The Evening and the Morning

by Ken Follett

  They had spent many hours together just talking. He had told her about his childhood, the death of his mother, the shock of his father’s remarriage to Gytha, and the arrival in his life of two younger half brothers.

  However, he did not like to answer questions. She had discovered this when she asked him about his quarrel with King Ethelred. It was an offense to his pride to be interrogated like a prisoner of war.

  Ragna and Wilf had hunted together once, in the forest between Shiring and Dreng’s Ferry. They had stayed overnight in Wilf’s hunting lodge, remote and isolated, with stables, kennels, stores, and a large house where everyone slept in the rushes on the floor. That evening Wilf had talked at length about his father, who had also been ealdorman of Shiring. The position was not hereditary, and as Wilf had recounted the power struggle that had followed his father’s death, Ragna had learned a good deal about English politics.

  Now, on the day of her wedding, she was glad she knew Wilf so much better than she had when she arrived in Shiring.

  She had wanted a peaceful morning today, but she did not get it. Her first visitor was Bishop Wynstan, his cloak dripping with rain. He was followed in by Cnebba carrying a stilyard, a straight-beam balance, plus a small box probably containing weights.

  Ragna was polite. “Good morning, my lord bishop, I hope I see you in good health.”

  Wynstan took the courtesies as read and got right down to business. “I’m here to check your dowry.”

  “Very well.” Ragna had been expecting this, and became alert for any tricks Wynstan might be up to.

  Hanging from the rafters were several ropes used for various purposes, including keeping food out of the reach of mice. Cnebba now attached the stilyard to one such rope.

  The iron bar of the balance had two unequal sides: the shorter side had a hanging tray in which to place the item to be weighed, and the longer bore a weight that could slide along a graduated scale. With nothing in the tray and the sliding weight at the innermost mark, the two sides balanced and the bar swung gently in the air.

  Cnebba then placed his box on the table and opened it. The weights inside were squat lead cylinders, each with a silver coin embedded in its top to guarantee that it was officially verified. Wynstan said: “I borrowed these from the Shiring mint.”

  Cat moved to pick up a small chest that contained the dowry, but Ragna held up a hand to detain her. Ragna did not trust Wynstan. With Cnebba here to defend him, Wynstan might be tempted to just walk off with the chest under his arm. “Cnebba can leave us now,” Ragna said.

  “I prefer him to stay,” said Wynstan.

  “Why?” said Ragna. “Can he weigh coins better than you?”

  “He’s my bodyguard.”

  “Of whom are you afraid? Me? My maid, Cat?”

  Wynstan looked at Bern but decided not to answer Ragna’s question. “Very well,” he said. “Wait outside, Cnebba.”

  The bodyguard left.

  Ragna said: “Let’s check the balance.” She put a five-pound weight in the tray, causing the short arm of the stilyard to drop. Then she moved the slide on the opposite side outward until the two arms were in balance. The slide stood at the five-pound mark. The balance was accurate.

  Ragna nodded to Bern, who picked up the chest and put it on the table. Ragna unlocked it with a key she had around her neck on a thong.

  The chest contained four small leather bags. Ragna put one on the stilyard in place of the five-pound weight. The two arms balanced almost perfectly: the bag was slightly heavier. “The leather accounts for the insignificant extra weight,” Ragna said.

  Wynstan waved a dismissive hand at that. He had a more important concern. He said: “Show me the coins.”

  Ragna emptied the bag onto the table. Hundreds of small silver coins poured out, all of them English, with a cross on one side and the head of King Ethelred on the other. The marriage contract specified English pennies, which contained more silver than French deniers.

  Wynstan nodded in satisfaction.

  Ragna returned the silver coins to the bag then repeated the entire exercise with the remaining three bags. Each weighed exactly five pounds. The dowry was as promised. She put the bags back in the chest.

  Wynstan said: “I’ll take it now, then.”

  Ragna gave the chest to Bern. “When I’m married to Wilf.”

  “But you’ll be married by noon today!”

  “Then the dowry will be handed over at twelve o’clock.”

