“If Ethel kept her promise.”
“Anyway, you can’t throw them out of their home at a minute’s notice.”
“Who says?”
“I do,” said Ragna.
Cwenburg said: “Erman, go and fetch the prior.”
Erman left.
Cwenburg said: “The slaves should wait outside.”
Ragna said: “Perhaps you should wait outside, until Aldred confirms that the alehouse is now yours.”
Cwenburg looked sullen.
“Go on,” said Ragna. “Out you go. Otherwise it will be the worse for you.”
Reluctantly Cwenburg left, and Eadbald followed her out.
Ragna knelt beside the body, and Blod and Mairead did the same.
Aldred appeared a few minutes later, wearing a silver cross on aleather thong. Cwenburg and her husbands came in behind him. He made the sign of the cross and said a prayer over the corpse. Then he took a small sheet of parchment from the pouch at his belt.
“This is Ethel’s last will and testament,” he said. “Written by me at her dictation, and witnessed by two monks.”
Of the others present only Ragna could read, so they had to rely on Aldred to tell them what Ethel had done.
“As she promised, she frees both Blod and Mairead,” he said.
The two slaves embraced and kissed each other, smiling. Their celebration was muted by the presence of the corpse, but they were happy.
“There is only one other bequest,” Aldred said. “She leaves all her worldly possessions, including the alehouse, to Blod.”
Blod’s mouth fell open. “It’s mine?” she said incredulously.
“Yes.”
Cwenburg screamed: “She can’t do that! My stepmother can’t steal my father’s alehouse and then give it to a Welsh whore slave!”
“She can,” said Aldred.
Ragna said: “And she just did.”
“It’s unnatural!”
“No, it’s not.” Ragna said. “When Ethel was dying, it was Blod who cared for her, not you.”
“No, no!” Cwenburg stormed out, still screaming protests, and Erman and Eadbald followed her, looking embarrassed.
The noise died down as Cwenburg walked away.
Blod looked at Mairead. “You’ll stay and help me, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll teach you to cook. But no more whoring.”
