by Ken Follett
It was a mature beast with long canine teeth curving out of its mouth, and despite its peril, it cannily uttered no sound. Wilwulf and Ragna rode around the thicket and sighted the boar ahead. Wilwulf jumped his horse over a large fallen tree. Ragna, determined not to be left behind, went after him, and Astrid made the jump, just.
The boar was strong. The horses kept pace but could not close with it. Every time Ragna thought she or Wilwulf was almost near enough to strike, the beast would suddenly change direction.
Ragna was vaguely aware that she could no longer hear the rest of the hunt.
The boar crashed into a clearing with no cover, and the horses put on a burst of speed. Wilwulf came up on the beast’s left, Ragna on its right.
Wilwulf drew level and stabbed. The boar dodged at the last moment. The blade of the spear entered its hump, wounding it but not slowing it down. It swerved and charged directly at Ragna. She leaned left and jerked at the reins, and Astrid turned toward the boar, sure-footed despite her speed. Ragna rode straight at the boar with her spear pointing down. The beast tried to dodge again, but too late, and Ragna’s weapon went straight into its open mouth. She gripped the handle tightly, pushing until the resistance threatened to dislodge her from her saddle; then she let go. Wilwulf wheeled his horse and struck again, penetrating the boar’s thick neck, and it fell.
They dismounted, flushed and panting. Ragna said: “Well done!”
“Well done to you!” said Wilwulf, and then he kissed her.
The kiss began as an exuberant congratulatory peck on the lips, but quickly changed. Ragna sensed his sudden desire. She felt his mustache as his mouth moved hungrily on her lips. She was more than willing, and opened her mouth eagerly to his tongue. Then they both heard the hunt coming toward them, and they broke apart.
A moment later they were surrounded by the other hunters. They had to explain how the kill had been a joint effort. The boar was the biggest of the day, and they were congratulated again and again.
Ragna felt dazed by the excitement of the kill, and even more by the kiss. She was glad when everyone mounted and headed home. She rode a little apart from the rest so that she could think. What did Wilwulf mean by the kiss, if anything?
Ragna did not know much about men, but she realized that they were happy to grab a random kiss with a beautiful woman more or less any time. They were also capable of forgetting it quite soon. She had sensed his quickening interest in her, but perhaps he had enjoyed her the way he might have enjoyed a plum, thinking no more about it afterward. And how did she feel about the kiss? Although it had not lasted long, it had shaken her. She had kissed boys before, but not often, and it had never been like that.
She remembered bathing in the sea as a child. She had always loved the water, and was now a strong swimmer, but once when little she had been bowled over by a huge breaking wave. She had squealed, then found her feet, and finally rushed right back into the surf. Now she remembered that feeling of being completely helpless to resist something both delightful and a little bit frightening.
Why had the kiss been so intense? Perhaps because of what had happened before it. They had discussed Wilwulf’s problem like equals, and he had listened to her. This despite the outward impression he gave of being a typical aggressively masculine nobleman who had no time for women. And then they had killed a boar together, collaborating as if they had been a hunting team for years. All that, she thought on reflection, had given her a degree of trust in him that meant she could kiss him and enjoy it.
She wanted to do it again; she had no doubt about that. She wanted to kiss him for longer next time. But did she want anything else from him? She did not know. She would wait and see.
She resolved not to change her attitude to him in public. She would be cool and dignified. Anything else would be noticed. Women picked up on that sort of thing the way dogs scented boar. She did not want the castle maids gossiping about her.
But it would be different in private—and she was determined to get him alone at least one more time before he left. Unfortunately no one had any privacy except the count and countess. It was difficult to do anything in secret at a castle. Peasants were luckier, she thought; they could sneak off into the woods, or lie down unseen in a big field of ripe wheat. How was she going to arrange a clandestine meeting with Wilwulf?
She arrived back at Cherbourg Castle without finding an answer.
She left Astrid to the stable hands and went into the keep. Her mother beckoned her to the private quarters. Genevieve was not interested in hearing about the hunt. “Good news!” she said, her eyes gleaming. “I’ve been talking to Father Louis. He starts for Reims tomorrow. But he told me he approves of you!”
“I’m very glad,” said Ragna, not sure she meant it.
“He’s says you’re a bit forward—as if we didn’t know—but he believes you’ll become less so with maturity. And he thinks you’ll be a strong support for Guillaume when he becomes the count of Reims. Apparently you resolved the problem at Saint-Martin skillfully.”
“Does Louis feel that Guillaume is in need of support?” Ragna asked suspiciously. “Is he weak?”
“Oh, don’t be so negative,” her mother said. “You may have won a husband—be happy!”
“I am happy,” said Ragna.
* * *
She found a place where they could kiss.
As well as the castle there were many other buildings within the wooden stockade: stables and livestock barns; a bakery, a brewery and a cookhouse; houses for families; and storerooms for smoked meat and fish, flour, cider, cheese, and hay. The hay store was out of use in July, when there was plenty of new grass for the livestock to graze.
