Page 111 of The Evening and the Morning

That surprised her. “Why?”

“Because I’m envious.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Of Wilf?”

“No—”

“Of me?”

He smiled. “Much as I admire the ealdorman, I don’t want to marry him. Aldred might.”

Ragna giggled.

Edgar became serious again. “I’m envious of anyone who gets to marry the one they love. That chance was snatched away from me. Now weddings make me sad.”

Ragna was only a little surprised by his candor. Men often confided in her. She encouraged it: she was fascinated by other people’s loves and hates. “What was the name of the woman you loved?”

“Sungifu, called Sunni.”

“You remember her, and all the things you did together.”

“What hurts me most is the things we didn’t do. We never cooked a meal together, washing vegetables, throwing herbs into the pot, putting bowls on our table. I never took her fishing in my boat—the boat I built was beautiful, that’s why the Vikings stole it. We made love many times, but we never lay awake in each other’s arms all night just talking.”

She studied his face, with its sparse beard and hazel eyes, and thought he was terribly young to have such grief. “I think I understand,” she said.

“I remember my parents taking us to the river in spring to cutfresh rushes for the house, when we three boys were little. There must have been some romantic story about that riverside, with its rushes; perhaps my parents had made love there before they got married. I didn’t think of that at the time—I was too young—but I knew they had a delicious secret that they loved to remember.” His smile was a sad smile. “Things like that—you put them all together, and they make up a life.”

Ragna was surprised to find that she had tears in her eyes.

Edgar suddenly looked embarrassed. “I don’t know why I told you all that.”

“You’ll find someone else to love.”

“I could, of course. But I don’t wantsomeone else.I want Sunni. And she’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s unkind of me to tell sad stories on your wedding day. I don’t know what got into me. I apologize.” He bowed, and walked away.

Ragna thought over what he had said. His loss made her feel very fortunate to have Wilf.

She drained her cup of ale, got up from the trestle table, and returned to her house. Suddenly she felt weary. She was not sure why; she had done nothing physically exhausting. Perhaps it was the strain of being on display to the world for hours on end.

She took off her cloak and her overdress and lay on her mattress. Cat barred the door so that people such as Dreng could not barge in. Ragna thought about the evening ahead. At some point she would be summoned to Wilf’s house. To her surprise, she felt a bit nervous. That was silly. She had already had sexual intercourse with him: what was left to be nervous about?

She was also curious. When they had sneaked into the hay storeat Cherbourg Castle at dusk, everything had been furtive and hurried and dimly lit. From now on they would make love at leisure. She wanted to spend time looking at his body, exploring it with her fingertips, studying and feeling the muscles and the hair and the skin and the bones of the man who was now her husband. Mine, she thought; all mine.

She must have dozed off, for the banging at the door woke her with a start.

She heard a muffled interchange, then Cat said: “It’s time.” Cat looked as excited as if it had been her own honeymoon night.

Ragna got up. Bern turned his back while she slipped out of her underdress and put on the new nightdress, dark ochre yellow, made especially for this occasion. She put on shoes, for she did not want to get into Wilf’s bed with muddy feet. Finally she donned her cloak.

“You two stay here,” she said. “I don’t want any fuss.”

In that she was disappointed.

When she stepped outside she saw that Wigelm and the men-at-arms were lined up to cheer her along. Mostly drunk after the party, they blew whistles and banged cooking pots and pans. Wynstan’s man Cnebba cavorted with a broomstick between his legs sticking up like a huge wooden penis, which made the men hoot with laughter.