CHAPTER 8
Early September 997
dgar was determined to build a boat that would please Dreng.
It was hard to like Dreng, and few people did. He was malevolent and miserly. Living at the alehouse, Edgar quickly became familiar with the family. The elder wife, Leaf, was coldly indifferent to Dreng most of the time. The younger woman, Ethel, seemed scared of her husband. She bought the food and cooked it, and cried when he complained about the cost. Edgar wondered whether either woman had ever loved Dreng, and decided not: both were from poor peasant families and had probably married for financial security.
Blod, the slave, hated Dreng. When she was not servicing passing strangers who wanted sex, Dreng kept her busy cleaning the house and outbuildings, tending the pigs and chickens, and changing the rushes on the floor. He always spoke harshly to her, and she in turn was permanently surly and resentful. She would have made more money for him if she had not been so miserable, but he seemed not to realize that.
The women liked Brindle, Edgar’s dog. She won their affectionby chasing foxes away from the henhouse. Dreng never petted the dog, and in response she acted as if Dreng did not exist.
However, Dreng seemed to love his daughter, Cwenburg, and she him. He smiled when he saw her, whereas he greeted most people with a sneer or, at best, a smirk. For Cwenburg, Dreng would always drop what he was doing, and the two of them would sit and talk in low voices, sometimes for an hour.
That proved it was possible to have a normal human relationship with Dreng, and Edgar was determined to try. He was not aiming for affection: just a briskly practical liaison without rancor.
Edgar set up an open-air workshop on the riverbank, and by good fortune the hot August sunshine continued into a warm September. He felt happy to be constructing something again, honing his blade, smelling the cut wood, imagining shapes and joins, and then making them real.
When he had fashioned all the wooden parts he laid them out on the ground, and the outlines of the boat became discernible.
Dreng looked and said accusingly: “In a boat, the planks usually overlap.”
Edgar had anticipated questions, and he had answers ready, but he was wary. He needed to convince Dreng without coming across as a know-it-all—always a danger for Edgar, he knew. “That type of hull is called clinker-built. But this boat will be flat bottomed, so it will be carvel-built, with the planks set edge to edge. By the way, we call them strakes, not planks.”
“Planks, strakes, I don’t care, but why is it flat-bottomed?”
“Mainly so that people and cattle can stand upright, and baskets and sacks can be stacked securely. Also, the vessel won’t roll side to side so much, which helps to keep the passengers calm.”
“If that’s such a smart idea, why aren’t all boats built that way?”
“Because most boats have to cut through the waves and currents at speed. That doesn’t apply to the ferry. There are no waves here, the current is steady but not strong, and speed is not the main issue in a journey of fifty yards.”
Dreng grunted, then pointed at the strakes forming the sides of the boat. “I assume the rails will be higher than that.”
“No. There are no waves, so the boat doesn’t need high sides.”
“Boats are usually pointed at the front end. This one seems blunt at both ends.”
“Same reason—it doesn’t need to cut through the water fast. And the square ends make it easier to get on and off. That’s also the reason for the ramps. Even cattle can board this boat.”
“Does it need to be so wide?”
“To take a cart, yes.” Trying to win a word of approval, Edgar added: “The ferry across the estuary at Combe charges a farthing per wheel: one farthing for a wheelbarrow, a halfpenny for a handcart, and a whole penny for an oxcart.”
A greedy look passed across Dreng’s face, but he said: “We don’t get many carts.”
“They all go to Mudeford because your old boat couldn’t manage them. You’ll see more with this one, you wait.”
“I doubt it,” Dreng said. “And it will be damnably heavy to paddle.”
“It won’t have paddles.” Edgar pointed to two long poles. “The river is never more than about six feet deep, so the ferry can be poled across. One strong man can do it.”
“I can’t, I’ve got a bad back.”
“Two women could do it working together. That’s why I made two poles.”
Some of the villagers had drifted down to the river to stare curiously. One of them was the clergyman-jeweler, Cuthbert. He was skilled and knowledgeable, but a timid and unsociable man who was bullied by his master, Degbert. Edgar often spoke to Cuthbert, but got monosyllabic replies except when discussing issues of craftsmanship. Now Cuthbert said: “Did you do all this with a Viking ax?”
“It’s all I’ve got,” said Edgar. “The back of the head serves me as a hammer. And I keep the blade sharp, which is the main thing.”
