Page 69 of The Evening and the Morning

She looked ahead. The church on the hill was built of stone but was nevertheless small and mean-looking. Its tiny windows, all different shapes, were placed haphazardly in its thick walls. In a Norman church the windows were no bigger, but they were generally all the same shape and set in regular rows. Such consistency spoke more eloquently of the orderly god who had created the hierarchical world of plants, fish, animals, and people.

The boat reached the north bank. Once again Edgar jumped out and tied it up, then invited the passengers to disembark. Again Ragna went first, and her horse gave confidence to the rest.

She dismounted outside the alehouse door. The man who came out reminded her momentarily of Wilwulf. He was the same size and build, but his face was different. “I can’t accommodate all these people,” he said in a tone of resentment. “How am I going to feed them?”

Ragna said: “How far is it to the next village?”

“Foreigner, are you?” he said, noticing her accent. “The place is called Wigleigh, and you won’t get there today.”

He was probably just working up to asking outrageous prices. Ragna became exasperated. “Well, then, what do you suggest?”

Edgar intervened. “Dreng, this is the lady Ragna from Cherbourg. She’s going to marry Ealdorman Wilwulf.”

Dreng immediately became obsequious. “Forgive me, my lady, I had no idea,” he said. “Please step inside, and welcome. You’re going to be my cousin-in-law, you may not know.”

Ragna was disconcerted to hear that she was to be related to this alehouse keeper. She did not immediately accept his invitation to go inside. “No, I did not know,” she said.

“Oh, yes. Ealdorman Wilwulf is my cousin. You’ll be family to me after the wedding.”

Ragna was not pleased.

He went on: “My brother and I run this little village, under Wilwulf’s authority, of course. My brother, Degbert, is dean of the minster up the hill.”

“That little church is a minster?”

“Just half a dozen clergy, quite small. But come inside, please.” Dreng put his arm around Ragna’s shoulders.

This was going too far. Even if she had liked Dreng she would not have allowed him to paw her. With a deliberate movement she took his arm off her shoulders. “My husband would not like me to be caressed by his cousin,” she said coolly. Then she walked ahead of him into the house.

Dreng followed her in saying: “Oh, our Wilf wouldn’t mind.” But he did not touch her again.

Ragna looked around the inside of the building with a feeling that was becoming familiar. Like most English alehouses it was dark, smelly, and smoky. There were two tables and a scatter of benches and stools.

Cat was close behind her. She moved a stool nearer to the fire for Ragna, then helped her take off her sodden cloak. Ragna sat by the fire and held out her hands to warm them.

There were three women in the tavern, she saw. The eldest was presumably Dreng’s wife. The youngest, a pregnant girl with a pinched face, wore no headdress of any kind, usually the sign of a prostitute: Ragna guessed she might be a slave. The third woman was about Ragna’s age, and might be Dreng’s concubine.

Ragna’s maids and bodyguards crowded into the house. Ragna said to Dreng: “Would you please give my servants some ale?”

“My wife shall attend to it at once, my lady.” He spoke to the two women. “Leaf, give them some ale. Ethel, get the supper started.”

Leaf opened a chest full of wooden bowls and cups, and began to fill them from a barrel on a stand in the corner. Ethel hung an iron cauldron over the fire and poured water into it, then produced a large leg of mutton and added it to the pot.

The pregnant girl brought in an armful of firewood. Ragna was surprised to see her doing heavy work when her time was evidently so near. It was no wonder she looked tired and morose.

Edgar knelt by the hearth and built up the fire twig by twig. Soon it was a cheerful blaze that warmed Ragna and dried her clothes.

She said to him: “On the ferry, when my maid, Cat, told you who I was, you said: ‘I know.’ How did you know me?”

Edgar smiled. “You won’t remember, but we’ve met before.”

Ragna did not apologize for not recognizing him. A noblewoman met hundreds of people and could not be expected to recall them all. She said: “When was that?”

“Five years ago. I was only thirteen.” Edgar drew his knife from his belt and set it on the hearth stones so that the blade was in the flames.

“So I was fifteen. I’ve never been to England before now, so you must have come to Normandy.”

“My late father was a boatbuilder at Combe. We went to Cherbourg to deliver a ship. That’s when I met you.”