  “That means this check has been pointless. In the next two hours you could steal fifty coins out of each bag.”

  Ragna locked the chest, then handed the key to Wynstan. “There,” she said. “Now I can’t open it and you can’t steal it.”

  Wynstan pretended to think she was taking caution to ridiculous extremes. “The guests are arriving already!” he said. “The oxen and pigs have been roasting all night. The barrels of ale have been tapped. The bakers have a hundred loaves in the ovens. Do you seriously believe Wilf is going to grab your dowry now and cancel the wedding?”

  Ragna smiled sweetly. “I’m going to be your sister-in-law, Wynstan,” she said. “You must learn to trust me.”

  Wynstan grunted and left.

  Cnebba came back in and took away the stilyard and the weights. As he went out, Wigelm arrived. He had the family big nose and chin, and the same fair hair and mustache, but there was a petulant cast to his face, as if he perpetually felt unfairly treated. He had on the clothes he had worn yesterday, a black tunic and a brown cloak, as if to tell the world that today was not a special day as far as he was concerned. “So, my sister,” he said, “today you lose your virginity.”

  Ragna blushed, for she had lost it four months ago.

  Fortunately Wigelm misunderstood the cause of her embarrassment. “Ah, don’t be shy,” he said with a lascivious chuckle. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise you.”

  You have no idea, Ragna thought.

  Wigelm was followed in by a short, voluptuous woman of about his own age, thirty. She was attractive in a plump way, and walked with the sway of a woman who knows she is sexy. She did not introduce herself, and Wigelm made no effort to explain her presence, so Ragna said to her: “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  She did not reply, but Wigelm said: “My wife, Milly.”

  Ragna said: “I’m glad to see you, Milly.” On impulse she stepped forward and kissed Milly’s cheek. “We are to be sisters,” she said.

  Milly’s response was cool. “How strange that is,” she said, “when we hardly speak each other’s language.”

  “Oh, anyone can learn a new language,” Ragna said. “All it takes is a little patience.”

  Milly looked around the interior of the house. “I was told you had a carpenter in to transform the place,” she said.

  “Edgar of Dreng’s Ferry has been working here for the past week.”

  “It looks much the same to me.”

  It had been a bit decrepit when Milly had been in charge of it, and no doubt this explained Milly’s unfriendliness: she must have felt slighted when Ragna insisted on improvements. Ragna shrugged and said: “Just a few running repairs,” making light of it.

  Gytha came in, and Wigelm said: “Good day to you, Mother.” Gytha wore a new dress, dark gray with a red lining that showed in flashes, and her long gray hair was pinned up in an elaborate hat.

  Ragna immediately felt wary. Gytha sometimes made the servants laugh by imitating Ragna’s accent. Cat had reported this to her mistress. Ragna had vaguely noticed the women smiling occasionally when she said something not intended to be amusing, and she guessed that her way of speaking had become a joke in the compound. She could live with that, but she was disappointed in Gytha, whom she wanted as a friend.

  However, Gytha now surprised her by saying something kind. “Do you need any help with your dress and
hair, Ragna? I’m ready, and I’ll be happy to send you one or two of my maids if you like.”

  “I don’t need extra help, but thank you for being so thoughtful,” Ragna said. She meant it: Gytha was the fourth in-law to call on her this morning, but the first to say something nice. Ragna had not yet succeeded in winning the affections of her husband’s family, a project she had thought would be easier.

  When Dreng limped in she almost groaned aloud.

  The ferryman wore a cone-shaped hat that was so tall it looked comical. “I just dropped by to pay my respects to the lady Ragna on this auspicious morning,” he said, bowing low. “We’re already acquainted, aren’t we, cousin-in-law to be? You honored my humble alehouse with a visit on your journey here. Good morning, cousin Wigelm, I hope I see you well; and you, cousin Milly; and the lady Gytha—I never know whether to call you cousin or aunt.”

  “More distant than either,” said Gytha sourly.

  Ragna noted that Dreng was not warmly received by the family, no doubt because he so obviously exaggerated his closeness to them as a way of enhancing his own status.

