Edgar said: “Well, Eadbald says you love him. Is that true?”
“Oh, yes.” She paused. “I love Eadbald. And Erman.”
Ma made a disgusted noise. “Are you telling us you’ve lain with both of them?”
“Yes.” Cwenburg looked pleased with herself.
“Many times?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Since you arrived here.”
Ma shook her head in revulsion. “Thank God I never had daughters.”
Cwenburg protested: “I didn’t do it on my own!”
Ma sighed. “No, it takes two.”
Erman said: “I’m the eldest, I should marry first.”
Eadbald gave a scornful laugh. “Who told you that was a rule? I’ll marry when I want, not when you say.”
“But I can afford a wife and you can’t. You’ve got nothing. I’m going to inherit the farm one day.”
Eadbald was outraged. “Ma has three sons. The farm will be divided among us when Ma dies, which I hope will not happen for many years.”
Edgar said: “Don’t be stupid, Eadbald. This farm can barely support our family now. If the three of us each tried to raise a family on one third of the land, we’d all starve.”
Ma said: “Edgar is the only one of you talking sense, as usual.”
Eadbald looked genuinely hurt. “So, Ma, does that mean you’re going to throw me out?”
“I would never do such a thing. You know that.”
“Do the three of us have to be celibate, like a convent of monks?”
“I hope not.”
“What are we going to do, then?”
Ma’s answer caught Edgar by surprise. “We’re going to talk to Cwenburg’s parents. Come on.”
Edgar was not sure this would help. Dreng had little common sense, and might just try to throw his weight around. Leaf was smarter, and kinder, too. But Ma had something up her sleeve, and Edgar could not guess what.
They tramped along the riverbank. The grass was already growing again where they had reaped the hay. The hamlet basked in the August sun, quiet but for the ever-present shush of the river.
They found Ethel, the younger wife, and Blod, the slave, in the alehouse. Ethel smiled at Edgar: she seemed to like him. She said that Dreng was at his brother’s minster, and Cwenburg went to fetch him. Edgar found Leaf in the brewhouse, stirring her mash with a rake. She was happy to break off from her work. She filled a jug with ale and carried it to the bench in front of the alehouse. Cwenburg returned with her father.
They all sat in the sun, enjoying the breeze off the water. Blod poured everyone a cup of ale, and Ma set out the problem in a few words.
Edgar studied the faces around him. Erman and Eadbald were beginning to realize what fools they looked, each thinking he had deceived the other, each having been deceived. Cwenburg was simply proud of the power she had over them. Her parents did not seem surprised by what she had done: perhaps there had been previous incidents. Dreng bristled at any hint of criticism of his daughter. Leaf just looked weary. Ma was in command, confident; in the end, Edgar thought, she would decide what was going to be done.
When Ma had finished, Leaf said: “Cwenburg must be married soon. Otherwise she will fall pregnant by some random ferry passenger who will disappear, leaving us with his bastard to raise.”
Edgar wanted to say: That bastard would be your grandchild. But he kept the thought to himself.
