Page 145 of The Evening and the Morning

ilf was away three months longer than anyone expected, which was one third of the time Ragna had been married to him. There had been one message, six weeks ago, simply saying that he was penetrating deeper into Wales than he had originally planned, and that he was in good health.

Ragna missed him. She had grown to like having a man to talk to and discuss problems with and lie down beside at night. The shock of Inge had cast a shadow over that pleasure, but all the same she longed to have Wilf back.

Ragna saw Inge around the compound almost every day. Ragna was the official wife, and she held her head high and avoided speaking to her rival; but all the same she felt the humiliation constantly.

She wondered nervously how Wilf would feel about her when he returned. He would probably have lain with other women during his trip. He had made it brutally clear to her—not before the wedding, but after—that his love for her did not exclude sex with others. Hadhe met younger, more beautiful girls in Wales? Or would he return hungry for Ragna’s body? Or both?

She got one day’s notice of his return. He sent a messenger ahead on a fast horse to say he would be home tomorrow. Ragna threw the compound into action. The kitchen prepared a feast, slaughtering a young ox, building a fire for spit-roasting, tapping barrels of ale, baking bread. Those not needed in the kitchen were deployed mucking out the stables, putting new rushes and straw on the floors, beating mattresses and airing blankets.

Ragna went into Wilf’s house, where she burned rye to expel insects, took down shutters to let in fresh air, and made the bed inviting with lavender and rose petals. She set out fruit in a basket, a flagon of wine and a small barrel of ale, bread and cheese and smoked fish.

All this activity took her mind off her anxiety.

Next morning she got Cat to heat a cauldron of water and washed herself all over, paying special attention to the hairy parts. Then she rubbed perfumed oil into the skin of her neck, breasts, thighs, and feet. She put on a freshly laundered dress and new silk shoes, and secured her head scarf with a gold-embroidered band.

He arrived at midday. She was forewarned by the sound of cheering from the town as he rode through at the head of the army, and she hurried to take a commanding position in front of the great hall.

He came through the gate at a canter, his red cloak flying, his lieutenants close behind. He saw her immediately and came at her dangerously fast, and she struggled against a reflex to leap out of the way; but she knew she had to show him—and the crowd—that she had complete faith in his horsemanship. In that last momentshe saw that his hair and mustache were untrimmed, his normally clean-shaven chin now had a wild beard, and there was a new scar across his forehead. Then he reined in spectacularly late, causing his horse to rear a few inches away from her, while her heart beat like a hammer and she kept the welcoming smile undimmed on her face.

He leaped off his horse and took her in his arms, exactly as she had hoped he would. The people in the compound cheered and laughed: they loved to see his passion for her. She knew that he was showing off to his followers, and she accepted that as part of his role as leader. But there was no doubt about the sincerity of his embrace. He kissed her lasciviously, his tongue in her mouth, and she eagerly responded in the same way.

After a minute he broke the clinch, bent down, and picked her up, with one arm under her shoulders and the other supporting her thighs. She laughed with joy. He carried her past the great hall to his own dwelling, as the crowd roared their approval. She was doubly glad that she had made his home clean and welcoming.

He fumbled for the latch and threw the door open, then he carried her inside. He put her down and slammed the door.

She took off her headdress and let her hair fall freely, then pulled her dress off with one swift move and lay down naked on his bed.

He stared at her body with delight and desire. He looked like a thirsty man about to drink from a mountain stream. He fell on her, still wearing his leather jerkin and cloth leggings.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him and drew him deep inside her.

It was over quickly. He rolled off her and was asleep in seconds.

She lay watching him for a while. She liked the beard, but she knew he would shave it tomorrow, for English noblemen did notwear beards. She touched the new scar on his brow. It started at his right temple, at the hair line, and followed a jagged course to his left eyebrow. She ran her fingertip along it, and he stirred in his sleep. Another half inch... Some brave Welshman had done that, she guessed. He had probably died for it.

She poured a cup of wine and ate a morsel of cheese. She was content just to look at him and feel glad that he had come back to her alive. The Welsh were not very formidable fighters, but they were by no means helpless, and she was sure that some wives in the compound were now weeping at the news that their husbands were never coming home.

As soon as he woke up, they made love again. This time it was slower. He took off his clothes. She had time to relish every sensation, to rub her hands over his shoulders and his chest, to thrust her fingers into his hair and bite his lips.

When it was over, he said: “By the gods, I could eat an ox.”

“And I’ve roasted one for your dinner. But let me get you something for now.” She brought him wine and new bread and smoked eel, and he ate with relish.

Then he said: “I met Wynstan on the road.”

“Ah,” she said.

“He told me what happened at Outhenham.”

Ragna tensed. She had been expecting this. Wynstan was never going to take his defeat lying down. He would try to get revenge by causing trouble between her and Wilf. But she had not anticipated that Wynstan would be so quick off the mark. As soon as the messenger had arrived yesterday, Wynstan must have set out to meet Wilf, keen to get his side of the story in first, hoping to put Ragna on the defensive.

But she had her strategy ready. The whole thing had been Wynstan’s fault, not hers, and she was not going to make excuses for herself. She moved immediately to shift the ground of the discussion. “Don’t be angry with Wynstan,” she said. “There should be no rift between brothers.”

Wilf was not expecting that. “But Wynstan is angry with you,” he said.

“Of course. He tried to rob me while you were away, thinking to take advantage of me in your absence. But don’t worry, I prevented him.”

“Is that how it was?” Clearly Wilf had not previously looked at the incident as an attack by a powerful man on an undefended woman.