“No.”
She held up her right hand with three fingers sticking up. “How many fingers?”
“Three.”
She lifted her left hand with four fingers showing. “How many altogether?”
“Six.”
Ragna was dismayed. “Wilf, can you not see clearly?”
He made no reply.
Hildi said: “His eyesight is fine, but I’m not sure about his mind.”
“God save him.”
Hildi said: “Wilwulf, what is your wife’s name?”
“Ragna.” He smiled.
That was a relief.
“What’s the king’s name?”
There was a long pause, then he said: “King.”
“And his wife?”
“I forget.”
“Can you name one of Jesus’ brothers?”
“Saint Peter.”
Everyone knew that Jesus’s brothers were James, Joseph, Jude, and Simeon.
“What number comes after nineteen?”
“Don’t know.”
“Rest now, Ealdorman Wilwulf.”
Wilf closed his eyes.
Ragna said: “Will the wound heal?”
“The skin will grow back and cover the hole, but I don’t know whether the bone will regrow. He needs to keep as still as possible for several weeks.”
“I’ll make sure of that.”
“It will help to tie a bandage around his head, to reduce movement. Give him watered wine or weak ale to drink, and feed him soup.”
“I will.”
“The most worrying sign is the loss of much of his memory, and it’s hard to say how serious that is. He remembers your name, but not the king’s. He can count up to three but not to seven, and certainly not to twenty. There’s nothing you can do about that but pray. After a head wound, sometimes people recover all their mental abilities, and sometimes they don’t. I know no more than that.” She looked up, noticing someone else entering, and she added: “And nor does anyone else.”
Ragna followed her glance. Gytha had come in with Father Godmaer, a priest at the cathedral who had studied medicine. He was a big, heavy man with a shaved head. A younger priest followedhim in. “What is that midwife doing here?” said Godmaer. “Stand aside, woman. Let me look at the patient.”
