In March, King William announced his intention of returning to Normandy to parade his English victory throughout his duchy, and Rolf felt secure enough in his position at Ulverton to leave the lands in the charge of a deputy and make the journey too. But first he travelled to London, to the house of Aubert the wine merchant in order to pay his respects to the family: to Felice who had only just been rising from a protracted childbed when he went to claim his lands, to the thriving, rosy-cheeked baby to whom he had the serious honour of being Godfather, and to Benedict's wet nurse… Ailith.

Ailith sat in a puddle of sunshine, carding the last of the previous year's fleece ready for spinning. The day was so mild that she was beginning to believe that spring was actually on the threshold. There were often black days in her existence when she felt so full of grief and anger that she did not care about the weather or any other circumstance of her life, but today was a good one. She could feel the sun's warmth in her bones, and appreciate the comfort with which she was surrounded.

For a month, before coming to live in Aubert's house, she had dwelt at St Aethelburga's while Felice slowly regained her strength; a month in which her own wounds had begun to heal. On her second day at the convent, Rolf de Brize had taken her to witness the burial of Goldwin and Harold within the same grave. Although she was but recently out of childbed and not allowed within the hallowed confines of a church, still she was permitted to stand at the graveside. That had been one of the black days. She remembered it patchily, but the most disturbing part was her vivid recall of the Norman's strong, wiry grip holding her steady at the graveside, preventing her from falling in as the labourers began shovelling earth back into the hole.

Ailith liked Rolf de Brize, but she preferred to keep her distance. There had been an incident at the end of January just before he left when she had sought him in Aubert's stables to say that food was ready, and discovered that he had not heard the dinner horn because his face was buried in the ample bosom of Gytha the Alewife from down the road. Ailith had backed away quietly before either of them saw her, and had informed the household that Rolf was busy and would eat later. A whole candle notch later as it happened, his lids heavy with satiation. His appetite had been enormous – he had devoured all the chicken stew which Ailith had set down before him, and more bread than herself, Felice and Aubert put together.

'Ailith said you were busy in the stables,' Felice had told him.

Rolf had looked sharply at Ailith, and then a slow, incorrigible smile had spread across his face as hers reddened. 'I was,' he had replied without elaboration. No, he was neither to be trusted nor encouraged.

Ailith considered the foamy pile of carded wool in the basket beside her and decided that she had enough now to begin spinning. But first she had to see to Benedict. He had been gurgling in his cradle, delighting himself by trying to grasp the motes of dust suspended in the splash of sunshine, but his voice had become more querulous by degrees and she could almost feel his growing hunger in her own stomach. Her breasts filled as they always did at the sound of his cry. She lifted him from the cradle and crooned to him, her face radiant with love, and Benedict responded with a gummy smile.

Ailith settled down to feed him, freeing one of his hands from the swaddling so that she could play with his tiny fingers. She knew that it was dangerous to love so hard, but Benedict had bridged the aching chasm left by Harold's death. Her own son lay in the soil, but it was so easy to imagine him living on in Benedict. With his brown eyes and dark hair, he could have belonged to her and Goldwin.

When the baby had finished suckling, she laid him down on a soft pile of raw fleece to change his linens. He crowed at her and kicked his legs high in delight at being freed from the tight binding of the swaddling bands and the bulk of the soiled tail clout. This led to an accidental discovery that he could suck his toes, and he undertook the new skill with great gusto.

Laughing at his antics, Ailith fetched a fresh linen napkin from where it had been warming near the firepit. It seemed a pity to cover him up when he was enjoying himself so much, and she decided to let him kick for a while in the fresh air. The fleece was unwashed as yet, and it would not matter if he stained it.

Ailith glanced up to see Felice descending from the sleeping loft where she had been napping. She had made a slow recovery from Benedict's birth and still tired very quickly. 'Are you feeling better?'

'A little.' Felice finished securing her wimple and sat down on the stool which Ailith had vacated to tend the baby. Idly she picked up a mass of carded wool and ran it through her fingers. 'Should you not cover him up? He will catch a chill lying there.'

'I thought he would like to lie and kick for a while. The sunshine is lovely and warm.'

