In a somber mood she left her mother. She passed through the great hall and went out into the sunshine, hoping that might cheer her up.

At the gate of the compound was a small group of visitors, presumably off one of the two ships she had seen approaching earlier. At the center of the group was a nobleman with a mustache but no beard, presumably an Englishman, and for a heart-stopping moment she thought it was Wilwulf. He was tall and fair, with a big nose and a strong jaw, and there flashed into her mind an entire fantasy in which Wilwulf had come back to marry her and take her away. But a moment later she realized that this man’s head was tonsured, and he wore the long black robe of a clergyman; and as he drew nearer she saw that his eyes were closer together, his ears were huge, and although he might have been younger than Wilwulf his face was already lined. He walked differently, too: where Wilwulf was confident, this man was arrogant.

Ragna’s father was not in sight, nor were any of his senior clerks, so it was up to Ragna to welcome the visitor. She went up to him and said: “Good day to you, sir. Welcome to Cherbourg. I am Ragna, the daughter of Count Hubert.”

His reaction startled her. He stared at her keenly, and a mocking smile played under his mustache. “Are you, now?” he said as if fascinated. “Are you really?” He spoke good French with an accent.

She did not know what to say in reply, but her silence did not seem to bother the visitor. He looked her up and down as he might have studied a horse, checking all the key points. His gaze began to feel rude.

Then he spoke again. “I am the bishop of Shiring,” he said. “My name is Wynstan. I am the brother of Ealdorman Wilwulf.”

* * *

Ragna was unbearably agitated. Wynstan’s mere presence was thrilling. He was Wilwulf’s brother! Every time she looked at Wynstan she thought about how close he was to the man she loved. They had been raised together. Wynstan must know Wilwulf intimately; must admire his qualities, understand his weaknesses, and recognize his moods so much better than Ragna could. And he even looked a bit like Wilwulf.

Ragna told her lively maid, Cat, to flirt with one of Wynstan’s bodyguards, a big man called Cnebba. The bodyguards spoke nothing but English, so communication was difficult and unreliable, but Cat thought she had understood a little about the family. Bishop Wynstan was, in fact, the half brother of Ealdorman Wilwulf. Wilwulf’s mother had died, his father had remarried, and the second wife had borne Wynstan and a younger brother, Wigelm. The three formed a powerful triad in the west of England: one ealdorman, one bishop, and one thane. They were wealthy, although their prosperity was under threat from Viking raids.

But what brought Wynstan to Cherbourg? If the bodyguards knew, they were not saying.

Most likely the visit had to do with implementation of the treaty agreed between Wilwulf and Hubert. Perhaps Wynstan had come to check that Hubert was keeping his promise and refusing to let Vikings moor in Cherbourg harbor. Or perhaps the visit had something to do with Ragna.

She learned the truth that night.

After supper, as Count Hubert was retiring, Wynstan cornered him and spoke in a low voice. Ragna strained to hear but could not make out the words. Hubert replied equally quietly, then nodded and continued on to the private quarters, followed by Genevieve.

Not long afterward, Genevieve summoned Ragna.

“What’s happened?” Ragna said breathlessly as soon as she was in the room. “What did Wynstan say?”

Her mother looked thunderously cross. “Ask your father,” she said.

Hubert said: “Bishop Wynstan has brought a proposal of marriage to you from Ealdorman Wilwulf.”

Ragna could not conceal her delight. “I hardly dared hope for it!” she said. She had to restrain herself from jumping up and down like a child. “I thought he might have come about the Vikings!”

Genevieve said: “Please don’t think for one moment that we will consent to it.”

Ragna barely heard her. She could escape from Guillaume—and marry the man she loved. “He does love me, after all!”

“Your father has agreed to listen to the ealdorman’s offer, that’s all.”

Hubert said: “I must. To do otherwise would rudely suggest that the man is unacceptable on any terms.”

“Which he is!” said Genevieve.

“Probably,” said Hubert. “However, that’s the kind of thing one thinks but does not say. One has no wish to offend.”

Genevieve said: “Having listened to the terms, your father will politely refuse.”

Ragna said: “You’ll tell me what the offer is, Father, before you turn it down, won’t you?”

Hubert hesitated. He never liked to slam doors. “Of course I will,” he said.

Genevieve made a disgusted noise.

Ragna pushed her luck. “Will you let me attend your meeting with Wynstan?”

He said: “Are you capable of remaining silent throughout?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it.”

“Very well.”

“Go to bed,” Genevieve said to Ragna. “We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

Ragna left them and lay down in the hall, curled up on her bed by the wall. She found it difficult to keep still, she was so excited. He did love her!

As the rush lights were extinguished and the room became dark, so her heartbeat slowed and her body relaxed. At the same time, she began to think more clearly. If he did love her, why had he fled without explanation? Would Wynstan offer a justification for that? If not, she would ask for one directly, she decided.

That sobering thought brought her down to earth, and she fell asleep.

She woke at first light, and Wilwulf was the first thought to come into her mind. What would his offer be? Normally an aristocratic bride had to be guaranteed enough income to keep her if her husband died and she became a widow. If the children were likely to be heirs to money or titles, they might have to be brought up in the father’s country, even if he died. Sometimes the offer was conditional on the king’s approval. An engagement could be dismayingly like a commercial contract.

Ragna’s main concern was that Wilwulf’s offer should contain nothing that would give her parents reasons to object.

Once she was dressed, she wished she had slept later. The kitchen staff and the stable hands were always up early, but everyone else was still fast asleep, including Wynstan. She had to resist the temptation to grab him by the shoulder and shake him awake and question him.

She went to the kitchen, where she drank a cup of cider and ate a piece of pan bread dipped in honey. She took a half-ripe apple, went to the stables, and gave the apple to Astrid, her horse. Astrid nuzzled her gratefully. “You’ve never known love,” Ragna murmured in the horse’s ear. But it was not quite true: there were times, usually in summer, when Astrid carried her tail up and had to be roped in firmly to keep her away from the stallions.

The straw on the stable floor was damp and smelly. The hands were lazy about changing it. Ragna ordered them to bring fresh straw immediately.

The compound was coming awake. Men came to the well to drink, women to wash their faces. Servants carried bread and cider into the great hall. Dogs begged for scraps, and cats lay in wait for mice. The count and countess emerged from their quarters and sat at the table, and breakfast began.

As soon as the meal was over, the count invited Wynstan into the private apartment. Genevieve and Ragna followed, and they all sat in the outer chamber.

Wynstan’s message was simple. “When Ealdorman Wilwulf was here six weeks ago he fell in love with the lady Ragna. Back at home, he feels that without her his life is incomplete. He begs your permission, count and countess, to ask her to marry him.”

Hubert said: “What provision would he make for her financial security?”

“On their wedding day he will give her the Vale of Outhen. It’s a fertile valley with five substantial villages containing altogether about a thousand people, all of whom will pay her rent in cash or kind. It also has a limestone quarry. May I ask, Count Hubert, what the lady Ragna would bring to the marriage?”

“Something comparable: the village of Saint-Martin and eight smaller villages nearby amounting to a similar number of people, just over one thousand.”

Wynstan nodded but did not comment, and Ragna wondered if he wanted more.

Hubert said: “The income from both properties will be hers?”

“Yes,” said Wynstan.

“And she will retain both properties until her death, whereupon she may bequeath them to whomever she will?”

“Yes,” said Wynstan again. “But what about a cash dowry?”

“I had thought Saint-Martin would be sufficient.”

“May I suggest twenty pounds of silver?”

“I’ll have to think about that. Will King Ethelred of England approve of the marriage?”