by Ken Follett
She decided to make her usual Lady Day visit to Outhenham, in the hope that it would give her something to think about other than the shipwreck of her life. She left the children with Cat, and took Agnes with her as her personal maid.
She entered Outhenham with a smile on her face and a stone in her heart. However, the village raised her spirits. It had prospered in the three years of her rule. They called her Ragna the Just. No one had done well when everyone was cheating and stealing. Now, with Seric in charge, people were more willing to pay their dues, knowing they were not being robbed, and they worked harder when they felt confident they would reap the rewards.
She slept at Seric’s house and held court in the morning. She ate a light midday meal, for there would be a feast later. She had arranged to visit the quarry in the afternoon, and when she was ready, she found Edgar waiting for her, wearing a blue cloak. He had his own horse now, a sturdy black mare called Buttress. “May I show you something on the way?” he asked as she got on her own mount.
“Of course.”
She thought he seemed uncharacteristically nervous. Whatever he had to say to her must be important to him, she guessed. Everyone had important things to say to the ealdorman’s wife, but Edgar was special, and Ragna was intrigued.
They rode to the riverside, then followed the cart track that led to the quarry. On one side were the backs of village houses, each with its small plot of land containing a vegetable garden, some fruit trees, one or two animal shelters, and a dunghill. On the other side was the East Field, partly ploughed, the damp clay furrows gleaming, though no work was being done as it was a holiday.
Edgar said: “Notice that the gap between the East Field and the village gardens is wide.”
“Much wider than necessary, enough for two roads.”
“Exactly. Now, it takes most of a day for two men to bring a boatload of stone from the quarry along this track to the river. That makes our stone more expensive. If they use a cart it’s easier, but it takes about the same length of time.”
She guessed he was making an important point, but she did not yet see it. “Is this what you want to show me?”
“When I tried to sell stone to the monastery at Combe, they told me they have started to buy it from Caen, in Normandy, because that’s cheaper.”
She was interested. “How can that be?”
“It travels all the way on one ship, down the Orne River to the sea, and across the Channel to Combe harbor.”
“And our problem is that our quarry isn’t on a river.”
“Not quite.”
“What does that mean?”
“The river is only half a mile away.”
“But we can’t make that half mile disappear.”
“I think we can.”
She smiled. She could see that he was enjoying this gradual revelation. “How?”
“Dig our own channel.”
That surprised her. “What?”
“They’ve done it at Glastonbury,” he said with the air of one who produces a winning card. “Aldred told me.”
“Dig our own river?”
“I’ve worked it out. Ten men with picks and shovels would take about twenty days to dig a channel three feet deep and a bit wider than my raft, from the river to the quarry.”
“Is that all?”
“The digging is the easy part. We might need to reinforce the banks, depending on the consistency of the soil as we dig down, but I can do that myself. More difficult is getting the depth right. Obviously it has to go down far enough to make sure water flows in from the river. But I think I can work that out.”
He was smarter than Wilf and perhaps even than Aldred, she thought, but all she said was: “What would it cost?”
“Assuming we don’t use slaves—”
“I’d rather not.”
“Then a halfpenny a day for each man plus a penny a day for a ganger, so one hundred and twenty pennies, which is half a pound of silver; and we’d have to feed them, as most of them would be away from home.”
“And it would save money in the long term.”
“A lot of money.”
Ragna felt bucked up by Edgar and his project. It would be a great new thing. It was costly, but she could afford it.
They arrived at the quarry. There were two houses now. Edgar had built a place for himself so that he did not have to share with Gab and his family. It was a fine house, with walls of vertical planks linked by tongue-and-groove joints. It had two shuttered windows, and the door was made of a single piece of oak. The door had a lock, and Edgar inserted a key and turned it to open the door.
Inside, it was a masculine domain, with pride of place given to tools, coils of rope and balls of cord, and harness. There was a barrel of ale but no wine, a truckle of hard cheese but no fruit, no flowers.
On the wall Ragna noticed a sheet of parchment hanging from a nail. Looking more closely she saw a list of customers, with details of the stones they had received and the money they had paid. Most craftsmen kept track of such things with notches on sticks. “You can write?” she said to Edgar.
He looked proud. “Aldred taught me.”
He had kept that quiet. “And obviously you can read.”
“I could if I had a book.”
Ragna resolved to give him a present of a book when his canal was finished.
She sat on the bench and he drew a cup of ale from the barrel for her. “I’m glad you don’t want to use slave labor,” he said.
“What makes you say that?”
“There’s something about having slaves that brings out the worst in people. Slave owners become savage. They beat and kill and rape as if it were all right.”
Ragna sighed. “I wish all men were like you.”
He laughed.
She said: “What?”
“I remember having exactly the same thought about you. I asked you to find me a farm, and you just said yes, without hesitation, and I said to myself: Why aren’t they all like her?”
Ragna smiled. “You’ve cheered me up,” she said. “Thank you.” Impulsively she sprang to her feet and kissed him.
