Ragna’s own feelings were even more mixed. In the five months that he had been away, her feelings for Wilf had hardened from disappointment and sadness to anger and disgust. She had tried not to hate him, tried to remember how much they had loved each other once; then something had happened that tipped the balance. During his absence Wilf sent her no message, but a wounded soldier had returned to Shiring with a looted Viking bangle as a gift from Wilf to his slave girl, Carwen. Ragna had wept, she had stormed and raged, and finally she had just felt numb.
Yet she feared his death. He was the father of her three sons, and they needed him.
Wilf’s stepmother, Gytha, well-dressed in her habitual red, came and stood a yard away from Ragna. Inge, his first wife, and Carwen, his slave girl, followed close behind. Inge had made the mistake of dressing down while the men were away, and now she looked shabby. Young Carwen, who felt constrained in the floor-length dresses of English women, wore a colorless shift as short as a man’s tunic, and her bare feet were dirty: the poor girl looked as if she would be more at home with the children playing in the pond.
If Wilf was alive, Ragna felt sure he would greet her first: anything else would be a gross insult to his official wife. But who would hespend tonight with? No doubt they were all wondering that. The thought further soured Ragna’s mood.
The noise from the town had at first sounded like a celebration, male roars of welcome and female squeals of delight, but now Ragna realized that there was no triumphant braying of horns or thudding of vainglorious drums, and there was a discouraged feel to the hoofbeats. The exultant greetings turned into exclamations of dismay.
She frowned, concerned. Something had gone wrong.
The army appeared at the entrance to the compound. Ragna saw a cart drawn by an ox, with two men riding on each side. A driver sat at the front of the vehicle. Behind him on the flat bed of the cart was a supine form. It was a man, Ragna saw, and she recognized the fair hair and beard of Wilf. She let out a short scream: was he dead?
The entourage was moving slowly, and Ragna could not wait. She ran across the compound, and heard the other women behind her. All her resentment of Wilf for his infidelity faded into the background, and she felt nothing but excruciating worry.
She reached the cart and the procession stopped. She stared at Wilf: his eyes were closed.
She hitched up her skirts and leaped onto the cart. Kneeling beside Wilf she leaned over him, touched his face, and looked at his closed eyes. His face was deathly pale. She could not tell whether he was breathing. “Wilf,” she said. “Wilf.”
There was no response.
He was lying on a stretcher placed on top of a pile of blankets and cushions. Ragna scanned his body. The shoulders of his tunic were dark with old blood. She looked more closely at his head and sawthat it seemed misshapen. He had a swelling, or perhaps more than one, on his skull. He had suffered a head injury. That was ominous.
She looked at the outriders but they said nothing and she could not read their expressions. Perhaps they did not know whether he was alive or dead.
“Wilf,” she said. “It’s me, Ragna.”
The corners of his mouth were touched by the ghost of a smile. His lips opened and he murmured: “Ragna.”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s me. You’re alive, thank God!”
He opened his mouth to speak again. She leaned closer to hear. He said: “Am I home?”
“Yes,” she said, weeping. “You’re home.”
“Good.”
She looked up. Everyone seemed to be waiting. She realized she was the one who must decide what should be done next.
In the next instant she realized something more: while Wilwulf was incapacitated,whoever had his body also had his power.
“Drive the cart to my house,” she said.
The carter cracked his whip and the ox lumbered forward. The cart was drawn across the compound to Ragna’s house. Cat, Agnes, and Bern stood at the door, and Osbert was half hiding in Cat’s skirts. The escort dismounted, and the four men gently picked up the stretcher and Wilf.
“Stop!” said Gytha.
The four men stood still and looked at her.
She said: “He must go to my house. I will take care of him.”
She had come to the same realization as Ragna, but not so quickly.
Gytha gave Ragna an insincere smile and said: “You have so much else to do.”
Ragna said: “Don’t be ridiculous.” She could hear the venom in her own voice. “I am hiswife.” She turned to the four men. “Take him inside.”
They obeyed Ragna. Gytha said no more.
