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.

After an hour the travelers reloaded their horse and Edgar poled them across the river.

When he got back he found Blod hiding inside the half-built brewhouse. She was crying, and there was blood on her dress. “What happened?” he said.

“Those two men paid to fuck me,” she said.

Edgar was shocked. “But it’s not two weeks since you had the baby!” He was not sure how long women were supposed to abstain, but surely it would take a month or two to recover from what he had seen Blod go through.

“That’s why it hurt so much,” she said. “Then the second one wouldn’t pay the full amount because he said I spoiled it by crying. So now Dreng is going to beat me.”

“Oh, merciful Jesus,” Edgar said. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to kill him before he kills me.”

Edgar did not think she should do that, but he asked a practical question. “How?” Blod had a knife, as did everyone over the age of about five, but hers was small, like a child’s, and she was not allowed to keep it too sharp. She could not kill anyone with that.

She said: “I’m going to get up in the night, take your ax off its hook, and sink the blade into Dreng’s heart.”

“They’ll execute you.”

“But I’ll die satisfied.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Edgar. “Why don’t you run away? You could sneak out when they go to sleep—they’re usually drunk by nightfall, they won’t wake. This is a good time: the Welsh raiders are only two days away. Travel by night and hide by day. You could join up with your own people.”

“What about the hue and cry?”

Edgar nodded. The hue and cry was the means by which offenders were arrested. All men were obliged, by law, to chase after anyone who committed a crime within the hundred. If they refused, they were liable for the cost of the damage caused by the crime, usually the value of the goods stolen. Men rarely refused: it was in their interest to capture criminals, and anyway the chase was exciting. If Blod ran away, Dreng would start a hue and cry, and in all probability Blod would be recaptured.

But Edgar had thought of that. “After you’ve gone, I’ll take the ferryboat downstream and beach it somewhere, then walk back. When they see that it’s gone they’ll think you must have used it to escape, and they’ll assume you will have gone downstream, to travel faster and put the maximum distance between yourself and them. So they’ll search for you along the river to the east. Meanwhile, you’ll be headed the opposite way.”

Blod’s pinched face lit up with hope. “Do you really believe I could escape?”

“I don’t know,” said Edgar.

* * *

It was not until later that Edgar realized what he had done.

If he helped Blod escape he would be committing a crime. Just days ago he had stood up in the hundred court and insisted that the law must be obeyed. Now he was about to break it. If he was found out, his neighbors would have little mercy on him; they would call him a hypocrite. He would be sentenced to pay Dreng the price of a new slave. He would be in debt for years. He might even have to become a slave himself.

But he could not go back on his word. He did not even want to. He was sickened by Dreng’s treatment of Blod and he felt he could not let it continue. Perhaps there were principles more important than the rule of law.

He would just have to make sure he did not get caught.

Dreng had been drinking more than usual since the hundred court, and that evening was no exception. By dusk he was slurring his speech. His wives encouraged him, for when he was drunk his punches often missed their target. At nightfall he just about managed to undo his belt and wrap himself in his cloak before passing out in the rushes on the floor.

Leaf always drank a lot. Edgar suspected she did it to make herself unattractive to Dreng. Edgar had never seen the two of them embrace. Ethel was Dreng’s choice for sex when he was sober enough, but that was not often.

Ethel was not as quick as the others to fall asleep, and Edgar listened to her breathing, waiting for it to fall into the steady rhythm of slumber. He was reminded of the night four months ago when he had lain awake in his family’s house at Combe. He felt the pain of grief as he remembered how exciting the future had seemed with Sunni, and how bleak it turned out to be without her.

Both Leaf and Dreng were snoring, Leaf in a steady drone, Dreng in great snorts followed by gasps. At last Ethel’s breathing became regular. Edgar looked across the room at Blod. He could see her face in the firelight. Her eyes were open, and she was waiting for a signal from him.

This was the moment of final decision.

Edgar sat upright, and Dreng moved.

Edgar lay back down.

Dreng stopped snoring, turned over, breathed normally for a minute, then scrambled to his feet. He picked up a cup, filled it from the water bucket, drank, and went back to his place on the floor.

After a while he resumed snoring.

There will never be a better time, Edgar thought. He sat up. Blod did the same.

They both stood up. Edgar’s hearing was alert for any change in the sound made by the sleepers. He lifted his ax off its hook, stepped softly to the door, and glanced back.