  Dreng pretended to misunderstand Gytha. “It is a long way to come, thank you for your concern, and of course I have a bad back—a Viking knocked me off my horse at the battle of Watchet, you know—but I couldn’t possibly miss this great occasion.”

  Wilf walked in, and suddenly Ragna felt that all was well. He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately in front of everyone. He adored her, and the unfriendliness of his family meant nothing.

  She broke the embrace, panting, and tried not to look triumphant.

  Wilf said: “The clouds have blown away and the sky is blue. I was afraid we might have to move the banquet indoors, but now I think we can eat outside as planned.”

  Dreng nearly burst with excitement. “Cousin Wilf!” he said, his voice breaking into a falsetto bleat. “I hope I see you well, such a pleasure to be here, I offer you a thousand congratulations, your bride is an angel, indeed an archangel!”

  Wilf gave a nod of patient tolerance, as if to acknowledge that although Dreng was a fool he was family. “I welcome you, Dreng, but I think this house is getting crowded. My bride needs time to herself as she prepares for the wedding. Out, all of you, come on!”

  It was exactly what Ragna wanted him to say, and she smiled in gratitude.

  The family trooped out. Before Wilf went he kissed her again, longer this time, until she felt they were in danger of starting the honeymoon right there and then. Finally he pulled away, breathing hard. “I’ll welcome the guests,” he said. “Bar the door and give yourself an hour of peace.” He went out.

  Ragna let out a long sigh. What a family, she thought: a man like a god, and relatives like a pack of yapping hounds. But she was marrying Wilf, not Wigelm or Dreng or Gytha or Milly.

  She sat on a stool for Cat to do her hair. As the maid combed, teased, and pinned, Ragna made herself calm. She knew how to behave at ceremonies: move slowly, smile at everyone, do what you’re told, and if no one tells you what to do, stand still. Wilf had outlined the program to her, and she had memorized every word. She might still make mistakes, not knowing anything about English rituals, but if she did she would just smile and try again.

  Cat finished the hairdo with a silk scarf the color of autumn chestnuts. It covered Ragna’s head and neck and was held in place by an embroidered headband. Now Ragna was ready for the dress. She had bathed earlier and was already wearing the plain tan linen underdress, which would hardly be seen. Over it she donned a wool dress in a color between green and blue that seemed to make her eyes brighter. It had flared sleeves, the cuffs of which were embroidered with a geometric pattern in gold thread. Cat put a silver cross on a silk band around Ragna’s neck so that it hung outside the dress. Finally she put on a blue cloak with a gold-colored lining.

  When she was fully dressed, Cat stared at her and burst into tears.

  “What’s wrong?” Ragna said.

  Cat shook her head. “Nothing,” she sobbed. “You’re so beautiful.”

  There was a knock at the door and a voice called: “The ealdorman is ready.”

  Bern said gruffly: “That’s a bit sooner than expected!”

  “You know Wilf,” said Ragna. “He’s impatient.” She raised her voice to speak to the man outside. “The bride is ready whenever Wilf cares to come and get her.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  A few minutes went by, then there was a banging at the door, and Wilf’s voice said: “The ealdorman comes for his bride!”

  Bern picked up the chest containing the dowry. Cat opened the door. Wilf stood outside in a red cloak. Ragna held her head high and walked out.

  Wilf took her arm and they walked slowly across the compound to the front of the great hall. A great cheer went up from the waiting crowd. Despite the morning’s showers, the townspeople had dressed up. None but the wealthiest could afford new complete outfits, but most had a new hat or kerchief, and the sea of brown and black was enlivened by celebratory flashes of yellow and red.

  Ceremony was important. Ragna had learned from her father that gaining power was easier than keeping it. Conquest could be a matter merely of killing men and entering a stronghold, but holding on to power was never so simple—and appearances were crucial. People wanted their leader to be big and strong and handsome and rich, and his wife to be young and beautiful. Wilf knew this as well as Ragna did, and together they were giving his subjects what they wanted, and thereby consolidating his authority.

