The Evening and the Morning

by Ken Follett

  Ragna was disconcerted to hear that she was to be related to this alehouse keeper. She did not immediately accept his invitation to go inside. “No, I did not know,” she said.

  “Oh, yes. Ealdorman Wilwulf is my cousin. You’ll be family to me after the wedding.”

  Ragna was not pleased.

  He went on: “My brother and I run this little village, under Wilwulf’s authority, of course. My brother, Degbert, is dean of the minster up the hill.”

  “That little church is a minster?”

  “Just half a dozen clergy, quite small. But come inside, please.” Dreng put his arm around Ragna’s shoulders.

  This was going too far. Even if she had liked Dreng she would not have allowed him to paw her. With a deliberate movement she took his arm off her shoulders. “My husband would not like me to be caressed by his cousin,” she said coolly. Then she walked ahead of him into the house.

  Dreng followed her in saying: “Oh, our Wilf wouldn’t mind.” But he did not touch her again.

  Ragna looked around the inside of the building with a feeling that was becoming familiar. Like most English alehouses it was dark, smelly, and smoky. There were two tables and a scatter of benches and stools.

  Cat was close behind her. She moved a stool nearer to the fire for Ragna, then helped her take off her sodden cloak. Ragna sat by the fire and held out her hands to warm them.

  There were three women in the tavern, she saw. The eldest was presumably Dreng’s wife. The youngest, a pregnant girl with a pinched face, wore no headdress of any kind, usually the sign of a prostitute: Ragna guessed she might be a slave. The third woman was about Ragna’s age, and might be Dreng’s concubine.

  Ragna’s maids and bodyguards crowded into the house. Ragna said to Dreng: “Would you please give my servants some ale?”

  “My wife shall attend to it at once, my lady.” He spoke to the two women. “Leaf, give them some ale. Ethel, get the supper started.”

  Leaf opened a chest full of wooden bowls and cups, and began to fill them from a barrel on a stand in the corner. Ethel hung an iron cauldron over the fire and poured water into it, then produced a large leg of mutton and added it to the pot.

  The pregnant girl brought in an armful of firewood. Ragna was surprised to see her doing heavy work when her time was evidently so near. It was no wonder she looked tired and morose.

  Edgar knelt by the hearth and built up the fire twig by twig. Soon it was a cheerful blaze that warmed Ragna and dried her clothes.

  She said to him: “On the ferry, when my maid, Cat, told you who I was, you said: ‘I know.’ How did you know me?”

  Edgar smiled. “You won’t remember, but we’ve met before.”

  Ragna did not apologize for not recognizing him. A noblewoman met hundreds of people and could not be expected to recall them all. She said: “When was that?”

  “Five years ago. I was only thirteen.” Edgar drew his knife from his belt and set it on the hearth stones so that the blade was in the flames.

  “So I was fifteen. I’ve never been to England before now, so you must have come to Normandy.”

  “My late father was a boatbuilder at Combe. We went to Cherbourg to deliver a ship. That’s when I met you.”

  “Did we speak?”

  “Yes.” He looked embarrassed.

  “Wait a minute.” Ragna smiled. “I vaguely remember a cheeky little English boy who came into the castle uninvited.”

  “That sounds like me.”

  “He told me I was beautiful, in bad French.”

  Edgar had the grace to blush. “I apologize for my insolence. And for my French.” Then he grinned. “But not for my taste.”

  “Did I reply? I don’t remember.”

  “You spoke to me in quite good Anglo-Saxon.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You told me I was charming.”

  “Ah, yes! Then you said you were going to marry someone like me.”

  “I don’t know how I could have been so disrespectful.”

  “I didn’t mind, really. But I think I may have decided the joke had gone far enough.”

  “Yes, indeed. You told me to go back to England before I got into real trouble.” He stood up, perhaps thinking that he was teetering on the edge of impertinence, as he had five years earlier. “Would you like some warm ale?”

  “I’d love it.”

