Gytha had said Perhaps I should show you your house, and that suggested that Ragna would have a home separate from Wilwulf’s. This was not an unusual arrangement, but somehow she had not anticipated it. The wife of a wealthy nobleman often had a nearby second house for babies and children and their nursemaids; she would spend some nights there and others with her husband. However, Ragna did not expect to spend any nights apart from Wilwulf before a baby made it necessary. The separate house seemed premature. She wished Wilwulf had talked to her about it. But they had had no chance to talk about anything.

She was uncomfortable, the more so because it was Gytha who was telling her about it. Ragna knew that mothers could be irrationally hostile to their sons’ women, and that probably applied to stepmothers, too. Ragna recalled an incident in which her brother, Richard, had been caught embracing a laundress on the ramparts of the castle at Cherbourg. Their mother, Genevieve, had wanted to have the girl flogged. It was natural that she should not want a servant to be impregnated with her son’s child, but Richard had only been stroking the girl between her legs, and Ragna was pretty sure all adolescent boys did that whenever they got the chance. Clearly there had been more to Genevieve’s rage than simple prudence. Could a mother, or even a stepmother, be jealous of her son’s lovers? Was Gytha unfriendly to Ragna because they were rivals for Wilwulf’s affection?

Ragna was wary about this, but in the end, not deeply anxious. She knew how Wilwulf felt about her and she was confident she could hold and keep his love. If she wanted to spend every night in his bed she would do so, and she would make sure he was happy about it.

She turned her steps toward the last of the three houses.

“That’s Wigelm’s place,” Gytha said, but this time she did not try to stop Ragna entering.

The interior of Wigelm’s home had a temporary look, and Ragna supposed he spent a lot of time at Combe, the town of which he was lord. But he was here now, sitting with three other young men around a jug of ale, throwing dice and betting silver pennies. He stood up when he saw Ragna. “Come in, come in,” he said. “The house suddenly seems warmer.”

She immediately regretted entering, but she was not willing to retreat hastily, as if scared. She was making a point of her right to go anywhere. She ignored Wigelm’s banter and said: “Aren’t you married?”

“My wife is at Combe, supervising the rebuilding of our home there after the Viking raid. But she will be here for your wedding.”

“What’s her name?”

“Mildburh, called Milly for short.”

“I look forward to meeting her.”

Wigelm came closer and lowered his voice to a more intimate tone. “Will you sit down and share a cup of ale with me? We’ll teach you to play at dice if you like.”

“Not today.”

Casually, he put his hands on her breasts and squeezed. “My, they really are big, aren’t they?”

Cat made an indignant noise.

Ragna stepped back and pushed his hands away. “But they’re not for you,” she said.

“I’m just checking the goods before my brother buys them.” He shot an arch look at his pals, and on cue, they burst out laughing.

Ragna glanced at Gytha and saw the trace of a smirk on her lips.

Ragna said: “Next time the Vikings raid, I hope you brave men will be there to meet them.”

Wigelm was silenced, unable to work out whether that was a compliment or a curse.

Ragna took the opportunity to make her exit.

A man could be fined for touching the breast of a woman, but Ragna was not going to make a court case out of the incident. However, she vowed to find a way to punish Wigelm.

Outside, she turned to Gytha and said: “So, Wilf has prepared a house for me?”

Her phrasing was deliberate. It was Wilwulf’s responsibility to make sure she was comfortable. He had probably left it to Gytha to make the arrangements, but Ragna would complain to him if dissatisfied, not Gytha, and she wanted Gytha to understand that from the start.

“This way,” said Gytha.

Next to Wigelm’s home was a cheaper house with draughty wattle-and-daub walls. Gytha walked in and Ragna followed.

It was adequately furnished, with a bed, a table with benches, several chests, and plenty of wooden cups and bowls. There was a stack of firewood by the hearth and a barrel that presumably contained ale. The place lacked any touch of luxury.

It was a poor welcome, Ragna felt.

Gytha sensed Ragna’s reaction and said hesitantly: “No doubt you have brought your own personal choice of wall hangings and so on.”

Ragna had not. She had expected everything to be provided. She had money to buy whatever she needed, but that was not the point. “Blankets?” she said.

