Dreng looked at Edgar, not sure whether to believe him but unwilling to reveal his ignorance. He walked away saying: “I need Leaf to make ale as soon as possible. I’m losing money buying it from Shiring. Work faster!”

While Edgar was working, his mind often went back to Ragna. She had appeared in Dreng’s Ferry like a visitor from paradise. She was so tall, and poised, and beautiful that when you looked at her it was hard to believe she was a member of the human race. But as soon as she spoke she revealed herself to be charmingly human: down-to-earth and warmly sympathetic and capable of weeping over a lost belt. Ealdorman Wilwulf was a lucky man. The two of them would make a remarkable couple. Wherever they went, all eyes would follow them, the dashing ruler and his lovely bride.

Edgar was flattered that she had talked to him, even though she had told him frankly that her motive was to keep Dreng away. He was inordinately pleased that he had been able to find her a place to sleep that suited her better than the tavern. He sympathized with her wish not to lie down on the floor with everyone else. Even quite plain-looking women were liable to be pestered by men in alehouses.

On the following morning he had poled the ferry across to Leper Island to pick her up. Mother Agatha had walked Ragna with Cat and Agnes down to the waterside, and in that short distance Edgar had seen clearly that Agatha, too, was enchanted by Ragna, hanging on her words and hardly able to take her eyes off her. The nun had stayed at the water’s edge, waving, until the boat reached the other side and Ragna went into the alehouse.

Before they left, Agnes had told Edgar that she hoped she would see him again soon. The thought had crossed his mind that her interest in him might be romantic. If that were so he would have to confess to her that he was not able to fall in love, and explain about Sunni. He wondered how many times he was going to have to tell that story.

Toward evening he was startled by a cry of pain from within the tavern. It sounded like Blod, and Edgar thought Dreng might be beating her. He dropped his tools and ran inside.

But there was no beating. Dreng was sitting at the table looking irritated. Blod was slumped on the floor with her back to the wall. Her black hair was wet with sweat. Leaf and Ethel were standing up, watching her. As Edgar arrived she gave another shriek of pain.

“God save us,” said Edgar. “Did something terrible happen?”

“What’s the matter with you, you stupid boy?” Dreng jeered. “Haven’t you ever seen a woman giving birth?”

Edgar had not. He had seen animals giving birth, but that was different. He was the youngest in the family and had not been alive when his brothers were born. He knew about human childbirth in theory, so he was aware that it might hurt, and—now that he came to think about it—he had sometimes heard cries of pain from neighboring houses, and he recalled his mother saying: “Her time has come.” But he had never experienced it close up.

The only thing he knew for sure was that the mother often died.

He found it harrowing to look at a girl in pain and be unable to help her. “Should we give her a sip of ale?” he said in desperation. Strong drink was usually good for people in pain.

Leaf said: “We can try.” She half filled a cup and handed it to Edgar.

He knelt beside Blod and held the cup to her mouth. She gulped the ale then grimaced with pain again.

Dreng said: “It was original sin that caused this. In the garden of Eden.”

Leaf said sarcastically: “My husband, the priest.”

“It’s true,” Dreng said. “Eve disobeyed. That’s why God punishes all women.”

Leaf said: “I expect Eve was driven mad by her husband.”

Edgar did not see what more he could do, and the others seemed to feel the same. Perhaps it was all in the hands of God. Edgar went back outside and resumed his work.

He wondered what childbirth would have been like for Sunni. Obviously their lovemaking was likely to lead to pregnancy, but Edgar had never thought very hard about that. He realized now that he would have found it unbearable to see her in such pain. It was bad enough watching Blod, who was no more than an acquaintance.

He finished mortaring the foundation as it began to get dark. He would double-check the level in the morning, but all being well he would lay the first course of stones tomorrow.

He went into the alehouse. Blod was lying on the floor and seemed to be dozing. Ethel served supper, a stew of pork and carrots. This was the time of year when everyone had to decide which animals would live through the winter and which should be slaughtered now. Some of the meat was eaten fresh, the rest smoked or salted for the winter.