'All the same I would rather you covered him. A small baby should be swaddled so that his limbs will grow straight later on.'

Ailith lowered her eyes and bit her tongue on the response that Hulda said such stories were so much nonsense, that no animal ever swaddled its young.

Sometimes Ailith found herself sorely tried by living with Felice and Aubert. When Goldwin had been alive and King Harold new on the throne, Ailith had held the same, if not higher social status than her neighbours. Now, with a conquering Norman King commanding their lives, her husband dead, and his business sold off to a Norman armourer, she was an English widow, dependent on the de Remys' goodwill. It did not matter that they were in her debt, that they tried to treat her as one of their own, Ailith knew that the gulf was too wide to bridge. Since Felice had to spend so much of her time resting, the burden of domestic duty had inevitably fallen upon Ailith's shoulders. Sometimes she was the servant, sometimes the mistress. It was inevitable that whichever role she played, either she or Felice felt resentful. And then, she thought grimly, there was the unspoken battle of wills over Benedict.

Silently Ailith folded a fresh linen square between the baby's legs and rebound him in clean swaddling. Benedict complained loudly at being confined. Giving Felice an I told you so look, Ailith presented her with the wailing infant. In a moment, she was sure that Felice would hand him back, lacking the confidence to cope.

But Benedict, made curious by a different but familiar smell, by the sound of a voice that belonged to the warm womb-darkness before his birth, responded with a smile to his mother's overtures, and then a gurgle.

Ailith felt a stab of vicious jealousy as she watched Felice play gently with Benedict, encouraging him to laugh, talking to him in soft, high-pitched Norman French.

'Isn't he beautiful, Ailith?' Felice's dark eyes were burning with love-light. 'And so good-natured. You are!' she crooned to the baby, making a kissing sound. 'Yes you are! Oh just look at him!'

Ailith could not bear to watch. She wanted to snatch Benedict out of Felice's arms and keep him all to herself. Filled with bitter envy, knowing that it was wrong, she murmured that she had to visit the privy, and fled outside.

Rolf de Brize was tying a chestnut stallion to a bridle ring nailed in the wooden stable wall, and the yard was filling up with an entourage of grooms and retainers. Ailith hesitated. She had left the house to find a breathing space and perhaps to cry; there was that kind of pressure behind her eyes. Instead she encountered the vital red-haired Norman, and space of any kind was denied to her.

He raised his head and saw her standing in the doorway. A look of pleasure brightened his face and he strode up to her. 'Ailith, it is good to see you!' he declared warmly, and before she could move, he had kissed her on both cheeks in greeting.

Her face flaming, Ailith stepped away from him. 'We did not know you were coming to London.'

'I thought I would pay a visit before taking ship; I'm bound for Normandy on the next Rouen trader out of Dowgate.'

'Oh.' Ailith felt a surge of relief followed closely by a sensation that was almost disappointment. She was about to usher him into the house when Felice herself came out to investigate the commotion, Benedict cradled in her arms.

Again Rolf's face lit up and he kissed Felice on both cheeks too. 'You look well,' he said. 'Much better than you did in January.'

'And I am beginning to feel well too,' Felice assured him, a flush to her cheeks and her brown eyes sparkling. 'What do you think of your Godson? Hasn't he grown?' She held out the baby for his inspection.

Ailith watched Rolf take Benedict into the crook of his arm and agree gravely with Felice as to the child's progress. 'One day he will be as handsome as his mother is beautiful,' he charmed, causing Felice to blush harder than ever. 'Aubert's a lucky man. Is he home?'

'Soon,' Felice said, preening at her wimple. 'He's attending to a cargo down at the wharf'

'Good, I need to buy some wine for Ulverton, and I know Aubert will give me the best price.' He returned Benedict to his mother. 'Not that I'll need it until I return from Normandy.'

'Normandy!' Felice had not heard that part of his conversation with Ailith, and looked at him with raised eyebrows. Benedict, tired now, began to cry fretfully.

'Shall I take him?' Ailith held out longing arms.

Felice shook her head. 'No, he's not hungry, you fed him not long since, and his swaddling is clean. I'll sit down and nurse him awhile until he falls asleep. Perhaps you could oversee the meal now that we have guests to provide for?'