Page 231 of The Evening and the Morning

Ragna nodded. “The old Wilf would have bristled at orders from his wife. But he’s lost his aggression.”

Den said: “That makes it serious.”

Ragna went on: “For the most part people accept my explanations, but that can’t last. The shrewder men are already noticing a change, as Aldred and Den have, and before long people will talk of it openly.”

Den said: “A weak ealdorman offers an opportunity to an ambitious and unscrupulous thane.”

Aldred said: “What do you think might happen, sheriff?”

Den did not answer immediately.

Ragna said: “I think someone will kill him.”

Den gave the briefest of nods: it was what he had thought but hesitated to say.

There was a long silence.

Finally Modulf said: “But what can Aldred, Den, and I do about it?”

Ragna suppressed a sigh of satisfaction. She had won her point; she had convinced the bishop that there was a problem. Now she had to sell him her solution.

“I think there is one way to protect him,” she said. “He’s going to make a will. It will be in English, so that Wilf can read it.”

“And me,” said Den. Noblemen and royal officials could often read English but not Latin.

Modulf said: “And what will the deed say?”

“He will make our son Osbert heir to his fortune and the ealdormanry, with me to manage everything on Osbert’s behalf until he comes of age. Wilf will agree to it today, here in the church, and I’m asking you three dignitaries to witness his agreement and put your names to the document.”

Modulf said: “I’m not a worldly man. I’m afraid I don’t see how this protects Wilwulf from assassination.”

“The only motive for anyone to murder Wilf would be the hope of succeeding him as ealdorman. The will preempts that by making Osbert the successor.”

Den, who was the king’s man in Shiring, said: “Such a will would have no validity unless endorsed by the king.”

“Indeed,” said Ragna. “And when I have your names on the parchment I will take it to King Ethelred and beg his consent.”

“Will the king agree?” said Modulf.

Den said: “Inheritance is by no means automatic. It is the king’s prerogative to choose the ealdorman.”

“I don’t know what the king will say,” Ragna said. “I only know I have to ask.”

Aldred said: “Where is the king now—does anybody know?”

Den knew. “As it happens, he’s on his way south,” he said. “He’ll be at Sherborne in three weeks’ time.”

“I will see him there,” said Ragna.

Edgar knew that Ragna had arrived in Dreng’s Ferry, but he was not sure he would see her. She was with Wilwulf, and they had come for a meeting at the monastery that involved two other nobles whose identities were being kept secret. So he was surprised and overjoyed when she walked into his house.

It was like the sun coming from behind a cloud. He felt short of breath, as if he had been running uphill. She smiled, and he was the happiest man on earth.

She looked around his house, and suddenly he saw it through her eyes: the neat rack of tools on the wall, the small wine barrel and cheese safe, the cooking pot over the fire giving off a pleasant herby odor, Brindle wagging a greeting.

She pointed to the box on the table. “That’s beautiful,” she said. Edgar had made it, and carved a design of interlocking serpents to symbolize wisdom. “What do you keep in such a lovely container?” she asked.

“Something precious. A gift from you.” He lifted the lid.