  Wilf’s family stood in front of the crowd in a semicircle. To one side Ithamar sat at a table with parchment, ink, and pens. Although a wedding was not a religious sacrament, the details of property transfers had to be written down and witnessed, and the people who could write were mostly clergy.

  Wilf and Ragna faced each other and held hands. When the cheering died down, Wilf said in a loud voice: “I, Wilwulf, ealdorman of Shiring, take you, Ragna of Cherbourg, to be my wife, and I vow to love you and care for you and be true to you for the rest of my life.”

  Ragna could not match the power of his voice, but she spoke clearly and confidently. “I, Ragna, daughter of Count Hubert of Cherbourg, take you, Wilwulf of Shiring, to be my husband, and I vow to love you and care for you and be true to you for the rest of my life.”

  They kissed, and the crowd cheered.

  Bishop Wynstan blessed the marriage and said a prayer, then Wilf took from his belt a large ornamental key. “I give you the key to my house, for it is now your house, to make a home for me by your side.”

  Cat passed Ragna a new sword in a richly decorated sheath, and Ragna presented it to Wilf, saying: “I give you this sword so that you can guard our house, and protect our sons and daughters.”

  The symbolic gifts having been exchanged, they moved to the more important financial transactions.

  Ragna said: “As promised by my father to your brother Bishop Wynstan, I give you twenty pounds of silver.”

  Bern stepped forward and placed the chest at Wilwulf’s feet.

  Wynstan stepped out of the crowd to say: “I witness that the chest contains the agreed amount.” He handed the key to Wilf.

  Wilf said: “Let the clerk record that I give you the Vale of Outhen, with its five villages and its quarry, and all the income therefrom, for you and your heirs to hold until the Day of Judgment.”

  Ragna had not yet seen the Vale of Outhen. She had been told that it was a prosperous neighborhood. She already owned the district of Saint-Martin in Normandy, and her income would be doubled by the addition of the Vale of Outhen. Whatever problems the future held for her, money was unlikely to be among them.

  Grants of territory such as this were the everyday currency of politics in Normandy as well as England. The sovereign gave lands to the great noblemen, who in turned parceled them out to lesser rulers—called thanes in Eng
land, knights in Normandy—thereby creating a web of people who were loyal because they had gained wealth and hoped for more. Every nobleman had to strike a careful balance between giving away enough to generate support and keeping enough to give him superiority.

  Now, to everyone’s surprise, Wigelm stepped out of the crowd and said: “Wait.”

  Wouldn’t it be just like him, Ragna thought, to spoil my wedding somehow?

  Wigelm said: “The Vale of Outhen has been in our family for generations. I question whether my brother Wilf has the right to give it away.”

  Bishop Wynstan said: “It’s in the marriage contract!”

  “That doesn’t make it right,” Wigelm said. “It belongs in the family.”

  “And it remains in the family,” said Wynstan. “It now belongs to Wilf’s wife.”

  “And she will leave it to her children when she dies.”

  “And they will be Wilf’s children, and your nephews and nieces. Why do you raise this objection today? You’ve known the details of the contract for months.”

  “I raise it in front of witnesses.”

  Wilf intervened. “Enough,” he said. “Wigelm, you’re not making any sense. Step back.”

  “On the contrary—”

  “Be quiet, or I shall become angry.”

  Wigelm shut up.

  The ceremony moved on, but Ragna was puzzled. Wigelm must have known that his protest would be spurned. Why had he chosen to court rejection at a very public moment? He could not possibly have expected Wilf to change his mind about Outhen. Why had he started a fight he was bound to lose? She shelved the mystery for later consideration.

  Wilf said: “As a pious gift, to mark my wedding, I give the village of Wigleigh to the Church, specifically to the minster at Dreng’s Ferry, with the stipulation that the clergy there will pray for my soul, and the soul of my wife, and the souls of our children.”

  This kind of gift was commonplace. When a man had achieved wealth and power, and was settling down with a wife to have children, his thoughts turned from earthly desires to heavenly blessings, and he did what he could to secure the comfort of his soul in the afterlife.