  Edgar got a cup of ale from the woman called Leaf. Using his sleeve as a glove he picked up his knife from the fire and plunged the blade into the cup. The liquid fizzed and foamed. He stirred it then handed it to her. “I don’t think it will be too hot,” he said.

  She touched the cup to her lips and took a sip. “Perfect,” she said, and drank a long swallow. It warmed her belly.

  She was feeling more cheerful.

  “I should leave you,” Edgar said. “I expect my master wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh, no, please,” Ragna said hastily. “I can’t bear him. Stay here. Sit down. Talk.”

  He drew up a stool, thought for a moment, then said: “It must be difficult to start a new life in a strange country.”

  You have no idea, she thought. But she did not want to appear glum. “It’s an adventure,” she said brightly.

  “But everything is different. I felt bewildered that day in Cherbourg: a different language, strange clothes, even buildings that looked queer. And I was only there for a day.”

  “It’s a challenge,” she admitted.

  “I’ve noticed that people aren’t always kind to foreigners. When I lived at Combe we saw a lot of strangers. Some of the townspeople enjoyed laughing at the mistakes made by French or Flemish visitors.”

  Ragna nodded. “An ignorant man thinks foreigners are stupid—not realizing that he himself would appear just as foolish if he went abroad.”

  “It must be hard to bear. I admire your courage.”

  He was the first English person to sympathize with what she was going through. Ironically, his compassion undermined her facade of determined stoicism. To her own dismay she began to cry.

  “I’m so sorry!” he said. “What have I done?”

  “You’ve been kind,” she managed to say. “No one else has, not since I landed in this country.”

  He was embarrassed again. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s not you, really.” She did not want to complain about how awful England was. She fastened on the outlaw. “I lost something precious today.”

  “I’m sorry. What was it?”

  “A gift for my husband-to-be, a belt with a silver buckle. I was so looking forward to giving it to him.”

  “What a shame.”

  “It was stolen by a man wearing a helmet.”

  “That sounds like Ironface. He’s an outlaw. He tried to steal my family’s piglet, but my dog gave warning.”

  A man with a bald head came into the house and approached Ragna. Like Dreng, he bore a faint resemblance to Wilwulf. “Welcome to Dreng’s Ferry, my lady,” he said. “I’m Degbert, dean of the minster and landlord of the village.” In a lower voice he said to Edgar: “Push off, lad.”

  Edgar got up and left.

  Degbert sat down uninvited on the stool vacated by Edgar. “Your fiancé is my cousin,” he said.

  Ragna said politely: “I’m glad to meet you.”

  “We’re honored to receive you here.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” she lied. She wondered how long it would be before she could go to sleep.

  She made small talk with Degbert for a few dull minutes, then Edgar returned, accompanied by a stout little man in clerical dress carrying a chest. Degbert looked up at them and said irritably: “What’s this?”

  Edgar said: “I asked Cuthbert to bring some of his jewelry to show the lady Ragna. She lost something precious
today—Ironface robbed her—and she may like to replace it.”

  Degbert hesitated. He was clearly enjoying his monopoly of the high-ranking visitor. However, he decided to yield gracefully. “We at the minster are proud of Cuthbert’s skill,” he said. “I hope you’ll find something to your liking, my lady.”

  Ragna was skeptical. The best English jewelry was splendid, and was prized all over Europe, but that did not mean that everything produced by Englishmen would be good; and it seemed unlikely that fine things would be made in this little settlement. But she was glad to get rid of Degbert.

  Cuthbert had a timid air. He said nervously: “May I open the box, my lady? I don’t want to intrude, but Edgar said you might be interested.”

  “By all means,” said Ragna. “I’d love to see.”

  “You don’t have to buy anything, don’t worry.” Cuthbert spread a blue cloth on the floor and opened the chest. It was full of objects wrapped in woolen cloth. He brought items out one by one, carefully unwrapped them, and laid them in front of Ragna, glancing anxiously at her all the time. She was pleased to see that the quality of the workmanship was high. He had made brooches, buckles, clasps, arm rings, and finger rings, mostly silver, all engraved with elaborate patterns, often inlaid with a black substance that Ragna assumed was niello, a mixture of metals.