She meant to kiss his cheek but somehow she kissed his mouth. Her lips were on his for only a moment, and she would have thought nothing of it, but he was startled. He jumped back, away from her, and his face turned deep red.
She realized right away that she had made a mistake. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was just grateful to you for making me feel better.”
“I didn’t know you were feeling bad,” he said. He was beginning to recover his composure, but she noticed that he touched his mouth with his fingertips.
She was not going to explain to him about Carwen. “I’m missing my husband,” she said. “He’s raising an army to fight the Vikings. They’ve sailed up the river Exe. Wilf is very worried.” She saw a shadow cross his face at the mention of Vikings, and she remembered that they had killed his lover. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
He shook his head. “It’s all right. But there’s something else I need to mention to you.”
Ragna was grateful for the change of subject. “Go on.”
“Your maid Agnes is wearing a new ring.”
“Yes. Her husband gave it to her.”
“It’s made of silver wires twisted together, and has an amber stone.”
“It’s rather pretty.”
“It put me in mind of the pendant that was stolen from your courier Adelaide. It was made of silver wires with an amber stone.”
Ragna was startled. “I never noticed that!”
“I remember thinking that the amber would have suited you.”
“But how could Agnes have a ring made of Adelaide’s pendant?”
“The pendant was stolen and refashioned to disguise it. The quest
ion is how her husband got it.”
“She’s married to Offa, the reeve of Mudeford.” Ragna began to see the connections. “He probably bought it from a jeweler in Combe. That jeweler knows the go-between, and the go-between knows where Ironface is to be found.”
“Yes,” said Edgar.
“The sheriff needs to question Offa.”
“Yes,” said Edgar.
“Offa may have bought the ring innocently.”
“Yes,” said Edgar.
“I don’t want to risk getting Agnes’s husband in trouble.”
“You have to,” said Edgar.
* * *
Edgar escorted Ragna back to the center of the village and left her surrounded by a crowd. He slipped away and returned to the quarry. He set Buttress to graze at the edge of the wood. Then, at last, he lay down in his house and thought about that kiss.
He had been surprised and discomfited. He knew he must have blushed. He had jumped away. She had seen all of that, and had apologized for embarrassing him. But what she saw was only the surface. Something else happened, deep down, and he had managed to keep it hidden. When Ragna’s lips touched his, he had found himself instantly and totally overwhelmed by love for her.
A clap of thunder, a bolt of lightning, a man stricken in a second—
No, it had only seemed that way. Lying in the rushes by his fireplace, alone, eyes closed, he examined his soul and saw that he had fallen in love with her long ago. For years he had told himself that he had lost his heart to Sungifu, and no one could take her place. But at some point—he could not tell when—he had begun to love Ragna. He had not known it at the time, but it seemed obvious now.
In his memory he relived the last four years and realized that Ragna had become the most important person in his life. They helped each other. He liked nothing better than talking to her—how long had that been his favorite occupation? He admired her brains and her determination and especially the way she combined unchallengeable authority with a common touch that made people love her.
He liked her, he admired her, and she was beautiful. That was not the same as the fire of passion, but it was like a pile of summer-dry wood that would burst into flames with a single spark, and today’s kiss had been the spark. He wanted to kiss her again, kiss her all day, all night—
Which would never happen. She was the daughter of a count: even if she had been single she would never marry a mere builder. And she was not single. She was married to a man who must never, ever find out about that kiss, for if he did he would have Edgar killed in a heartbeat. Worse, she showed every sign of loving her husband. And if that were not enough, she had three sons with him.
Is there something wrong with me? Edgar asked himself. I used to love a dead girl, now I love a woman who might as well be dead for all the chance I have of being with her.
He thought of his brothers, happily sharing a wife who was coarse and self-centered and not very intelligent. Why can’t I be like them, and take whatever woman comes my way? How could I be so foolish as to fall for a married noblewoman? I’m supposed to be the clever one.
He opened his eyes. There would be a feast in the village tonight. He could be near Ragna all evening. And tomorrow he would start work on the canal. That would give him plenty of reasons to talk to her over the next few weeks. She would never kiss him again, but she would be part of his life.
That would have to be enough.
* * *
Ragna spoke to Sheriff Den as soon as she got back to Shiring. She was eager to catch Ironface, who was a blight on the entire district. And Wilf would be very pleased to come home and find she had solved that problem—the kind of thing Carwen could never achieve.
The sheriff was equally keen, and agreed with her that Offa might provide clues to the whereabouts of the outlaw. They decided to question Offa the following morning.
Ragna just hoped she was not going to learn that Agnes and Offa were guilty of something, perhaps receiving stolen property.
At dawn the next day Ragna met Den outside the home of Offa and Agnes. It had been raining all night and the ground was sodden. Den was accompanied by Captain Wigbert, two other men-at-arms, and two servants with shovels. Ragna wondered what the shovels were for.
