They waited for a response.
Edgar glanced downstream and noticed that the river divided around an island that seemed to be about a quarter of a mile long. It was heavily wooded but he could see, through the trees, what looked like part of a stone building. He wondered with eager curiosity what it could be.
“Shout again,” Ma said.
Eadbald repeated his cries.
The alehouse door opened and a woman came out. Peering across the river, Edgar made her out to be little more than a girl, probably four or five years younger than he. She looked across the water at the newcomers but made no acknowledgment. She was carrying a wooden bucket, and she walked unhurriedly to the water’s edge, emptied the bucket into the river, rinsed it out, then went back into the tavern.
Erman said: “We’ll have to swim across.”
“I can’t swim,” said Ma.
Edgar said: “That girl is making a point. She wants us to know that she’s a superior person, not a servant. She’ll bring the boat over when she’s good and ready, and she’ll expect us to be grateful.”
Edgar was right. The girl emerged from the tavern again. This time she walked at the same leisurely pace to where the boat was moored. She untied the rope, picked up a single paddle, got into the boat, and pushed off. Using the paddle on alternate sides, she rowed out into the river. Her movements were practiced and apparently effortless.
Edgar studied the boat with consternation. It was a hollowed-out tree trunk, highly unstable, though the girl was evidently used to it.
He studied her as she came closer. She was ordinary looking, with midbrown hair and spotty skin, but he could not help noticing that she had a plump figure, and he revised his estimate of her age to fifteen.
She rowed to the south bank and expertly halted the canoe a few yards from the shore. “What do you want?” she said.
Ma answered with a question. “What place is this?”
“People call it Dreng’s Ferry.”
So, Edgar thought, this is our new home.
Ma said to the girl: “Are you Dreng?”
“That’s my father. I’m Cwenburg.” She looked with interest at the three boys. “Who are you?”
“We’re the new tenants of the farm,” Ma told her. “The bishop of Shiring sent us here.”
Cwenburg refused to be impressed. “Is that so?”
“Will you take us across?”
“It’s a farthing each and no haggling.”
The only coin issued by the king was a silver penny. Edgar knew, because he was interested in such things, that a penny weighed one-twentieth of an ounce. There were twelve ounces in a pound, so a pound was two hundred and forty pennies. The metal was not pure: thirty-seven parts in forty were silver, the rest copper. A penny would buy half a dozen chickens or a quarter of a sheep. For cheaper items, a penny had to be cut into two halfpennies or four farthings. The exact division caused constant quarrels.
Ma said: “Here’s a penny.”
Cwenburg ignored the proffered coin. “There’s five of you, with the dog.”
“The dog can swim across.”
“Some dogs can’t swim.”
Ma became exasperated. “In that case she can either stand on the bank and starve or jump in the river and drown. I’m not paying for a dog to ride in a ferry.”
Cwenburg shrugged, brought the boat to the water’s edge, and took the coin.
Edgar boarded first, kneeling down and holding both sides to stabilize the boat. He noticed that the old tree trunk had tiny cracks, and there was a puddle in the bottom.
Cwenburg said to him: “Where did you get that ax? It looks expensive.”
“I took it from a Viking.”
“Did you? What did he say about that?”
“He couldn’t say much, because I split his head in half with it.” Edgar took some satisfaction in saying that.
The others boarded and Cwenburg pushed off. Brindle jumped into the river without hesitation and swam after the boat. Away from the shade of the forest, the sun was hot on Edgar’s head.
He asked Cwenburg: “What’s on the island?”
“A nunnery.”
Edgar nodded. That would be the stone building he had glimpsed.
Cwenburg added: “There’s a gang of lepers, too. They live in shelters they make out of branches. The nuns feed them. We call the place Leper Island.”
Edgar shuddered. He wondered how the nuns survived. People said that if you touched a leper you could catch the disease, though he had never heard of anyone who had actually done that.
They reached the north bank, and Edgar helped Ma out of the boat. He smelled the strong brown odor of fermenting ale. “Someone’s brewing,” he said.
Cwenburg said: “My mother makes very good ale. You should come into the house and refresh yourselves.”
“No, thanks,” Ma said immediately.
Cwenburg persisted. “You may want to sleep here while you fix up the farm buildings. My father will give you dinner and breakfast for a halfpenny each. That’s cheap.”
Ma said: “Are the farm buildings in bad condition, then?”
“There were holes in the roof of the house last time I walked past.”
“And the barn?”
“Pigsty, you mean.”
Edgar frowned. This did not sound good. Still, they had thirty acres: they would be able to make something of that.
“We’ll see,” said Ma. “Which house does the dean live in?”
“Degbert Baldhead? He’s my uncle.” Cwenburg pointed. “The big one next to the church. All the clergy live there together.”
“We’ll go and see him.”
They left Cwenburg and walked a short distance up the slope. Ma said: “This dean is our new landlord. Act nice and friendly. I’ll be firm with him if necessary, but we don’t want him to take against us for any reason.”
The little church looked almost derelict, Edgar thought. The entrance arch was crumbling, and was prevented from collapse only by the support of a stout tree trunk standing in the middle of the doorway. Next to the church was a timber house, double the normal size, like the alehouse. They stood outside politely, and Ma called: “Anyone home?”
The woman who came to the door carried a baby on her hip and was pregnant with another, and a toddler hid behind her skirts. She had dirty hair and heavy breasts. She might have been beautiful once, with high cheekbones and a straight nose, but now she looked as if she were so tired she could barely stand. It was the way many women looked in their twenties. No wonder they died young, Edgar thought.