There was no sign of Carwen.
Staring at the ruin of Wilf, she remembered the tall, fair-haired man in a blue cloak who had walked off a ship in Cherbourg harbor and said in bad French: “I have come to speak with Count Hubert.” She began to cry, but even while she wept she had to ask a question, and she forced the words out: “How did this happen?”
She was answered by Wuffa, the head groom. “The bodyguards were asleep,” he said. “They must die for their negligence.”
“They will,” Ragna said, dashing the tears from her eyes with her fingers. “But what do they say happened?”
“They woke up and noticed that Bern was gone. They searched for him, eventually looked inside the house, and saw”—he spread his arms—“this.”
Ragna swallowed and made her voice calmer. “No one else here?”
“No. Obviously the slave did it and fled.”
Ragna frowned. Carwen would have to be stronger than she looked to kill two such big men with a knife, she thought, but she set the suspicion aside for the moment. “Fetch the sheriff,” she told Wuffa. “He must start the hue and cry as soon as dawn breaks.” Whether Carwen was the killer or not, she must be recaptured, for her testimony would be crucial.
“Yes, my lady.” Wuffa hurried away.
As he went out, Agnes came in carrying the twins. Just over a year old, the children did not understand what they were looking at, but Agnes screamed and they began to bawl.
Cat entered holding three-year-old Osbert by the hand. She stared at the corpse of Bern, her husband, in horrified disbelief. “No, no, no,” she said, and she let go of Osbert’s hand and knelt beside the body, shaking her head, sobbing.
Ragna struggled to think straight. What did she need to do next? Although she had thought about Wilf’s death and feared that he might be murdered, the actual event had rocked her so hard that she could hardly digest what had happened. She knew she should react quickly and decisively but she was too shocked and bewildered.
She listened to her sons crying and realized they should not be here. She was about to tell Agnes to take them away when she was distracted by the sight of Wigelm moving toward the door with a heavy oak chest in his arms. She recognized it at Wilf’s treasury, the box in which he kept his money.
She stood in front of Wigelm and said: “Stop!”
Wigelm said: “Get out of my way or I’ll knock you down.”
The room went quiet.
Ragna said: “That’s the treasury of the ealdormanry.”
“Itwas.”
Ragna let her voice express the contempt and loathing she felt. “Wilf’s blood isn’t dry yet, and you’re already stealing his money.”
“I’m taking charge of it, as his brother.”
Ragna realized that Garulf and Stiggy had moved to stand on either side of her, trapping her. She spoke defiantly. “I will decide who takes charge of the treasury.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I am the ealdorman’s wife.”
“No, you’re not. You’re his widow.”
“Put the box down.”
“Get out of the way.”
Ragna slapped Wigelm’s face hard.
She expected him to drop the box, but he restrained himself and nodded to Garulf.
The two young men seized Ragna, taking one arm each. She knew she could not escape from their grasp, so she maintained her dignity and did not struggle. She looked at Wigelm with narrowed eyes. “You’re not quick-thinking,” she said. “Therefore you must have planned this. It’s a coup. Did you murder Wilf so that you could take over?”
“Don’t be disgusting.”
