Page 148 of The Evening and the Morning

Wynstan smiled maliciously. “You can’t buy her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She can’t be sold.”

Stiggy said: “Yes, she can!”

“No, she can’t. She’s a runaway. She must be returned to her legitimate owner.”

Blod whispered: “No, please.”

“It’s not my decision,” Wynstan said cheerfully. “Even if the slave had not spoken disrespectfully to me, the outcome would be the same.”

Ragna wanted to argue, but she knew Wynstan was right. She had not thought of it, but a runaway still legally belonged to the original owner, even after months of freedom.

Wynstan said to Stiggy: “You must take this girl back to Dreng’s Ferry.”

Blod began to cry.

Stiggy had not understood. “But she’s my captive.”

“Dreng will give you the usual reward for returning a runaway, so you won’t be out of pocket.”

Stiggy still looked puzzled.

Ragna believed in obeying the law. It could be cruel, but it wasalways better than lawlessness. However, on this occasion she would have defied it if she could. It was a harsh irony that the man now upholding the law was Wynstan.

Ragna said desperately: “I will take charge of the girl, and recompense Dreng.”

“No, no,” said Wynstan. “You can’t do that, not to my cousin. If Dreng wants to sell the slave to you, he may, but she must be returned to him first.”

“I shall take her home, and send a message to Dreng.”

Wynstan said to Cnebba: “Take that captive and lock her in the crypt of the cathedral.” He turned to Stiggy. “She’ll be released to you whenever you’re ready to take her to Dreng’s Ferry.” Finally he looked at Ragna. “If you don’t like it, complain to your husband.”

Cnebba began to untie Blod.

Ragna realized it had been a mistake to come out without Bern. If he had been present to provide a counterweight to Cnebba, she could at least have postponed any final decision on Blod’s fate. But even that was impossible.

Cnebba took Blod firmly by the arm and walked her away.

Wynstan said: “She’s in for a serious flogging, I should think, when Dreng gets his hands on her.” He smiled, bowed, and walked after Cnebba.

Ragna could have screamed with frustration and rage. She bottled up her feelings and, with her head held high, walked away from the square and up the hill to the compound.

July was the hungry month, Edgar reflected as he looked over his brothers’ farm. Most of the winter food was gone, and everyone waswaiting for the grain harvest in August and September. At this season the cows were giving milk and the hens were laying, so people who had cows or hens did not starve. Others ate the early fruits and vegetables of the forest, leaves and berries and onions, a thin diet. People with large farms could afford to plant a few beans in spring to harvest in June and July, but not many peasants had land to spare.

Edgar’s brothers were hungry, but not for much longer. For the second year running they had a good crop of hay on the low-lying land near the river. The three weeks before Midsummer had been wet, and the river was high now as a result, but the weather had cleared miraculously, and they had reaped the long blades of grass. Today Edgar had walked fifty yards downriver, to scrub out a cooking pot well away from the place where he drew clean water, and from there he could see several acres of cut grass drying and turning yellow in the strong sunshine. Soon the brothers would sell the hay and have money for food.

In the distance he saw a horse coming down the hill to the hamlet, and he wondered if it might be Aldred on Dismas. Shortly before they parted at Mudeford Crossing, Edgar had asked Aldred what he was going to do about Wynstan’s forgery, and Aldred had said he was still thinking about it. Now Edgar wondered if he had come up with a plan.

But the rider was not Aldred. As the horse came nearer, he saw that there was one person riding and another walking behind. He headed back to the tavern in case he was needed to operate the ferry. Moments later he was able to see that the walker was tied to the saddle. It was a woman, barefoot and ragged. Finally he realized, with a gasp of consternation, that it was Blod.

He had been sure she had escaped. How could she have been recaptured after this length of time? He recalled that Ealdorman Wilwulf had been harrying the Welsh: he must have brought her back among his captives. What tragic misfortune, to get free and then be enslaved a second time!

She raised her face and saw him but did not seem to have the strength to acknowledge him. Her shoulders were slumped and her shoeless feet were bleeding.

The man on the horse was about Edgar’s age but bigger, and he wore a sword. When he saw Edgar he said: “Are you the ferryman?”