Ulfric said: “The Vikings came two days ago, at the glimmer of dawn, when all were asleep.”
Wigelm said: “Why didn’t you fight them off, you cowards?”
Wilf held up a hand for silence. “One thing at a time,” he said. He turned to Ulfric. “This is the first time Vikings have attacked Combe in my memory, Ulfric. Do you know where this particular group came from?”
“Not I, my lord. Perhaps one of the fishermen might have seen the Viking fleet on their voyages?”
A burly man with gray in his beard said: “We never see them, lord.”
Wigelm, who knew the townspeople better than his brothers did, said: “That’s Maccus. He owns the biggest fishing boat in town.”
Maccus went on: “We believe the Vikings make harbor on the other side of the Channel, in Normandy. It’s said they take on supplies there, then raid across the water, and go back to sell their loot to the Normans, God curse their immortal souls.”
“That’s plausible, but not very helpful,” Wilf said. “Normandy has a long coastline. I suppose Cherbourg must be the nearest harbor?”
“I believe so,” Maccus said. “I’m told it’s on a long headland that sticks out into the Channel. I haven’t been there myself.”
“Nor have I,” said Wilf. “Has anyone from Combe been there?”
“In the old days, perhaps,” said Maccus. “Nowadays we don’t venture so far. We want to avoid the Vikings, not meet them.”
Wigelm was impatient with this kind of talk. He said: “We should assemble a fleet and sail to Cherbourg and burn the place the way they burned Combe!” Some of the younger men in the crowd shouted approval.
Wilf said: “Anyone who wants to attack the Normans doesn’t know anything about them. They’re descended from Vikings, remember. They may be civilized now but they’re no less tough. Why do you think the Vikings raid us but not the Normans?”
Wigelm looked crushed.
Wilf said: “I wish I knew more about Cherbourg.”
A young man in the crowd spoke up. “I went to Cherbourg once.”
Wynstan looked at him with interest. “Who are you?”
“Edgar, the boatbuilder’s son, my lord bishop.”
Wynstan studied the lad. He was of medium height, but muscular, as boatbuilders generally were. He had light-brown hair and no more than a wisp of a beard. He spoke politely but fearlessly, evidently not intimidated by the high status of the men he was addressing.
Wynstan said: “How did it happen that you went to Cherbourg?”
“My father took me. He was delivering a ship we had built. But that was five years ago. The place may have changed.”
Wilf said: “Any information is better than none. What do you remember?”
“There’s a good, big harbor with room for many ships and boats. It was ruled by Count Hubert—probably still is, he wasn’t old.”
“Anything else?”
“I remember the count’s daughter, Ragna. She had red hair.”
“A boy would remember that,” Wilf said.
Everyone laughed, and Edgar blushed.
The lad raised his voice over the laughter and said: “And there was a stone tower.”
“What did I tell you?” Wilf said to Wigelm. “It’s not easy to attack a town with stone fortifications.”
Wynstan said: “Perhaps I can make a suggestion.”
“Of course,” said his brother.
“Could we make friends with Count Hubert? He might be persuaded that Christian Normans and Christian Englishmen should work together to defeat murderous Odin-worshipping Vikings.” Those Vikings who had made their homes in the north and east of England had generally converted to Christianity, Wynstan knew, but the seafarers still clung to their heathen gods. “You can be persuasive when you want something, Wilf,” he said with a grin. It was true: Wilf had charm.
“I’m not sure about that,” Wilf said.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Wynstan said quickly. He lowered his voice, to speak of matters that were over the heads of the townspeople. “You wonder how King Ethelred would feel about it. International diplomacy is a royal prerogative.”
“Exactly.”
“Leave that to me. I’ll make it right with the king.”
“I have to do something before these Vikings ruin my ealdormanry,” Wilf said. “And this is the first practical suggestion I’ve heard.”
The people shifted and muttered. Wynstan sensed that talk of befriending the Normans was too theoretical. They needed help today, and they were looking to the three brothers to provide it. The nobility had a duty to protect the people—it was the justification for their status and their riches—and the three brothers had failed to keep Combe safe. Now they were expected to do something about it.
Wilf picked up the same pulse. “Now to practical matters,” he said. “Prior Ulfric, how are the people being fed?”
“From the monastery’s stores, which were not despoiled,” Ulfric answered. “The Vikings disdained the monks’ fish and beans, preferring to steal gold and silver.”
“And where do the people sleep?”
“In the nave of the church, where the wounded lie.”
“And the dead?”
“At the east end of the church.”
Wynstan said: “If I may, Wilf?”
Wilf nodded.
“Thank you.” Wynstan raised his voice so that all could hear. “Today before sundown I will hold a collective service for the souls of all the dead, and I will authorize a communal grave. In this warm weather there is a danger that the corpses will cause an outbreak of disease, so I want every dead body underground before the end of tomorrow.
“Very good, my lord bishop,” said Ulfric.
Looking at the crowd, Wilf frowned and said: “There must be a thousand people here. Half the population of the town has survived. How did so many manage to escape the Vikings?”
Ulfric answered: “A boy who was up early saw them coming and ran to the monastery to warn us, and the bell was rung.”
“That was smart,” said Wilf. “Which boy?”
“Edgar, who just spoke up about Cherbourg. He is the youngest of the three sons of the boatbuilder.”
A bright lad, Wynstan thought.
Wilf said: “You did well, Edgar.”