“He can’t ride at the moment. That’s why he’s not here.”
“She knows that, but she will pretend to be surprised.”
“Crafty.”
“Then someone will say that the only alternative is Sheriff Den.”
“Her strongest ally. Dear God, with her running the court and Den commanding the army, Wilf’s family would be practically impotent.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“But now I’m forewarned.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know yet.” He would not have confided in her in any case. “But I’ll think of something, thanks to you.”
“I’m glad.”
“This is a dangerous time. You must tell me everything she does from now on. It’s really important.”
“You can count on me.”
“Go back to the compound and keep listening.”
“I will.”
“Thank you, my little mouse.” He kissed her lips then ushered her out.
The court formed a small group. This was not one of the regular meetings, and there had been no more than an hour’s notice. But the most important thanes had arrived with the army. Ragna held court in front of the great hall, sitting on the cushioned stool usually occupied by Wilwulf. Her choice of seat was deliberate.
However, she stood up to speak. Her height was an advantage. Leaders needed to be smart, not tall, she believed; but she had noticed that men were readier to defer to a tall person, and as a woman she used any weapon that came to hand.
She was wearing a brown-black dress, dark for authority, a bit loose so that her figure was not accentuated. All her jewelry today was chunky: pendant, bangles, brooch, rings. She had on nothing feminine, nothing dainty. She was dressed to rule.
The morning was her preferred time for meetings. The men were more sensible, less boisterous, having drunk only a cup of weak ale with their breakfast. They could be much more difficult after the midday meal.
“The ealdorman is seriously wounded, but we have every hope that he will recover,” she said. “He was fighting a Viking when he slipped in the riverside mud, and his horse kicked him in the head.” Most of them would know that already, but she said it to show them that she was not ignorant of the haphazard nature of battle. “You all know how easily something like that can happen.” She was gratified to see nods of approval. “The Viking died,” she added. “His soul is now suffering the agonies of hell.” Once again she saw that they approved of her words.
“In order to recover, Wilf needs peace and quiet and, most importantly, he must lie still so that his skull can mend. That is why my door is barred from the inside. When he wants to see someone, he will tell me, and I will summon the person. No one will be admitted unless invited.”
She knew that this news would be unwelcome, and she was expecting some opposition.
Sure enough, Wynstan pushed back. “You can’t keep the ealdorman’s brothers away.”
“I can’t keep anyone away. All I can do is follow Wilf’s orders. He will see whomever he wants, of course.”
Garulf, Wilf’s twenty-year-old son by Inge, said: “That’s not right. You could tell us to do anything, and pretend the orders came from him.”
That was exactly what Ragna intended.
She had expected someone to make this point, and she was glad it came from a lad rather than a respected older man: this made it easier to dismiss.
Garulf went on: “He might be dead. How would we know?”
“By the smell,” Ragna said crisply. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
Gytha spoke up. “Why did you refuse to let Father Godmaer perform the trepanning operation?