Edgar ate heartily. Dreng threw bad-tempered looks his way but said nothing. Leaf drank more ale. She was getting tipsy.

As they finished the meal, Blod began to moan again, and the pains seemed to come more frequently. Leaf said: “It won’t be long now.” Her words were slurred, as often happened by this time in the evening, but she was still making sense. “Edgar, go to the river and get fresh water to wash the baby with.”

Edgar was surprised. “Do you have to wash a baby?”

Leaf laughed. “Of course—you wait and see.”

He picked up the bucket and made his way to the river. It was dark, but the sky was clear and there was a bright half-moon. Brindle followed him, hoping for a boat ride. Edgar dipped the bucket in the river and carried it to the alehouse. Back inside he saw that Leaf had laid out clean rags. “Put the bucket near the fire, so that the water can warm up a bit,” she said.

Blod’s cries were more anguished now. Edgar saw that the rushes under her hips were soaked with some kind of fluid. Surely this could not be normal? He said: “Shall I ask Mother Agatha to come?” The nun was usually called upon in medical emergencies.

Dreng said: “I can’t afford to pay her.”

“She doesn’t charge a fee!” Edgar said indignantly.

“Not officially, but she expects a donation, unless you’re poor. She’d want money from me. People think I’m a rich man.”

Leaf said: “Don’t worry, Edgar. Blod is going to be all right.”

“Do you mean to say this is normal?”

“Yes, it is.”

Blod tried to get up. Ethel helped her. Edgar said: “Shouldn’t she lie down?”

“Not now,” Leaf said.

She opened a chest. She took out two thin strips of leather. Then she threw a bunch of dried rye on the fire. Burning rye was supposed to drive away evil spirits. Finally she picked up a large clean rag and draped it over her shoulder.

Edgar realized there was a ritual here that he knew nothing about.

Blod stood with her legs apart and bent forward. Ethel stood at her head, and Blod put her arms around Ethel’s thin waist for support. Leaf knelt behind Blod and lifted her dress. “The baby’s coming,” she said.

Dreng said: “Oh, disgusting.” He stood, pulled on his cloak, picked up his tankard, and limped outside.

Blod made heaving noises, as if she were lifting a weight so heavy that she was in agony. Edgar stared, fascinated and horrified at the same time: how could something as big as a baby come out of there? But the opening got larger. Some object seemed to be pushing through. “What’s that?” said Edgar.

“The baby’s head,” said Leaf.

Edgar was aghast. “God help Blod.”

The baby did not come out in one smooth motion. Rather, the skull seemed to push outward for a few moments, widening the opening, then stop, as if to rest. Blod cried in pain with every surge.

Edgar said: “It’s got hair.”

Leaf said: “They generally do.”

Then, like a marvel, the baby’s entire head came into the world.

Edgar was possessed by a powerful emotion he could not name. He was awed by what he was seeing. His throat constricted as if he were about to weep, yet he was not sad; in fact, he felt joyous.

Leaf took the rag from her shoulder and held it between Blod’s thighs, supporting the baby’s head with her hands. The shoulders appeared, then its belly with something attached, which, he realized immediately, was the cord. The whole body was covered with some slimy fluid. At last the legs appeared. It was a boy, he saw.

Ethel said: “I feel strange.”

Leaf looked at her and said: “She’s going to faint—catch her, Edgar.”

Ethel’s eyes rolled up and she went limp. Just in time, Edgar caught her under the arms and laid her carefully on the floor.

The boy opened his mouth and cried.

Blod slowly lowered herself to her hands and knees. Leaf wrapped the rag around the tiny baby and laid him gently in the rushes on the floor. Then she deployed the mysterious thin strips of leather. She tied both tightly around the cord, one close to the baby’s belly and the other a couple of inches away. Finally she drew her belt knife and cut the cord.

She dipped a clean rag in the bucket and washed the baby, gently cleaning blood and mucus from his face and head, then the rest of his body. He cried again at the feel of the water. She patted him dry then wrapped him up again.