Alfred was talking of building a stone house for them next summer. He had been boasting about it to Richard during the feast. “It will have a bedchamber, and a hall, and an undercroft,” he had said. “When John Silversmith’s wife sees it she’ll want one just like it. Pretty soon all the prosperous men in town will want a stone house.”

“Have you done a design?” Richard had asked, and Aliena had heard a hint of skepticism, although nobody else seemed to notice.

“I’ve got some old drawings of my father’s, done in ink on vellum. One of them is the house we were building for Aliena and William Hamleigh, all those years ago. I’ll base it on that.”

Aliena had turned away from them in disgust. How could anyone be so crass as to mention that on her wedding day? Alfred had been full of bluster all afternoon, pouring wine and telling jokes and exchanging sly winks with his workmates. He seemed happy.

Now he was sitting on the edge of the bed taking off his boots. Aliena took the ribbons out of her hair. She did not know what to think about Ellen’s curse. It had shocked her, and she had no idea what was going on in Ellen’s mind, but somehow she was not frightened by it the way most people were.

This could not be said of Alfred. When the slaughtered cock landed on him he had practically gibbered. Richard had shaken him out of it, literally, holding him by the front of his tunic and jerking him back and forth. He had recovered his wits quickly enough, however, and since then the only sign of his fright had been the relentlessness of his backslapping, beer-swilling good cheer.

Aliena felt oddly calm. She did not relish what she was about to do, but at least she was not being forced to it, and while it might be a little distasteful, it would not be humiliating. There was only one man, and no one else would be watching.

She took off her dress.

Alfred said: “By Christ, that’s a long knife.”

She undid the strap that held the knife to her left forearm, then got into bed in her undershirt.

Alfred finally got his boots off. He pulled off his hose and stood up. He threw a lewd look at her. “Take off your underclothes,” he said. “I’m entitled to see my wife’s tits.”

Aliena hesitated. She was reluctant to be naked, somehow, but it would be foolish to deny him the first thing he asked. Obediently, she sat up and pulled her undershirt off over her head, fiercely suppressing the memory of how differently she had felt when she did the same thing, this morning, for Jack.

“What a pair of beauties,” Alfred said. He came and stood beside the bed and took hold of her right breast. His huge hands were rough-skinned, with dirt under the fingernails. He squeezed too hard, and she winced. He laughed and released her. Stepping back, he took off his tunic and hung it on a hook. Then he returned to the bed and pulled the sheet off her.

Aliena swallowed hard. She felt vulnerable like this, naked under his gaze. He said: “By God, that’s a hairy one.” He reached down and felt between her legs. She stiffened, and then made herself relax and part her thighs. “Good girl,” he said, and thrust a finger inside her. It hurt: she was dry. She could not understand it-this morning, with Jack, she had been wet and slippery. Alfred grunted and forced his finger in farther.

She felt like crying. She had known she would not much enjoy it, but she had not expected him to be so unfeeling. He had not even kissed her yet. He doesn’t love me, she thought; he doesn’t even like me. I’m a fine young horse that he’s about to ride. In fact he would treat a horse better than this-he would pat it and stroke it so that it could get used to him, and he’d talk softly to calm it down. She fought back the tears. I chose this, she thought; nobody made me marry him, so I’ll just put up with it now.

“Dry as a sawpit,” Alfred muttered.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He removed his hand, spat on it twice, and rubbed the spittle between her legs. It seemed a dreadfully contemptuous act. She bit her lip and looked away.

He spread her thighs. She closed her eyes, then opened them and forced herself to look at him, thinking: Get used to this, you’re going to be doing it for the rest of your life. He got on the bed and knelt between her legs. The shadow of a frown crossed his face. He put one hand between her thighs, opening her up, and the other hand went beneath his undershirt. She could see the hand moving under the linen. His frown deepened. “Christ Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re so lifeless, it puts me off, it’s like feeling up a corpse.”

It seemed so unfair of him to blame her. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!” she said tearfully.

“Some girls enjoy it,” he said.

Enjoy it! she thought. Impossible! Then she remembered how, that very morning, she had groaned and cried with delight. But it was as if there was no connection between what she had done then and what she was doing now.

That was foolish. She sat upright. Alfred was rubbing himself beneath his shirt. “Let me,” she said, and she slipped her hand between his legs. It felt limp and lifeless. She was not sure what to do with it. She squeezed it gently, then stroked it with her fingertips. She searched his face for a reaction. He just seemed angry. She carried on, but it made no difference.

“Do it harder,” he said.

She began to rub it vigorously. It stayed soft, but he moved his hips, as if he was enjoying it. Encouraged, she rubbed harder. Suddenly he gave a cry of pain and pulled away. She had rubbed too hard. “Stupid cow!” he said, and he slapped her face, backhanded, with a swipe that knocked her sideways.

She lay on the bed, whimpering in pain and fear.

“You’re no good, you’re cursed!” he said furiously.

“I did my best!”

“You’re a dead cunt,” he spat. He took her by the arms, lifted her upright, and pushed her off the bed. She fell into the straw on the floor. “That witch Ellen meant this to happen,” he said. “She’s always hated me.”

Aliena rolled over and knelt upright on the floor, staring at him. He did not look as if he would hit her again. He was no longer enraged, just bitter. “You can stay there,” he said. “You’re no good to me as a wife, so you can keep out of my bed. You can be a dog, and sleep on the floor.” He paused. “I can’t stand you looking at me!” he said with a note of panic in his voice. He looked around for the candle, spotted it, and put it out with a blow, knocking it to the ground.

Aliena stayed motionless in the darkness. She heard Alfred moving on the feather bed, lying down and pulling up the blanket and shifting the pillows. She was almost afraid to breathe. He was restless for a long time, tossing and turning in the bed, but he did not get up again, nor did he speak to her. Eventually he was still, and his breathing became even. When she was sure he was asleep, she crawled across the room, trying not to make the straw rustle, and found her way into the corner. She curled up and lay there, wide awake. Eventually she began to cry. She tried not to, for fear of waking him, but she could not hold the tears in, so she sobbed quietly. If the noise woke him, he gave no sign of it. She stayed like that, lying on the straw in the corner, crying softly, until eventually she cried herself to sleep.