Gytha shrugged. “Why do you need blankets? Most people sleep in their cloaks.”

“I noticed that Wilf has plenty of blankets in his house.”

Gytha did not reply.

Ragna looked around the walls. “Not enough pegs,” she said. “You didn’t think a bride might have a lot of clothes to hang up?”

“You can put in more pegs.”

“I’ll have to borrow a hammer.”

Gytha looked puzzled, then realized that Ragna was being sarcastic. “I’ll send you a carpenter.”

“The place is too small. I have five maids and seven men-at-arms.”

“The men can be lodged in the town.”

“I prefer them near me.”

“That may not be possible.”

“We’ll see.” Ragna was angry and hurt. However, she needed to think and plan before taking action. She turned to Cat. “Fetch the other maids, and tell the men to bring the baggage.” Cat went out.

Gytha tried to regain the initiative. She adopted an authoritative tone and said: “You’ll live here, and when Wilf wants to spend the night with you he will either come here or invite you to his house. You should never go to his bed uninvited.”

Ragna ignored that. She and Wilf would work things out without the help of his stepmother. She resisted the temptation to say so.

She had had enough of Gytha. “Thank you for showing me around,” she said in a tone of dismissal.

Gytha hesitated. “I hope everything is all right.”

Gytha had probably expected a frightened young foreign girl who could be pushed around. Now, Ragna guessed, she was anxiously revising her opinion.

“We’ll see,” Ragna said tersely.

Gytha tried again. “What will you say to Wilf about your accommodation?”

“We’ll see,” Ragna repeated.

It must have been obvious that Ragna wanted Gytha to leave, but Gytha was ignoring her hints. She had been the senior female here for years, and perhaps she did not believe she could be given orders by another woman. Ragna had to be more forceful. “I have no further need for you at present, stepmother-in-law,” she said; and when Gytha still did not go out she raised her voice and added: “You may go.”

Gytha flushed with embarrassment and anger, but she went out at last.

Cat returned with the others, the men toting chests and bags. They stacked the luggage up against the wall. Cat said: “This place is crowded, with all of us in here.”

“The men must sleep elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere in the town. But don’t unpack. Just what we need for one night.”

Bishop Wynstan came through the open door. “Well, well,” he said, looking around. “So this is your new house.”

“So it seems,” Ragna said.

“Is it not satisfactory?”

“I’ll discuss it with Wilf.”

“Good idea. He wishes for nothing more than your happiness.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’ve come for your dowry.”

“Really?”

Wynstan frowned severely. “You did bring it?”

“Of course.”

“Twenty pounds of silver. That was what I agreed with your father.”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you would let me have it.”

Ragna did not trust Wynstan, and this request sharpened her misgivings. “I shall give it to Wilf when we are married. That was what you agreed with my father.”

“But I must count it.”

Ragna did not want Wynstan to know even which box it was in. “You may count it on the morning of the wedding. Then, after the vows have been taken, it will be handed over—to my husband.”

Wynstan gave her a look that mingled dislike with respect. “As you wish, of course,” he said, and he went out.

* * *

Ragna got up before dawn the next day.

She thought carefully about what to wear. Yesterday she had arrived in a fawn dress and a red cloak, a fetching outfit, but the clothes had been damp and muddy, and she had not looked her best. Today she wanted to be like a flower that had bloomed at daybreak. She chose a yellow silk dress with embroidery at the neck, cuffs, and hem. Cat washed the corners of her eyes and brushed her thick red hair, then tied a green scarf over her head.

While it was still dark, Ragna ate some bread dipped in weak ale and concentrated on what she was about to do. She had spent much of the night thinking over her strategy. Wigelm must be punished, but that was a secondary matter. Her big task was to prove that she, not Gytha, was now in charge of Wilf’s home life. Ragna did not want a quarrel, but she could not let Gytha’s rule continue even for a day, because every moment that she seemed to accept it left her weaker. She had to take immediate action.

It was risky, though. She might displease her husband-to-be, and that would be bad enough; but worse, she might lose the battle, and a victory for Gytha at this stage could be permanent.