Page 232 of The Evening and the Morning
Inside was a small book calledEnigmata, a collection of riddles in poem form, a favorite of Ragna’s. She had given it to him when helearned to read. “I didn’t know you made a special box for it,” she said. “How nice.”
“I must be the only builder in England who owns a book.”
She gave him that smile again and said: “God didn’t make two like you, Edgar.”
He felt warm all over.
She said: “I’m so sorry about the burning of the bridge! I’m sure Wynstan had something to do with it.”
“I agree.”
“Can you rebuild it?”
“Yes, but what’s the point? It could be burned down again. He got away with it once, he may do so again.”
“I suppose so.”
Edgar was sick of talking about the bridge. To change the subject he asked her: “How are you?”
She seemed about to make a conventional reply, then appeared to change her mind. “To tell you the truth, I’m utterly miserable.”
Edgar was taken aback. It was an intimate confession. He said: “I’m so sorry. What’s happened?”
“Wilwulf doesn’t love me, and I’m not sure he ever did, not as I understand love.”
“But... you seemed so fond of each other.”
“Oh, he couldn’t get enough of me for a while, but that wore off. He treats me like one of his men friends now. He hasn’t come to my bed for a year.”
Edgar could not help feeling glad about that. It was an unworthy thought, and he hoped it did not show on his face.
Ragna appeared not to notice. “He prefers his slave girl at night,” she said with contempt in her voice. “She’s fourteen years old.”
Edgar wanted to express the sympathy he was feeling, but it was difficult to find words. “That’s shameful,” he said.
She let her anger show. “And it’s not what we promised when we made our vows! I never agreed to this kind of marriage.”
He wanted to keep her talking because he yearned to know more. “How do you feel about Wilf now?”
“For a long time I tried to go on loving him, hoped to win him back, dreamed that he would tire of others. But now something else has happened. The head injury he suffered last year has damaged his mind. The man I married is gone. Half the time I’m not sure he even remembers that he’s married to me. He treats me more like a mother.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Tentatively, Edgar reached for her. She did not move away. He took both her small hands in his, and was thrilled when he felt her answering grasp. He looked at her face and felt closer to contentment than he had ever been. He watched the tears overflow her eyes and run down her face, raindrops on rose petals. Her expression was a grimace of pain, but to him she had never been more beautiful. They stood still for a long time.
At last she said: “I’m still married, though.” And she withdrew her hands.
He said nothing.
She wiped her face with her sleeve. “May I have a sip of wine?”
“Anything.” He drew wine from the barrel into a wooden cup.
She drank it and handed back the cup. “Thank you.” She began to look more normal. “I have to cross the river to the nunnery.”
Edgar smiled. “Don’t let Mother Agatha kiss you too much.” Everyone liked Agatha, but she did have a weakness.
Ragna said: “Sometimes it’s a comfort to be loved.” She gave hima direct look, and he understood that she was talking about him as well as Agatha. He felt bewildered. He needed time to think about that.
After a moment she said: “How do I look? Will they know what we’ve been doing?”
