He must have shown it for she said: “I know. He’s deceived me, and he’s unfaithful, but I love him.”
“I see,” he said, though he did not.
“You shouldn’t be shocked,” she said. “You love a dead woman.”
That was harsh, but they were having a frank conversation. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.
Suddenly she seemed to feel they had gone far enough. She stood up and said: “I have a lot to do.”
“I’m glad to have seen you. Thank you for the cheese.” He turned to go.
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you for telling me about the quarrymaster at Outhenham. I appreciate it.”
He felt a glow of satisfaction.
To his surprise she kissed his cheek. “Good-bye,” she said. “I hope I see you again soon.”
In the morning Aldred and Edgar went out to see the army ride off.
Aldred was still chewing over the mystery of Dreng’s Ferry. The place had something to hide. He had wondered why the ordinary villagers there were hostile to strangers. It was because they were guarding a secret—all except Edgar and his family, who were not in on it.
Aldred was determined to get to the bottom of it.
Edgar had with him the sack of lime he was going to carry for the next two days. “It’s a good thing you’re strong,” Aldred said. “I’m not sure I could carry it for two hours.”
“I’ll manage,” said Edgar. “It was worth it for the chance to talk to Ragna.”
“You’re fond of her.”
Edgar’s hazel eyes twinkled in a way that made Aldred’s heart beat faster. “Not in the way you seem to imply,” Edgar said. “Whichis just as well, since the daughters of counts never marry the sons of boatbuilders.”
Aldred was familiar with impossible love. He almost said so, but bit his tongue. He did not want his tendresse for Edgar to become embarrassing to them both. That might end their friendship, and friendship was all he had.
He glanced at Edgar and saw, with relief, that his expression was untroubled.
There was a noise from up the hill, hoofbeats and cheering. The sound got louder, then the army appeared. At its head was a big iron-gray stallion with a mad look in its eye. Its rider, in a red cloak, was surely Wilf, but his identity was hidden by a gleaming full-face helmet with a plume. Looking more closely, Aldred saw that the helmet was made of more than one metal, and was engraved with complex designs that could not be made out at a distance. It was decorative, Aldred guessed, intended to impress: Wilf would probably wear a less valuable one into battle.
Wilf’s brother Wigelm and son, Garulf, came next, riding side by side; then the men-at-arms, dressed less finely but still showing some bright colors. After them came a crowd of young men on foot, peasant boys and poor town lads, dressed in the usual worn brown tunics, most armed with homemade wooden spears, others having nothing more than a kitchen knife or a hand ax, all hoping to change their fortunes in battle and come home with a bag of looted jewelry or a valuable pair of teenage captives to sell as slaves.
They all crossed the square, waving at the townspeople, who clapped and cheered as they went by; then they disappeared to the north.
Edgar was going east. He shouldered his sack and took his leave.
Aldred returned to the abbey. It was almost time for the service of Terce, but he was summoned to Abbot Osmund.
As usual, Hildred was with the abbot.
Aldred thought: What now?
Osmund said: “I’ll get right to the point, Brother Aldred. I don’t want you to make an enemy of Bishop Wynstan.”
Aldred understood immediately, but pretended not to. “The bishop is our brother in Christ, of course.”
Osmund was too smart to be diverted by this sort of platitude. “You were overheard talking to that lad from Dreng’s Ferry.”
“Yes. I caught Brother Hildred eavesdropping.”
Hildred said: “And a good thing, too! You were plotting against your abbot!”
