elders of the village, the roly-poly alehouse keeper Eanfrid. A taverner was usually a good choice for headman: his house was already the center of village life and he himself was often a figure of unofficial authority. Eanfrid was also good humored and well liked.

Sitting outside the alehouse with a cup of cider she talked to Eanfrid about her income from the quarry, which had fallen since Edgar left. “Edgar is just one of those people who does everything well,” said Eanfrid. “Find us another one like him and we’ll sell more stone.”

“There isn’t another one like Edgar,” said Ragna with a sad smile.

They went on to discuss a murrain that had killed a number of sheep, and which Ragna thought was caused by grazing them on wet clay soil; but their conversation was interrupted. Eanfrid cocked his head, and a moment later Ragna heard what had caught his attention: the sound of thirty or more horses approaching, not cantering or even trotting but walking with weary steps. It was the noise made by a wealthy nobleman and his entourage on a long journey.

The autumn sun was red in the west: the visitors would undoubtedly decide to stay the night at Outhenham. The village would welcome them with mixed feelings. Travelers brought silver: they would buy food and drink, and pay for accommodation. But they might also get drunk and pester girls and start fights.

Ragna and Eanfrid stood up. A minute later the horsemen appeared, winding through the houses to the center of the village.

At their head was Wigelm.

Ragna was possessed by fear. This was the man who had imprisoned her, raped her, and stolen her child. What new torture had he devised for her? She controlled her trembling. She had always stood up to him. She would do so again.

Riding beside Wigelm was his nephew, Garulf, the son of Wilwulf and Inge. He was twenty-five now, but Ragna knew that he was no wiser than he had been as an adolescent. He looked like Wilf, with the fair beard and broad-shouldered swagger of the family men. She winced to think she had married two of them.

Eanfrid murmured: “What does Wigelm want here?”

“Only God knows,” Ragna replied in a shaky voice, then she added: “And maybe Satan.”

Wigelm reined in his dusty horse. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Ragna,” he said.

She was somewhat relieved. His remark indicated that he had not planned this meeting. Any evil he tried to do her would be improvised. “I don’t know why you’d be surprised,” she said. “I’m lord of the Vale of Outhen. What do you want here?”

“I’m ealdorman of Shiring, I’m traveling in my territory, and I intend to spend the night here.”

“Outhenham welcomes you, Ealdorman Wigelm,” Ragna said with cold formality. “Please enter the alehouse and take refreshment.”