The first time, Ragna took him there under the pretext of showing him a place where his men could temporarily store their weapons and armor. He kissed her as soon as she closed the door, and the kiss was even more exciting than the first time. The building quickly became a place of regular assignation. As night fell—late in the evening at this time of year—they would leave the keep, as most people did in the hour before bedtime, and go separately to the hay store. The room smelled moldy, but they did not care. They caressed each other more intimately with each passing day. Then Ragna would call a halt, panting, and leave quickly.
They were scrupulously discreet, but they did not completely fool Genevieve. The countess did not know about the hay store, but she could sense the passion between her daughter and the visitor. However, she spoke indirectly, as was always her preference. “England is an uncomfortable place,” she said one day, as if making small talk.
“When were you there?” Ragna asked. It was a sly question, for she already knew the answer.
“I’ve never been,” Genevieve admitted. “But I’ve heard that it’s cold and it rains all the time.”
“Then I’m glad I don’t have to go there.”
Ragna’s mother could not be shut down that easily. “Englishmen are untrustworthy,” she went on.
“Are they?” Wilwulf was intelligent and surprisingly romantic. When they met in the hay store he was gently tender. He was not domineering, but he was irresistibly sexy. He had dreamed one night of being tied up with a rope made of Ragna’s red hair, he told her, and he had woken up with an erection. She found that thought powerfully arousing. Was he trustworthy? She thought he was, but evidently her mother disagreed. “Why do you say that?” Ragna asked.
“Englishmen keep their promises when it suits their convenience, and not otherwise.”
“And you believe that Norman men never do that?”
Genevieve sighed. “You’re clever, Ragna, but not as clever as you think you are.”
That’s true of a lot of people, Ragna thought, from Father Louis all the way down to my seamstress, Agnes; why shouldn’t it be true of me? “Perhaps you’re right,” she said.
Genevieve pushed her advantage. “Y
our father has spoiled you by teaching you about government. But a woman can never be a ruler.”
“That’s not so,” Ragna said, speaking more heatedly than she had intended. “A woman can be a queen, a countess, an abbess, or a prioress.”
“Always under the authority of a man.”
“Theoretically, yes, but a lot depends on the character of the individual woman.”
“So you’re going to be a queen, are you?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to be, but I’d like to rule side by side with my husband, talking to him as he talks to me about what we need to do to make our domain happy and prosperous.”
Genevieve shook her head sadly. “Dreams,” she said. “We all had them.” She said no more.
Meanwhile, Wilwulf’s negotiations with Count Hubert progressed. Hubert liked the idea of smoothing the passage of Norman exports through the port of Combe, since he profited by levies on all ships entering and leaving Cherbourg. The discussions were detailed: Wilwulf was reluctant to reduce customs duties and Hubert would have preferred none at all, but both agreed that consistency was important.
Hubert questioned Wilwulf about getting the approval of King Ethelred of England for the agreement they were negotiating. Wilwulf admitted that he had not sought prior permission, and said rather airily that he would certainly ask the king to ratify the deal, but he felt sure that would be a mere formality. Hubert confessed privately to Ragna that he was not really satisfied with this, but he thought he had little to lose.
Ragna wondered why Wilwulf had not brought one of his senior counselors with him to help, but she eventually realized that Wilwulf did not have counselors. He made many decisions at shire court, with his thanes in attendance, and he sometimes took advice from a brother who was a bishop, but much of the time he ruled alone.
Eventually Hubert and Wilwulf came to an agreement and Hubert’s clerk drew up a treaty. It was witnessed by the bishop of Bayeux and several Norman knights and clergymen who were in the castle at the time.
Then Wilwulf was ready to go home.
Ragna waited for him to speak about the future. She wanted to see him again, but how was that possible? They lived in different countries.
Did he see their romance as merely a passing thing? Surely not. The world was full of peasant girls who would not hesitate to spend a night with a nobleman, not to mention slave girls who had no choice in the matter. Wilwulf must have seen something special in Ragna, to contrive to meet her in secret every day only to kiss and caress her.
She could have asked him outright what his intentions were, but she hesitated. It did a girl no good to seem needy. Besides, she was too proud. If he wanted her, he would ask; and if he did not ask, then he did not want her enough.
His ship awaited him, the wind was favorable, and he was planning to leave the next morning, when they met at the hay store for the last time.
The fact that he was leaving, and that she did not know whether she would ever see him again, might have dampened her ardor, but in the event it did the opposite. She clung to him as if she could keep him in Cherbourg by holding on tightly. When he touched her breasts, she was so aroused that she felt moisture trickle down the inside of her thigh.
She pressed her body to his so that she could feel his erection through their clothes, and they moved together as if in intercourse. She lifted the long skirt of her dress up around her waist, to feel him better. That only made her desire stronger. In some deep cellar of her mind she knew that she was losing control, but she could not make herself care.
He was dressed like her except that his tunic was knee length, and somehow it got lifted up and pushed aside. Neither of them was wearing underwear—they donned it only for special reasons, such as comfort when riding—and with a thrill she felt his bare flesh against her own.
A moment later he was inside her.
She vaguely heard him say something like: “Are you sure . . . ?”
She replied: “Push, push!”
