“If that’s such a smart idea, why aren’t all boats built that way?”

“Because most boats have to cut through the waves and currents at speed. That doesn’t apply to the ferry. There are no waves here, the current is steady but not strong, and speed is not the main issue in a journey of fifty yards.”

Dreng grunted, then pointed at the strakes forming the sides of the boat. “I assume the rails will be higher than that.”

“No. There are no waves, so the boat doesn’t need high sides.”

“Boats are usually pointed at the front end. This one seems blunt at both ends.”

“Same reason—it doesn’t need to cut through the water fast. And the square ends make it easier to get on and off. That’s also the reason for the ramps. Even cattle can board this boat.”

“Does it need to be so wide?”

“To take a cart, yes.” Trying to win a word of approval, Edgar added: “The ferry across the estuary at Combe charges a farthing per wheel: one farthing for a wheelbarrow, a halfpenny for a handcart, and a whole penny for an oxcart.”

A greedy look passed across Dreng’s face, but he said: “We don’t get many carts.”

“They all go to Mudeford because your old boat couldn’t manage them. You’ll see more with this one, you wait.”

“I doubt it,” Dreng said. “And it will be damnably heavy to paddle.”

“It won’t have paddles.” Edgar pointed to two long poles. “The river is never more than about six feet deep, so the ferry can be poled across. One strong man can do it.”

“I can’t, I’ve got a bad back.”

“Two women could do it working together. That’s why I made two poles.”

Some of the villagers had drifted down to the river to stare curiously. One of them was the clergyman-jeweler, Cuthbert. He was skilled and knowledgeable, but a timid and unsociable man who was bullied by his master, Degbert. Edgar often spoke to Cuthbert, but got monosyllabic replies except when discussing issues of craftsmanship. Now Cuthbert said: “Did you do all this with a Viking ax?”

“It’s all I’ve got,” said Edgar. “The back of the head serves me as a hammer. And I keep the blade sharp, which is the main thing.”

Cuthbert looked impressed. He said: “How will you fix the strakes to one another edge to edge?”

“I’ll peg them to a timber skeleton.”

“With iron nails?”

Edgar shook his head. “I’ll use treenails.” A treenail was a wooden peg with split ends. The peg was inserted in a hole, then wedges were hammered into the split ends, widening the peg until it was a tight fit. After that the protruding ends of the peg were cut off flush with the strake to make a smooth surface.

“That will work,” said Cuthbert. “But you’ll need to waterproof the joins.”

“I’ll have to go to Combe and buy a barrel of tar and a sack of raw wool.”