  Her eye lit on a chunky arm ring with a masculine look. She picked it up and found it satisfyingly heavy. It was silver with an engraved pattern of intertwining serpents, and she could picture it on Wilwulf’s muscular arm.

  Cuthbert said slyly: “You’ve picked my best piece, my lady.”

  She studied it. She felt sure Wilwulf would like it, and wear it with pride. She said: “What’s the price?”

  “There’s a lot of silver in it.”

  “Is the silver pure?”

  “One part in twenty is copper, for strength,” he said. “Same as our silver coins.”

  “Very good. How much?”

  “Would it be for Ealdorman Wilwulf?”

  Ragna smiled. He was not going to name a price until he had to. He was trying to figure out how much she would be willing to pay. Cuthbert might be timid, she thought, but he was sly, too. “Yes,” she replied. “A wedding gift.”

  “In that case, I must let you have it for no more than it cost me, as my way of honoring your nuptial celebrations.”

  “You’re very kind. How much?”

  Cuthbert sighed. “A pound,” he said.

  It was a lot of money: two hundred and forty silver pennies. But there was about half a pound of silver in the arm ring: the price was reasonable. And the more she looked at it, the more she wanted it. She imagined herself slipping it over Wilwulf’s hand and up his arm, then looking at his face to see him smile.

  She decided not to haggle; it was undignified. She was not a peasant woman buying a ladle. But she pretended to hesitate, just for the sake of appearances.

  Cuthbert said: “Don’t make me sell it for less than it cost me, dear lady.”

  “Very well,” she said. “A pound.”

  “The ealdorman will be delighted. This will look wonderful on his mighty arm.”

  Cat had been watching the interchange, and now Ragna saw her quietly move to where their luggage was stowed and unobtrusively unlock an ironbound chest.

  Ragna put the ring on her own arm. It was far too big, of course, but she liked the engraving.

  Cuthbert wrapped up his remaining ornaments and lovingly stowed them away.

  Cat came back with a small leather bag. Meticulously she counted out pennies in multiples of twelve. Cuthbert re-counted each twelve. Finally Cuthbert put the money in his chest, closed the box, and left, wishing Ragna a splendid wedding day and many years of happy marriage.

  Supper was served at the two tables. The visitors ate first. There were no plates: instead, thick slices of bread were placed on the table and Ethel’s mutton with onions was ladled onto the bread. They all waited for Ragna to begin. She speared a piece of meat with her knife and put it in her mouth, then they all tucked in. The stew was simple but tasty.

  Ragna felt cheered by food, ale, and the pleasure of buying a gift for the man she loved.

  Night fell while they were eating, and lamps around the room were lit by the pregnant slave.

  As soon as Ragna had finished eating she said: “Now I’m tired. Where do I sleep?”

  Dreng said cheerfully: “Anywhere you like, my lady.”

  “But where is my bed?”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have beds, my lady.”

  “No beds?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Did they really expect her to wrap herself in her cloak and lie down in the straw with everyone else? The creepy Dreng would probably try to lie next to her. At the English monasteries she had been given a simple wooden bed with a mattress, and Thurstan of Lordsborough had provided a sort of box with leaves in the bottom. “Not even a box bed?” she said.

  “No one in Dreng’s Ferry has a bed of any kind.”

  Edgar spoke up. “Except the nuns.”

  Ragna was surprised. “Nobody told me about any nuns.”

  “On the island,” said Edgar. “There’s a small convent.”

  Dreng looked cross. “You can’t go there, my lady. They look after lepers and all sorts. That’s why it’s called Leper Island.”

  Ragna was skeptical. Many nuns cared for the sick, and they rarely caught the infections of their patients. Dreng just wanted the prestige of hosting Ragna overnight.

  Edgar said: “The lepers aren’t allowed into the convent.”