Agnes opened the door. When she saw the sheriff and his men, she looked frightened.
Ragna said: “Is Offa here?”
“What on earth do you want Offa for, my lady?”
Ragna felt sorry for her, but had to be stern. Ragna was the ruler of the ealdormanry, and she could not show indulgence during a criminal inquiry. She said: “Be quiet, Agnes, and speak when you’re spoken to. You’ll find out everything soon enough. Now let us in.”
Wigbert told the two men-at-arms to stay outside but beckoned the servants to follow him.
Ragna saw that the house was comfortably furnished, with wall hangings to keep out the draughts, a bed with a mattress, and a row of metal-rimmed cups and bowls on a table.
Offa sat up in bed, threw off a thick wool blanket, and stood up. “What’s the matter?”
Ragna said: “Agnes, show the sheriff the ring you were wearing in Outhenham.”
“I still have it on.” She held out her left hand to Den.
Ragna said: “Offa, where did you get this?”
He thought for a moment, scratching his twisted nose, as if he was trying to remember—or thinking of a plausible story. “I bought it in Combe.”
“Who sold it to you?” She was hoping to be given the name of a jeweler, but she was disappointed.
“A French sailor,” said Offa.
If this was a lie, it was a clever one, Ragna thought. A particular Combe jeweler could have been questioned, but a foreign sailor could not be found.
She said: “His name?”
“Richard of Paris.”
It was a name you might make up on the spur of the moment. There were probably hundreds of men called Richard of Paris. She began to feel suspicious of Offa, but she hoped for Agnes’s sake that her suspicions were unfounded. She said: “Why was a French sailor selling women’s jewelry?”
“Well, he told me he had bought it for his wife, then regretted the purchase when he lost all his money at dice.”
Ragna could usually tell when people were lying, but she could not read Offa. She said: “Where had Richard of Paris bought the ring?”
“I assumed he got it from a Combe jeweler, but he didn’t say. What is this about? Why are you questioning me? I paid sixty pennies for that ring. Is there something wrong?”
Ragna guessed that Offa must have known or at least suspected that the ring was stolen property, but wanted to protect whoever had sold it to him. She was not sure what to ask next. After a pause, Den took over. Turning to the two servants he said brusquely: “Search the house.”
Ragna was not sure how that would help. They needed to loosen Offa’s tongue, not search his home.
There were two locked chests and several boxes storing food. Ragna watched patiently while the servants went through everything thoroughly. They patted down the clothing hanging from pegs, dipped into a barrel of ale all the way to the bottom, and overturned all the rushes on the floor. Ragna was not sure what they were looking for, but in any event they found nothing of interest.
Ragna was relieved. She wanted Offa to be innocent, for Agnes’s sake.
Then Den said: “The fireplace.”
Now Ragna saw what the shovels were for. The servants used them to scoop up the embers in the fire and throw them through the door. The hot logs hissed as they hit the wet ground outside.
Soon the earth below the fireplace was revealed, then the servants began to dig.
A few inches down their shovels hit wood.
Offa ran out of the door. It happened so fast that no one in the house could stop him. But there were two men-at-arms outside. Ra
gna heard a roar of frustration and the sound of a heavy body hitting the mud. A minute later the men-at-arms brought Offa back, each man holding one of his arms very firmly.
Agnes began to sob.
“Keep digging,” Den told the servants.
A few minutes later they pulled a wooden chest a foot long out of the hole. Ragna could see by the way they handled it that it was heavy.
It was not locked. Den lifted the lid. Inside were thousands of silver pennies, together with a few items of jewelry.
Den said: “The proceeds of many years of thievery—plus a few souvenirs.”
On top of it all was a belt of soft leather with a silver buckle and strap end. Ragna gasped.
Den said: “Do you recognize something?”
“The belt. It was to be my present to Wilf—until it was stolen by Ironface.”
Den turned to Offa. “What is Ironface’s real name, and where does he hide out?”
“I don’t know,” said Offa. “I bought that belt. I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Den nodded to Wigbert, who stood in front of Offa. The two men-at-arms gripped Offa tighter.
Wigbert took from his belt a heavy club made of polished oak. With a swift movement he smashed the club into Offa’s face. Ragna cried out, but Wigbert ignored her. With a rapid series of well-aimed blows he hit Offa’s head, shoulders, and knees. The crack of the hard wood hitting bones sickened Ragna.
When he paused, Offa’s face was covered in blood. He was unable to stand, but the men-at-arms held him upright. Agnes moaned as if in pain herself.
Den repeated: “What is Ironface’s real name, and where does he hide out?”
Through smashed teeth and bloody lips Offa said: “I swear I don’t know.”
Wigbert raised the club again.
Agnes shrieked: “No, please, don’t! Ironface is Ulf! Don’t hit Offa again, please!”
Den turned to Agnes. “The horse catcher?” he said.
“Yes, I swear it.”