However, like most bullies Dreng was a coward when confronted by someone stronger. The anger gave way to fear, and he lowered his fist.

Blod made herself scarce.

Edgar handed the bucket to Ethel. She poured water into a cooking pot, hung the pot over the fire, added oats to the water, and stirred the mixture with a wooden stick.

Dreng stared at Edgar malevolently. Edgar guessed he would never be forgiven for coming between Dreng and his slave, but he could not find it in his heart to regret what he had done, even though he would probably suffer for it.

When the porridge was ready Ethel ladled it into five bowls. She chopped some ham and added it to one of the bowls, then gave that to Dreng. She handed the others around.

They ate in silence.

Edgar finished his in seconds. He looked over at the pot, then at Ethel. She said nothing but discreetly shook her head. There was no more.

It was Sunday, and after breakfast everyone went to church.

Ma was there with Erman and Eadbald and their shared wife, Cwenburg. The twenty-five or so residents of the hamlet all knew by now of the polyandrous marriage, but no one said much about it. Edgar had gathered, from overheard fragments of conversation, that it was considered unusual but not outrageous. He had heard Bebbe say the same as Leaf: “If a man can have two wives, a woman can have two husbands.”

Seeing Cwenburg standing between Erman and Eadbald, Edgar was struck by the difference in their clothes. The homespun knee-length tunics of his brothers, the brownish color of undyed wool, were old, worn, and patched, just like his own; but Cwenburg had a dress of closely woven cloth, bleached and then dyed a pinkish red. Her father was miserly with everyone but her.

Edgar stood beside Ma. In the past she had never been noticeably devout, but nowadays she seemed to take the service more seriously, bowing her head and closing her eyes as Degbert and the other clergy went through their ritual, her reverence undiminished by their carelessness and haste.

“You’ve become more religious,” he said to her as the service came to an end.

She looked at him speculatively, as if wondering whether to confide in him, and seemed to decide he might understand. “I think about your father,” she said. “I believe he is with the angels above.”

Edgar did not really understand. “You can think about him whenever you like.”

“But this seems the best place and time. I feel I’m not so far away from him. Then, during the week, when I miss him, I can look forward to Sunday.”

Edgar nodded. That made sense to him.

Ma said: “How about you? Do you think of him?”

“When I’m working, and have a problem to solve, a joint that won’t close or a blade that won’t come sharp, I think: ‘I’ll ask Pa.’ Then I remember that I can’t. It happens almost every day.”