She felt a sudden sharp pain, but it lasted only seconds, and then all was pleasure. She wanted the feeling to go on forever, but he moved faster, and suddenly they were both shaking with delight, and she felt his hot fluid inside her, and it seemed like the end of the world.
She held on to him, feeling that her legs might give way at any moment. He kept her close for a long time, then at last drew back a little to look at her. “My word,” he said. He looked as if something had surprised him.
When at last she could speak, she said: “Is it always like that?”
“Oh, no,” he said. “Hardly ever.”
* * *
The servants slept on the floor, but Ragna and her brother, Richard, and a few of the senior staff had beds, wide benches up against the wall with linen mattresses stuffed with straw. Ragna had a linen sheet in summer and a wool blanket when it was cold. Tonight, after the candles had been snuffed, she curled up under her sheet and remembered.
She had lost her virginity to the man she loved, and it felt wonderful. Furtively, she pushed a finger inside herself and brought it out sticky with his fluid. She smelled its fishy smell, then tasted it and found it salty.
She had done something that would change her life, she knew. A priest would say she was now married in the eyes of God, and she felt the truth of that. And she was glad. The thrill that had overwhelmed her in the hay store was the physical expression of the togetherness that had grown so fast between them. He was the right man for her, she knew that for certain.
She was also committed to Wilwulf in a more practical way. A noblewoman had to be a virgin for her husband. Ragna could certainly never wed anyone other than Wilwulf now, not without a deception that could blight the marriage.
And she might be pregnant.
She wondered what would happen in the morning. What would Wilwulf do? He would have to say something: he knew as well as she did that everything was changed now that they had done what they had done. He must speak to her father about their marriage. There would be an agreement about money. Both Wilwulf and Ragna were nobility, and there might be political consequences to discuss. Wilwulf might need King Ethelred’s permission.
He needed to discuss it with Ragna, too. They had to talk about when they would marry, and where, and what the ceremony would be like. She looked forward eagerly to that.
She was happy, and all these issues could be dealt with. She loved him and he loved her, and they would be partners together throughout their lives.
She thought she would not close her eyes all night, but she soon fell into a heavy sleep, and did not wake until it was full daylight and the servants were clattering bowls on the table and bringing in huge loaves from the bakery.
She leaped up and looked around. Wilwulf’s men-at-arms were packing their few possessions into boxes and leather bags, ready to depart. Wilwulf himself was not in the hall: he must have gone out to wash.
Ragna’s parents came out of their quarters and sat at the head of the table. Genevieve was not going to be happy about this morning’s news. Hubert would be less dogmatic, but nevertheless his permission would not be readily given. They both had other plans for Ragna. But if necessary she would tell them she had already lost her virginity to Wilwulf, and they would have to give in.
She took some bread, spread it with a paste made of crushed berries and wine, and ate hungrily.
Wilwulf came in and took his place at the table. “I’ve spoken to the captain,” he said to everyone. “We leave in an hour.”
Now, Ragna thought, he will tell them; but he drew his knife, cut a thick slice of ham from a joint, and began to eat. He’ll speak after breakfast, she thought.
Suddenly she was too tense to eat. The bread seemed to stick in her throat, and she had to take a mouthful of cider to help her swallow. Wilwulf was talking to her father about the weather in the Channel and how long it would take to
reach Combe, and it was like a speech in a dream, words that made no sense. Too quickly the meal came to an end.
The count and countess decided to walk down to the waterfront and see Wilwulf off, and Ragna joined them, feeling like an invisible spirit, saying nothing and following the crowd, ignored by all. The mayor’s daughter, a girl of her own age, saw her and said: “Lovely day!” Ragna did not reply.
At the water’s edge Wilwulf’s men hitched up their tunics and prepared to wade out to their vessel. Wilwulf turned and smiled at the family group. Now, surely, he would say: “I want to marry Ragna.”
He bowed formally to Hubert, Genevieve, Richard, and finally Ragna. He took both her hands in his and said in halting French: “Thank you for your kindness.” Then, incredibly, he turned away, splashed through the shallows, and climbed aboard the ship.
Ragna could not speak.
The sailors untied the ropes. Ragna could not believe what she was seeing. The crew unfurled the sail. It flapped for a moment then caught the wind and swelled. The ship picked up pace.
Leaning on the rail, Wilwulf waved once, then turned away.
CHAPTER 5
Late July 997
iding through the woods on a summer afternoon, watching the shifting patterns of dappled sunlight on the beaten track ahead, Brother Aldred sang hymns at the top of his voice. In between he talked to his pony, Dismas, asking the beast whether he had enjoyed the last hymn, and what he might like to hear next.
Aldred was a couple of days away from Shiring, and he felt he was returning home in triumph. His mission in life was to bring learning and understanding where before there was blind ignorance. The eight new books in the box strapped to Dismas’s rump, written on parchment and beautifully illustrated, would be the modest foundation of a grand project. Aldred’s dream was to turn Shiring Abbey into a great center of learning and scholarship, with a scriptorium to rival that of Jumièges, a large library, and a school that would teach the sons of noblemen to read, count, and fear God.