Gerbert bowed to her. He was an odd-looking character, with a crooked nose and teeth so misshapen that he could not close his mouth completely. Count Hubert had made him headman because he was intelligent, but Ragna was not sure she trusted him.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and clustered around Ragna and Gerbert. “What work are you doing here today, Gerbert?”
“Picking off some of the little apples, my lady, so the others will grow fatter and juicier,” he said.
“So you can make good cider.”
“Cider from Saint-Martin is stronger than most, by the grace of God and good husbandry.”
Half the villages in Normandy claimed to make the strongest cider, but Ragna did not say that. “What do you do with the unripe apples?”
“Feed them to the goats, to make their cheese sweet.”
“Who’s the best cheesewright in the village?”
“Renée,” said Gerbert immediately. “She uses ewes’ milk.”
Some of the others shook their heads. Ragna turned to them. “What do the rest of you think?”
Two or three people said: “Torquil.”
“Come with me, then, all of you, and I’ll taste them both.”
The serfs followed happily. They generally welcomed any change in the tedium of their days, and they were rarely reluctant to stop work.
Louis said with a touch of irritation: “You didn’t ride all this way to taste cheese, did you? Aren’t you here to settle a dispute?”
“Yes. This is my way. Be patient.”
Louis grunted crabbily.
Ragna did not get back on her horse, but walked into the village, following a dusty track between fields golden with grain. On foot she could more easily talk to people on the way. She paid particular attention to the women, who would give her gossipy information that a man might not bother with. On the walk she learned that Renée was the wife of Gerbert; that Renée’s brother Bernard had aherd of sheep; and that Bernard was involved in a dispute with Gaston, the one who was refusing to pay his rent.
She always tried hard to remember names. It made them feel cared for. Every time she heard a name in casual conversation she would make a mental note.
As they walked, more people joined them. When they reached the village, they found more waiting. There was some mystical communication across fields, Ragna knew: she could never understand it, but men and women working a mile or more away seemed to find out that visitors were arriving.
There was a small, elegant stone church with round-arched windows in neat rows. Ragna knew that the priest, Odo, served this and three other villages, visiting a different one every Sunday; but he was here in Saint-Martin today—that magical rural communication again.
Aldred went immediately to talk to Father Odo. Louis did not: perhaps he felt it was beneath his dignity to converse with a village priest.
Ragna tasted Renée’s cheese and Torquil’s, pronouncing them both so good that she could not pick a winner; and she bought a wheel of each, pleasing everyone.
She walked around the village, going into every house and barn, making sure she spoke a few words to each adult and many of the children; then, when she felt she had assured them all of her goodwill, she was ready to hold court.
Much of Ragna’s strategy came from her father. He enjoyed meeting people and was good at making them his friends. Later, perhaps, some would become enemies—no ruler could please everyone all the time—but they would oppose him reluctantly. He had taught Ragna a lot and she had learned more just by watching him.
Gerbert brought a chair and placed it outside the west front of the church, and Ragna sat while everyone else stood around. Gerbert then presented Gaston, a big, strong peasant of about thirty with a shock of black hair. His face showed indignation, but she guessed he was normally an amiable type.
“Now, Gaston,” she said, “the time has come for you to tell me and your neighbors why you will not pay your rent.”
“My lady, I stand before you—”
“Wait.” Ragna held up a hand to stop him. “Remember that this is not the court of the king of the Franks.” The villagers tittered. “We don’t need a formal speech with high-flown phrases.” There was not much chance of Gaston making such a speech, but he would probably try if he was not given a clear lead. “Imagine that you’re drinking cider with a group of friends and they’ve asked you why you’re so riled up.”
“Yes, my lady. My lady, I haven’t paid the rent because I can’t.”
Gerbert said: “Rubbish.”