  Dreng said crossly: “You know nothing, you’ve only lived here a quarter of a year, keep your mouth shut.” He smiled unctuously at Ragna. “I couldn’t let you risk your life, my lady.”

  “I’m not asking your permission,” Ragna said coldly. “I shall make up my own mind.” She turned to Edgar. “What are the sleeping arrangements at the nunnery?”

  “I’ve only been there once, to repair the roof, but I think there are two bedrooms, one for the mother superior and her deputy, and a large room for the other five or six nuns. They all have wooden bedsteads with mattresses and blankets.”

  “That sounds perfect. Will you take me there?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “Cat and Agnes will come with me. The rest of my servants will remain here. If the nunnery turns out to be unsuitable for any reason, I’ll come straight back.”

  Cat picked up the leather bag that contained the few items Ragna needed at night, such as a comb and a piece of Spanish soap. She had discovered that England had only liquid soap.

  Edgar took a lamp from the wall and Cat another. If Dreng objected he did not dare say so.

  Ragna caught Bern’s eye and gave him a hard look. He nodded, understanding her. He was in charge of the chest containing the money.

  She followed Edgar out, and Cat and Agnes came behind. They made their way to the waterside and boarded the boat while Edgar untied the rope. His dog jumped aboard. Edgar picked up a pole and the boat moved off.

  Ragna hoped the nunnery was as advertised. She was badly in need of a clean room and a soft bed and a warm blanket. She felt like a thirsty person whose throat burns with desire on seeing a flagon of cold cider.

  She said: “Is the nunnery wealthy, Edgar?”

  “Moderately,” he said. He poled the boat effortlessly and had no shortage of breath for talking. “They own land at Northwood and St.-John-in-the-Forest.”

  Agnes said: “Are you married to one of the ladies in the tavern, Edgar?”

  Ragna smiled. Clearly Agnes was attracted to Edgar.

  He laughed. “No. Two of them are Dreng’s wives, and the pregnant girl is a slave.”

  “Are men allowed to have two wives in England?”

  “Not really, but the
priests can’t stop it.”

  “Are you the father of the slave’s baby?”

  Another pointed question, Ragna thought.

  Edgar was mildly offended. “Certainly not.”

  “Who is?”

  “No one knows.”

  Cat said: “We don’t have slaves in Normandy.”

  It was still raining. No moon or stars were visible. Ragna could see very little. But Edgar knew his way, and in a short time the ferry nudged a sandy bank. By the light of the lamps Ragna made out a little rowboat tied to a post. Edgar moored the ferry.

  “The bank drops off steeply,” he said to the women. “Shall I carry you? It’s only two steps, but you will get your dresses wet.”

  Cat answered. “Carry my lady, please,” she said briskly. “Agnes and I will manage.”

  Agnes made a disappointed sound, but did not dare to argue with Cat.

  Edgar stood in the water beside the boat. It came up to his thighs. Ragna sat on the edge of the boat with her back to him, then turned her body and put an arm around his neck, and finally swung her legs over the side. He took her weight on both arms, supporting her effortlessly.

  She found herself enjoying his embrace. She felt a little ashamed: she was in love with another man, and about to marry him—she had no business snuggling up to someone else! But she had a good excuse and it was over in no time. Edgar took two steps through the water then set her down on the bank.

  They followed a footpath up a slope. At its end was a large stone building. Its outlines were not clear in the lamplight, but Ragna thought she saw twin gables, and guessed that one marked the church and the other the convent. To the side of the convent was a little tower.

  Edgar knocked on the wooden door.

  After a while they heard a voice. “Who’s knocking at this time of night?”

  Nuns went to bed early, Ragna recalled.

  Edgar said: “This is Edgar the builder. I’ve brought the lady Ragna from Cherbourg, who commands your hospitality.”

  The door was opened by a thin woman of about forty with pale blue eyes. A few strands of gray hair had escaped from her cap. She held a lantern up and looked at the visitors. When she saw Ragna her eyes widened and her mouth opened. It happened a lot: Ragna was used to it.