Ragna heard the gu-gu-gu screech of an alarmed boar. The dogs went wild and the horses picked up their pace. The chase was on, and Ragna’s heart beat faster.

Boars could run. They were not as fast as horses on cleared ground, but in the woods, zigzagging through the vegetation, they were hard to catch.

Ragna glimpsed the prey crossing a clearing in a group: a big female, five feet long from snout to tail tip, probably weighing more than Ragna herself; plus two or three smaller females and a clutch of little striped piglets that could go surprisingly fast on their short legs. Boar family groups were matriarchal: males lived separately except in the winter rutting season.

The horses loved the thrill of the chase, especially when riding at speed in a pack with the dogs. They crashed through the undergrowth, flattening shrubs and saplings. Ragna rode one-handed, holding the reins in her left while keeping her spear ready in her right. She lowered her head to Astrid’s neck to avoid overhanging branches, which could be more deadly than the boar to a careless rider. But although she rode prudently, she felt reckless, like Skadi, the Norse goddess of hunting, all-powerful and invulnerable, as if nothing bad could happen to her in this state of elation.

The hunt burst out of the woods into a pasture. Cows scattered, lowing, terrified. The horses caught up with the boar in moments. Count Hubert speared one of the lesser females, killing it. Ragna chased a dodging piglet, caught up, leaned down, and speared its hindquarters.

The old female turned dangerously, ready to fight back. Young Richard charged at her fearlessly, but his thrust was wild, and he stuck his spear into the heavily muscled hump. It penetrated only an inch or two then broke. Richard lost his balance and came off his horse, hitting the ground with a thump. The old female charged at him, and Ragna screamed in fear for her brother’s life.

Then Wilwulf came from behind, riding fast, spear raised. He jumped his horse over Richard then leaned perilously low and impaled the boar. The iron went through the beast’s throat into its chest. The point must have reached the heart, for the boar instantly fell dead.

The hunters reined in and dismounted, breathless and happy, congratulating one another. Richard was at first white-faced from his narrow escape, but the young men praised his bravery, and soon he was acting like the hero of the hour. The servants disemboweled the carcasses, and the dogs fell greedily on the guts that spilled onto the ground. There was a strong smell of blood and shit. A peasant appeared, silently furious, and herded his distressed cows into a neighboring field.

The packhorse with its panniers caught up, and the hunters drank thirstily and tore into the loaves.

Wilwulf sat on the ground with a wooden cup in one hand and a chunk of bread in the other. Ragna saw an opportunity to talk, and sat beside him.