Ragna’s parents came out of their quarters and sat at the head of the table. Genevieve was not going to be happy about this morning’s news. Hubert would be less dogmatic, but nevertheless his permission would not be readily given. They both had other plans for Ragna. But if necessary she would tell them she had already lost her virginity to Wilwulf, and they would have to give in.

She took some bread, spread it with a paste made of crushed berries and wine, and ate hungrily.

Wilwulf came in and took his place at the table. “I’ve spoken to the captain,” he said to everyone. “We leave in an hour.”

Now, Ragna thought, he will tell them; but he drew his knife, cut a thick slice of ham from a joint, and began to eat. He’ll speak after breakfast, she thought.

Suddenly she was too tense to eat. The bread seemed to stick in her throat, and she had to take a mouthful of cider to help her swallow. Wilwulf was talking to her father about the weather in the Channel and how long it would take to reach Combe, and it was like a speech in a dream, words that made no sense. Too quickly the meal came to an end.

The count and countess decided to walk down to the waterfront and see Wilwulf off, and Ragna joined them, feeling like an invisible spirit, saying nothing and following the crowd, ignored by all. The mayor’s daughter, a girl of her own age, saw her and said: “Lovely day!” Ragna did not reply.

At the water’s edge Wilwulf’s men hitched up their tunics and prepared to wade out to their vessel. Wilwulf turned and smiled at the family group. Now, surely, he would say: “I want to marry Ragna.”

He bowed formally to Hubert, Genevieve, Richard, and finally Ragna. He took both her hands in his and said in halting French: “Thank you for your kindness.” Then, incredibly, he turned away, splashed through the shallows, and climbed aboard the ship.

Ragna could not speak.

The sailors untied the ropes. Ragna could not believe what she was seeing. The crew unfurled the sail. It flapped for a moment then caught the wind and swelled. The ship picked up pace.

Leaning on the rail, Wilwulf waved once, then turned away.

CHAPTER 5

Late July 997

iding through the woods on a summer afternoon, watching the shifting patterns of dappled sunlight on the beaten track ahead, Brother Aldred sang hymns at the top of his voice. In between he talked to his pony, Dismas, asking the beast whether he had enjoyed the last hymn, and what he might like to hear next.

Aldred was a couple of days away from Shiring, and he felt he was returning home in triumph. His mission in life was to bring learning and understanding where before there was blind ignorance. The eight new books in the box strapped to Dismas’s rump, written on parchment and beautifully illustrated, would be the modest foundation of a grand project. Aldred’s dream was to turn Shiring Abbey into a great center of learning and scholarship, with a scriptorium to rival that of Jumièges, a large library, and a school that would teach the sons of noblemen to read, count, and fear God.