After that they stopped talking.

Looking ahead, Edgar reflected that it might not be easy to establish Gab’s cheating for certain. He needed to do it without arousing hostility. If he appeared too obviously inquisitive, Gab would become wary. And if he revealed his suspicions, Gab would be angry. It was curious, but a wrongdoer found out could often be morally indignant, as if the discovery were the offense, rather than the original transgression. More importantly, if Gab knew he was mistrusted he would have a chance to cover up.

The raft moved faster than Edgar had when walking on the bank, and they reached the large village of Outhenham at midday. The soil here was clay, and an eight-ox team was pulling a heavy plough in the nearest field, the great clods of earth rising and falling like waves of mud breaking on a beach. In the distance men were sowing, trudging the furrows and throwing the seed, while small children followed, scaring off the birds with shrill cries.

They pulled the raft up onto a beach, and to be doubly safe Edgar tied it to a tree. Then they walked into the village.

Seric was again in his orchard, pruning the trees this time. Edgar stopped to talk to him. “Am I going to have trouble with Dudda again?” he asked.

Seric glanced at the sky to check the time of day. “Not this early,” he said. “Dudda hasn’t had his dinner yet.”

“Good.”

“Mind you, he’s no sweetheart even when sober.”

“I can imagine.”

They walked on, and came across Dudda a minute later, outside the alehouse. “Good day to you, lads,” he said. “What’s your business here?” His aggression was no doubt tempered by the sight of three strong young men. All the same Brindle growled, sensing underlying hostility.

Edgar said to his brothers: “This is Dudda, headman of Outhenham.” To Dudda he said: “I’m here to buy stone at the quarry, same as last time.”

Dudda looked blank. Clearly he had no memory of Edgar’s previous visit. He said: “Go to the east of the village and follow the track north.”

Edgar knew the way, but he just said: “Thank you” and walked on.

Gab and his family were working in the quarry as before. There was a large stack of cut stones in the middle of the clearing, suggesting that business was slow, which was probably a good thing for Edgar, the buyer. A handcart stood beside the stack.

All I have to do, Edgar thought, is watch how Gab marks the tally stick after I buy the stones I need. If he cuts the correct number of notches, my suspicions are groundless. If not, I’ve proved him guilty.

The slab that Gab was working on fell to the ground with a crash and a cloud of dust, and Gab coughed, put down his tools, and came to speak to the three brothers. He recognized Edgar and said: “Dreng’s Ferry, wasn’t it?”

“I’m Edgar, and these are my brothers, Erman and Eadbald.”

Gab adopted a facetious tone. “Did you bring them to protect you from Dudda?” Obviously he had heard about Edgar’s altercation with the headman on the last visit.

Edgar did not find the joke funny. “I don’t need protection from a fat old drunk,” he said crisply. “I’m here to buy stones, and I’m going to transport them myself this time, so my brothers are here to help me. This way we’ll save a penny on every stone.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” Gab said archly. He did not like Edgar knowing his prices in advance. “Who told you that?”

Cuthbert had, but Edgar decided to ignore the question. “I need ten stones,” he said. He opened the purse Dreng had given him. To his surprise it contained more than the twelve pennies Dreng had said—in fact, he saw at a glance, twenty-four. Erman and Eadbald saw him hesitate and frown, and both could see the coins, but Edgar did not give them a chance to comment: he did not want to look indecisive in front of Gab. He postponed consideration of the mystery, and briskly counted out ten pennies.

Gab counted them again and pocketed them but, to Edgar’s disappointment, he did not notch a stick. He just pointed at the stack of stones. “Help yourselves,” he said.

Edgar did not have a plan for this contingency. He decided to move the stones while thinking about it. “We have to take them to the river,” he said to Gab. “Can we use your cart?”

“No,” said Gab with a sly little smile. “You’ve decided to save money. You can carry the stones.” He walked away.

