Hanging on pegs next to the tools were several sticks with notches. Edgar said: “I suppose you keep a tally stick for each customer.”

“What business is that of yours?”

“Sorry.” Edgar did not want to appear nosy. However, he could not help noticing that the newest stick had only five notches. Could it be that Gab recorded only half the stones he sold? That would save him a lot in taxes.

But it was no business of Edgar’s if Gab was cheating his lord. The Vale of Outhen was part of the ealdormanry of Shiring, and Ealdorman Wilwulf was rich enough already.

Edgar ate a hearty breakfast, thanked Bee, and set out to walk home.

From Outhenham he thought he could find his way easily, having already made the journey in the opposite direction, but to his dismay he got lost again. Because of the delay it was near dark when he arrived home, thirsty and hungry and weary.

In the alehouse they were getting ready to go to sleep. Ethel smiled at him, Leaf gave a slurred welcome, and Dreng ignored him. Blod was stacking firewood. She stopped what she was doing, straightened up, put her left hand on the back of her hip, and stretched her body as if easing an ache. When she turned around, Edgar saw that she had a black eye.

“What happened to you?” he said.

She did not answer, pretending not to understand. But Edgar could guess how she had got it. Dreng had been more and more angry with her in the last few weeks, as her time approached. There was nothing unusual about a man using violence on his family, of course, and Edgar had seen Dreng kick Leaf’s backside and slap Ethel’s face, but he had a special malice toward Blod.

“Is there any supper left?” Edgar asked.

Dreng said: “No.”

“But I’ve been walking all day.”

“That’ll teach you not to be late.”

“I was on an errand for you!”

“And you get paid, and there’s nothing left, so shut your mouth.”

Edgar went to bed hungry.

Blod was up first in the morning. She went to the river for fresh water, always her first chore of the day. The bucket was made of wood with iron rivets, and it was heavy even when empty. Edgar was putting his shoes on when she came back. He saw that she was struggling, and he moved to take the bucket from her, but before he could do so, she stumbled over Dreng, lying half asleep, and water sloshed from the bucket onto his face.

“You dumb cunt!” he roared.

He jumped up. Blod cowered away. Dreng raised his fist. Then Edgar stepped between them, saying: “Give me the bucket, Blod.”

There was fury in Dreng’s eyes. For a moment Edgar thought the man was going to punch him instead of Blod. Dreng was strong, despite the bad back he mentioned so often: he was tall, with big shoulders. Nevertheless, Edgar made a split-second decision to hit back if attacked. He would undoubtedly be punished, but he would have the satisfaction of knocking Dreng to the ground.