He was an indulgent father, Edgar noted; that might account for his daughter’s behavior.
Leaf stood up. “Come inside,” she said to Edgar in a kindly tone. “I’ll see what I can find.”
He followed her into the house. She drew a cup of ale from a barrel and handed it to him. “Free of charge,” she said.
“Thank you.” He took a mouthful. It lived up to its reputation: it was tasty, and it instantly lifted his spirits. He drained the cup and said: “That’s very good.”
She smiled.
It crossed Edgar’s mind that Leaf might have the same kind of designs on him as her daughter. He was not vain and did not believe that all women must be attracted to him; but he guessed that in a small place every new man must be of interest to the women.
However, Leaf turned away and rummaged in a chest. A moment later she came up with a yard of string. “Here you are.”
She was just being kind, he realized. “It’s most neighborly of you,” he said.
She took his empty cup. “My best wishes to your mother. She’s a brave woman.”
Edgar went out. Degbert, evidently having been relaxed by what he was drinking, was holding forth. “According to the calendars, we are in the nine hundred and ninety-seventh year of our Lord,” he said. “Jesus is nine hundred and ninety-seven years old. In three years’ time it will be the millennium.”
Edgar understood numbers, and he could not let that pass. “Wasn’t Jesus born in the year one?” he said.
“He was,” said Degbert. He added snootily: “Every educated man knows that.”
“Then he must have had his first birthday in year two.”
Degbert began to look unsure.
Edgar went on: “In year three, he became two years old, and so on. So this year, nine hundred and ninety-seven, he becomes nine hundred and ninety-six.”
Degbert blustered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you arrogant young pup.”
A quiet voice in the back of Edgar’s mind told him not to argue, but the voice was overwhelmed by his wish to correct an arithmeticalerror. “No, no,” he said. “In fact Jesus’ birthday will be on Christmas Day, so as of now he’s still only nine hundred and ninety-five and a half.”
Leaf, watching from the doorway, grinned and said: “He’s got you there, Degsy.”
Degbert was livid. “How dare you speak like that to a priest?” he said to Edgar. “Who do you think you are? You can’t even read!”
“No, but I can count,” Edgar said stubbornly.
Dreng said: “Take your string and be off with you, and don’t come back until you’ve learned to respect your elders and betters.”
“It’s just numbers,” Edgar said, backtracking when it was too late. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
Degbert said: “Get out of my sight.”
Dreng added: “Go on, get lost.”
Edgar turned and walked away, heading back along the riverbank, despondent. His family needed all the help it could get, but he had now made two enemies.
Why had he opened his fool mouth?
CHAPTER 4
Early July 997
he Lady Ragnhild, daughter of Count Hubert of Cherbourg, was sitting between an English monk and a French priest. Ragna, as she was called, found the monk interesting and the priest pompous—but the priest was the one she was supposed to charm.
It was the time of the midday meal at Cherbourg Castle. The imposing stone fort stood at the top of the hill overlooking the harbor. Ragna’s father was proud of the building. It was innovative and unusual.
