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After mass they sat down to a feast where food and drink were presented in abundance. The mistress and her two daughters served at the high table; maidservants waited on those of lower rank.
    Thus Ragna could not escape the looks of her former betrothed, Thorkell Gudbjartsson, yet this time she did not flinch and returned his gaze, seemingly without fear, though her heart was beating wildly in her chest. His dusky blue eyes studied her, cold at first, but his gaze seemed to grow softer when she did not look away, changing from arrogance to something like curiosity. She poured drinks for him and served his food, smiling and warm, unlike herself, making her movements intentionally fluid so that her body would reflect the softness within. She would not allow Thorkell to see her bitter and harsh from his betrayal; instead, she would make him regret his rejection and long for that which was no longer available to him.
    His Grace the bishop also kept her within his line of vision, kind and polite, thanking her for all the food that she served them, holding forth at length about the Icelanders’ hospitality and generosity. He spoke frequently of the school at Holar that he planned to resurrect and where he intended to teach the sons of chieftains. A rector had already been appointed, and a number of boys fourteen and fifteen winters old were already on site, but there was still room for more, and what did the lawman think about sending the boy Michael to be educated at Holar, for his own benefit and as an example to others?
    Thorsteinn thought it over. “That is indeed a generous offer, but the boy is a mere eleven winters old,” he finally replied, “three to four winters younger than the other lads in the school. Is that not a bit too young, his precociousness notwithstanding?”
    “His mother could accompany him,” suggested Bishop Craxton, coming now to his real business with the lawman. The Holar bishopric, he said, had long suffered from the absence of a capable woman to set things in order and to supervise the female servants. The butler supervised the pantry and kitchen, but he could not fully manage things in the hall. Moreover, a servant had recently absconded from service after accusing the butler of harsh treatment. He was therefore in a tight spot, since there was a lack of servants in the country following the great plague, which had wiped out a large portion of the nation a mere two and a half decades earlier. Indeed, the labor shortage was such that even criminals who had completed their sentences could have their pick of employment.
    “The lawman would do me a great favor and I would be deeply indebted if he would lend me a housekeeper. Providing, of course, that the young lady is in agreement,” he said and extended his hands with palms raised, pleading and humble, the great man of God.

    A housekeeper at Holar in Hjaltadalur Valley. Managing other servants. Overseeing the bishop’s feasts. Being somebody. Is this for real? All eyes are on me. Yes! Say yes! Release me from this place. No sound escaped my lips. Only an innocuous smile, an amiable manner. All on the surface.
    My stepfather looks to my mother; a slight nod in agreement. It could be useful for him to have me at Holar. It is a sure way to gain reliable news, quickly. And the bishop would be in their debt. Yes, why not?
    But what of my Michael? Will Thorkell make him pay for his mother’s sins?
    Men devise their schemes. They hold all the power. Women simply obey.

THE SERVANT GIRL AND THE BUTLER
    Holar.
    At first Ragna could not so much as look at the great cathedral without being consumed by the humiliation she had been made to suffer there a decade earlier. It still stung. The Holar site was expansive and incorporated many buildings, most of them tall and made of fine wood. Over everything towered St. Mary’s Cathedral with its great timber walls and roof made of tin, the tall bell tower always in one’s line of vision, no matter how one