“Of course. Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll come back and see if there’s anything else you need.”
The two nuns went out. Ragna threw off her cloak and climbed into Agatha’s bed. Cat hung Ragna’s cloak on a peg in the wall. From the leather bag she had brought, she took a small vial of olive oil. Ragna held out her hands and Cat poured a drop of oil on each. Ragna rubbed her hands together.
She made herself comfortable. The mattress was made of linen and stuffed with straw. The only sound was the wash of the river as it bathed the shores of the island. “I’m so glad we discovered this place,” she said.
Agnes said: “Edgar the builder has been a godsend—building up the fire, bringing you hot ale, fetching that little jeweler, and finally bringing us here.”
“You like Edgar, don’t you?”
“He’s lovely. I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”
The three women giggled.
Cat and Agnes got into their shared bed.
Mother Agatha returned. “Is everything all right?” she said.
Ragna stretched luxuriously. “Everything is perfect,” she said. “You’re so kind.”
Agatha bent over Ragna and kissed her softly on the lips. It was more than a mere peck, but did not last long enough to merit an objection. She stood upright, went to the door, and turned back.
“God is love,” said Mother Agatha.
CHAPTER 10
Late September 997
he only master Edgar had known for the first eighteen years of his life had been his father, who could be harsh but was never cruel. After that, Dreng had come as a shock. Edgar had never before suffered sheer malice for its own sake.
However, Sunni had, from her husband. Edgar thought a lot about how Sunni had handled Cyneric. She let him have his own way most of the time, but on the rare occasions that she went against him, she was bold and stubborn. Edgar tried to deal with Dreng in a similar way. He avoided confrontations, and put up with petty persecution and minor injustices, but when he could not avoid a quarrel he fought to win.
He had prevented Dreng from punching Blod on at least one occasion. He had steered Ragna to the nunnery against the will of Dreng, who had clearly wanted her to spend the night at the alehouse. And with his mother’s help he had forced Dreng to feed him decently.
Dreng would have liked to get rid of Edgar, undoubtedly. Butthere were two snags. One was his daughter, Cwenburg, who was now part of Edgar’s family. Dreng had been taught a firm lesson by Ma: he could not hurt Edgar without bringing repercussions to Cwenburg. The other problem was that Dreng would never find another competent builder for only a farthing a day. A good craftsman would demand three or four times as much in payment. And, Edgar reflected, Dreng’s parsimony outweighed his malice.
Edgar knew he was walking on the edge of a cliff. At heart Dreng was not completely rational, and one day he might lash out regardless of the consequences. But there was no safe way to deal with him—other than to lie down under his heel like the rushes on the floor, and Edgar could not bring himself to do that.
So he went on alternately pleasing and defying Dreng, while watching carefully for signs of a coming storm.
The day after Ragna left, Blod came to him and said: “Do you want a free go? I’m too big to fuck, but I can give you a lovely suck.”
“No!” he said; and then, feeling embarrassed, he added: “Thank you.”
“Why not? Am I ugly?”
“I told you about my girl, Sunni, who died.”
“Then why are you so nice to me?”
“I’m not nice to you. But I’m different from Dreng.”
“You are nice to me.”
He changed the subject. “Do you have names for your baby?”
“I don’t know that I’ll be allowed to name him or her.”
“You should give it a Welsh name. What are your parents called?”
