Egelric laid a warning hand on his lord’s arm. Despite his languid melancholy, the soldier in Alred was instantly alert.
Alred could not have recognized the body that lay in the shed, half-hidden by a bale of hay, but Egelric knew the strange garments and the long legs at once. It was Ears.
Sigefrith heard Leofric’s snoring even before he opened the door to the room that had been Eadgith’s. He was not in the bed, but was curled up on the couch that had been pushed aside to make room for a cradle.
Never, Sigefrith thought, had Leofric looked so old.
Sigefrith listened to Eadgith’s chatter with just enough attention that he could hope to make a reasonable reply if asked to comment. He wanted to hold her a while on his lap before they went to bed. He could always hold her at night in the bed, but he didn’t always have the time or the energy to sit up with her beforehand on the little couch before the fire, and so it was a delight when he could.
And she was so happy—God bless her! It had been a hard week for her, too. In addition to summoning up all the extra love she had found for Alred’s children, she had had to hide her happiness from everyone—everyone but him. She let it all spill out at night, when they were alone together.
Sigefrith had retreated to his study, hoping that an hour of peace would allow him to regroup his wandering senses. He would have preferred to have lain an hour in Eadgith’s arms, but that would have to wait for the night. During the day, her arms were full of Alred’s grieving children, all but the oldest, whom Alred had kept to himself, and the youngest, whom Alred had thrust away.
He had been dreading this day: the day after Matilda’s funeral. For him and for Cenwulf, this had been the hardest day. This was the day when others began going about their affairs again, and when one raged that the world could go on as it always had now that one’s wife was no longer in it. Surely the world would never be the same?
Dunstan’s head hung over his parchment. He wanted to write a poem for his mother, but, as always, he feared to begin. He knew it would never be good enough.
His mother. Every time he thought of her he felt a pain in his throat that would have been followed by tears if he had not already cried until his eyes were red and dry.
Matilda awoke at the sound of the bell. Lauds, surely! That dread hour of the night… she hated it so! Leila’s people reckoned that a day ended at sundown, and the English that it ended with the night at dawn, but for her the break came at Lauds, that grim hour…
One of the last requests she had made of Alred before she had lost the ability to speak was that Father Aelfden no longer ring the hours of the night, or at least omit Lauds. Alred had believed it woke her from her troubled sleep and had gladly put a stop to it, delighted to have, at last, something he could do for her.
It felt as if the trickle of warmth between her thighs had come to rush back over her body like the turning tide. It swept the last of the pain away, and she was at peace. Her breath slowed now, and its rise and fall gently rocked her body like the waves. If she closed her eyes she felt as if she were adrift on a warm sea.
If she opened her eyes, she could see the women bustling about in grim silence. There were women she knew, but she hardly cared for them now. They seemed like distant forms stranded on a shore, none loved more than another, none missed at all.
Estrid lay brooding on her bed, having long since finished her crying. No matter how determined she was to cry until Brede came home again, she always found that she quickly tired of it, especially when Hundr came, as he had come tonight, to meow at her and pat at her lips with his little paw until she quieted.
But she was not eager to get up and go about her affairs for all that. If she could not cry, she could at least sulk until Brede came home. It did not occur to her that such tactics could only dispose her husband to delay his return as late as possible. However, she did know that he would not return until after the babies were in bed.
Brede sat in the chair that faced the door, and so he was the first to stop laughing. The others, their eyes following his, shortly did as well.
It was strange, he thought, that men now stopped laughing when Alred entered the room rather than when he left it. They had relied on him to make them laugh for so long that none of them knew how to make him laugh now. The only man that seemed to have any beneficial effect on him was Egelric, and that could only be deduced from the fact that he frequently slept at Egelric’s house.
Belsar came out of the shed with his tail waving but his head low, and he wore a sheepish grin.
“What were you doing lazing about in there, you worthless hunk of meat?” Egelric asked him absently as he began unsaddling his horse.
“Eirik!” Sigefrith cried with joy.
“Raedwald!” Cenwulf groaned.
“Three people I don’t know!” Alred added gleefully.
Chapters
Latest Comment