Page 92 of The Evening and the Morning

When those who had testified for Dreng walked past Edgar, ashe worked on building the new brewhouse, they looked shamefaced and avoided his eye. One day on Leper Island, as he was delivering a barrel of ale to the nuns, Mother Agatha went out of her way to speak to him and tell him he had done the right thing. “Justice will be done in the next life,” she had said. Edgar had felt grateful for her support, but he wanted justice in this life, too.

In the alehouse Dreng was more bad-tempered than ever. He slapped Leaf for giving him a cup of ale with dregs in it, punched Ethel in the stomach when his porridge was cold, and knocked Blod to the ground with a blow to the head for no reason at all. Each time he acted quickly, giving Edgar no chance to intervene; and then, after the blow was struck, he directed a challenging look at Edgar, defying him to do something about it. Unable to prevent what had already been done, Edgar would just look away.

Dreng never hit Edgar. Edgar was glad. He had within him such a buildup of rage that if a fight started it might not stop until Dreng was dead. And Dreng seemed to sense that and hold back.

Blod was oddly calm. She did her work and obeyed orders without protest. Dreng continued to treat her with contempt. However, when she looked at him her eyes blazed with hatred, and as the days went by Edgar could see that Dreng was scared of her. Perhaps he feared she would kill him. Perhaps she would.

While Edgar was eating, Brindle barked a warning. A stranger was approaching. As it was probably a ferry passenger, Edgar got up from the table and went outside. Two poorly dressed men with a packhorse were approaching from the north. Tanned hides were piled high on the back of the horse.

Edgar greeted them and said: “Do you want to cross the river?”

“Yes,” said the older of the two. “We’re going to Combe to sell our leather to an exporter.”

Edgar nodded. The English killed many cows, and their hides were often sold to France. But something about the men made Edgar wonder whether they had acquired the leather honestly. “The fare is a farthing per person or animal,” he said, not sure they could afford it.

“All right, but we’ll take a bite to eat and a pot of ale first, if this is an alehouse.”

“It is.”

They unloaded the beast, to give it a rest, and put it to graze while they went inside. Edgar returned to his dinner, and Leaf gave the travelers ale while Ethel served them from the stew pot. Dreng asked them what was the news.

“The ealdorman’s bride has arrived from Normandy,” said the older visitor.

“We knew that—the lady Ragna spent a night here on the way,” Dreng said proudly.

Edgar said: “When’s the wedding?”

“All Saints’ Day.”

“So soon!”

“Wilwulf is impatient.”

Dreng sniggered. “I’m not surprised. She’s a beauty.”

“That, too, but he needs to ride against the Welsh raiders, and he won’t go until he’s married.”

“I don’t blame him,” Dreng said. “It would be a shame to die and leave her a virgin.”

“The Welsh have taken advantage of his delay.”

“I’m sure they have, the barbarians.”

Edgar almost laughed. He wanted to ask whether the Welsh were so barbaric as to murder newborn babies, but he held his tongue. He shot a look at Blod, but she seemed oblivious to the slur on her people.

The older traveler continued: “They’ve already penetrated farther than anyone can remember. There’s a lot of discontent about it. Some say it’s the ealdorman’s duty to protect people first and get married after.”

“None of their damn business,” Dreng said. He did not like to hear people criticize the nobility. “I don’t know who these people think they are.”

“We hear the Welsh have reached Trench.”

Edgar was startled, as was Dreng. “That’s only a couple of days from here!” said Dreng.

“I know. I’m glad we’re headed in the opposite direction, with our valuable load.”

Edgar finished his food and went back to work. The brewhouse was rising quickly, one course of stones on top of another. Soon he would have to shape timbers for the roof.

Dreng’s Ferry had no defenses of any kind against a Welsh incursion, he reflected; nor, for that matter, against a Viking raid should the Vikings ever get this far upriver. On the other hand, raiders might think there was not much for them in a little place such as this—unless they knew about Cuthbert and his jewelry workshop. England was a dangerous place, Edgar thought, with the Vikings in the east and the Welsh in the west, and men such as Dreng in the middle.