“What?”
Hildred hesitated.
“Never mind,” said Aldred, and he slammed the door.
The ealdorman’s compound was even busier than the town. The army was to leave at dawn, and all the men were getting ready, sharpening arrows and polishing helmets and loading saddlebags with smoked fish and hard cheese.
Edgar noticed that some of the women seemed dressed up, and he wondered why; then it occurred to him that they feared this night might be their last with their husbands, and they wanted to make it a memorable one.
Ragna looked different. The last time Edgar had seen her had been at her wedding, when she had shone with gladness and hope. She was still beautiful, but in a different way. Now the light she radiated was more like that of a full moon, bright but cold. She was as poised and composed as ever, and beautifully dressed in the rich brown color that suited her so well; but a certain girlish enthusiasm had gone, to be replaced by an air of angry determination.
He looked carefully at her figure—never a burdensome task—and decided that she was not yet pregnant. She had been married for only a little more than three months, so it was early days yet.
She welcomed him into her house and gave him bread with soft cheese and a cup of ale. He wanted to know about Wilf and Inge, but he did not dare to ask her such personal questions. Instead he said: “I’ve just been to Outhenham.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Buying stone for the new brewhouse I’m building at Dreng’s Ferry.”
“I’m the new lord of the Vale of Outhen.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to see you. I think you’re being cheated.”
“Go on, please.”
He told her the story of Gab and his sticks. “I can’t prove that you’re being robbed, but I’m sure of it,” he said. “You may want to check.”
“I certainly do. If Dudda the headman is defrauding me that way he’s probably doing it in a dozen other ways, too.”
Edgar had not thought of that. Ragna had an instinct for government, he realized, just as he had an instinct for the construction of shapes in wood and stone. His respect for her rose higher.
She said thoughtfully: “What are the other villagers like? I’ve never been there.”
“There’s an elder called Seric who seems more sensible than most.”
“That’s useful to know. Thank you. And how are you?” Her tone became bright and somewhat brittle. “You’re old enough to be married. Is there a girl in your life?”
Edgar was taken aback. After their conversation at her wedding, when he had told her about Sungifu, how could she ask him alighthearted question about romance? “I’m not planning to marry,” he said shortly.
She sensed his reaction, and said: “I’m sorry. I forgot, for a moment, just how very serious you are, for someone your age.”
“I think we have that in common.”
She thought about that. He feared he had been impudent, but all she said was: “Yes.”
It was an intimate moment, and he was emboldened to say: “Aldred told me about Inge.”
A wounded look came over her lovely face. “It was a shock to me,” she said.
Edgar guessed she was not that frank with everyone, and he felt privileged. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I feel mortified that you’ve been so misled by the English.” In the back of his mind he was thinking that he was not as sad as he should have been. Somehow the idea that Wilf had turned out to be an unsatisfactory husband did not displease him as much as it ought to have. He put the ungenerous thought out of his mind and said: “That’s why I’m so cross about Gab the quarrymaster. You know that we English are not all the same, though, don’t you?”
“Of course. But I only married one.”
Edgar risked a bold question. “Do you still love him?”
She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
He was surprised.