Edgar shrugged. He unslung his ax and handed it to Erman. “You two go into the woods and cut two stout poles for carrying,” he said. “I’ll take a look at the stones.”

While his brothers were away, he studied the pile. He had already tried cutting a stone into slim tiles, and had discovered that it was a delicate task. The thickness had to be just right: thin tiles sometimes fractured, thick ones would be too heavy for the rafters to bear. But he was confident his skill would improve.

When his brothers came back, he trimmed the poles they brought then laid them parallel on the ground. He and Erman picked up a stone and placed it across the poles. Then they knelt on the ground, one in front of the stone and one behind, grasped the poles, and stood up, lifting the whole ensemble to hip height.

They set off down the track to the river. Edgar called back to Eadbald: “Come with us—we’ll need to set a guard on the raft.”

They took turns carrying, with the resting brother remaining at the riverside just in case some enterprising traveler should decide to make off with a stone or two. By the time the daylight began to fade they had sore shoulders and aching legs, and there was one more stone to move.

But Edgar had not achieved his other purpose. He had failed to confirm Gab’s dishonesty.

The quarry was deserted. Gab and his sons had disappeared, presumably into their house. Edgar tapped on the door and went in. The family were eating their evening meal. Gab looked up with an annoyed expression.

Edgar said: “Can we spend the night here? You were good enough to give me a place to sleep last time.”

“No,” said Gab. “You’re too many. And besides, there are more pennies in that purse of yours—you can afford to stay at the alehouse.”

Edgar was not surprised: the request was hardly reasonable. His question had been no more than a pretext for entering the house.

Gab’s wife, Bee, said: “The alehouse can be rowdy, but the food is all right.”

“Thank you.” Edgar turned around slowly, giving himself time to look carefully at the sticks hanging on the wall. There was a fresh-cut one, he observed, pale and new.

He saw immediately that it had five notches.

That proved it.

He masked his satisfaction, trying to look disappointed and mildly resentful at being refused accommodation. “Good-bye, then,” he said, and walked out.

He felt jubilant as he and Eadbald carried the last stone to the river. He was not sure why, but he was pleased to be able to do Ragna a good turn. He looked forward eagerly to telling her all about it.

When the last stone had been added to the stack, Edgar said: “I think the stones will be safe for an hour, if I leave Brindle here, especially now that it’s getting dark. We can get our supper at the alehouse. You two can sleep there, but I’ll spend the night on the raft. The weather’s not too cold.”

He tied up Brindle on a long string, then the three brothers walked to the alehouse. They got bowls of mutton stew and plenty of rye bread, and a pot of ale each. Edgar noticed Gab in a corner with Dudda, deep in conversation.

Eadbald said: “I saw that there was too much money in that purse.”

Edgar had been wondering when this would come up. He said nothing.

Erman said: “What are we going to do with the extra?”

Edgar noticed the use of “we” but did not comment on it. He said: “Well, I think we’re entitled to pay for our supper and beds for the night, but the rest goes back to Dreng, obviously.”

“Why?” said Erman.

Edgar disliked the question. “Because it’s his money!”

“He said he was giving you twelve pennies. How many were there?”

“Twenty-four.”

“How many extra is that?” Erman was not good with numbers.

“Twelve.”

“He made a mistake. So we can keep the extra twelve. We each get . . . a lot.”

Eadbald, who was smarter than Erman, said: “Four each.”

Edgar said: “So you’re asking me to steal twelve pennies and give eight away!”

“We’re all in this together,” said Erman.

“What if Dreng realizes his mistake?”

“We’ll swear there were only twelve pennies in the purse.”

Eadbald said: “Erman’s right. This is a chance.”

Edgar shook his head firmly. “I’m giving the extra back.”

Erman adopted a jeering tone. “You’ll get no thanks from Dreng.”

“I never get any thanks from Dreng.”

Eadbald said: “He’d steal from you if he could.”

“He would, but I’m not like him—thank heaven.”