Baby ran squealing through the door but stopped short when she saw the three men silhouetted against the fire. All three were wearing funny skirts, but only one of them could be her Da. What if she chose the wrong one? She could feel the tears coming—oh, what should she do? Why didn’t she wait for Gunnie? She did the only thing she could think of—sat down on the floor and started to wail.
Bertie was so excited his belly hurt. His Ma said that might also be because he didn’t eat enough, but how could she expect him to eat on a night like this? Egelric was home! Egelric was his favoritest man in the whole world, after his Da. And wouldn’t he have lots of stories to tell!
But it was getting dark, and still no Egelric. His Da said that maybe he had important business at the castle and might come in the morning. His Ma said that she would just put Baby to bed soon if he didn’t come.
But Bertie couldn’t imagine waiting until the morning to see him! He couldn’t go to bed with a bellyache like this. What could he do?
“If it isn’t Duncan Mac Dogface and his pack of mangy hellhounds!” Sigefrith growled from the doorway.
“Your Majesty!” Egelric began a bow, but Sigefrith had already embraced him.
“Ma! Ma! Ma!” Bertie ran inside and jumped in circles around the room.
“Bertie, you hush! You’ll wake the baby!”
“Ma!” Bertie continued in an excited whisper. “Me and Da saw Egelric! The big Egelric! When we was walking home from the castle, we saw him on a big horse, and he waved to us! He’s home! He’s home! He’s home!” Bertie began to dance around the room again.
Sigefrith and Alred had been together for many hours now. They had talked, and drunk, and Alred had cried and blamed it on the drink, and they had talked some more.
At first, as they had been drinking, they had talked about their past together, reminisced about the battles they had fought together in Wales, and the mad march years later to Stamford Bridge, and the even madder march afterwards, back to the southern coast where Harold would meet his fate.
Sigefrith studied Alred’s arms as he waited in the hall at Nothelm. He remembered when Alred had chosen them: the tree of the world, spanning between heaven, earth, and the underworld. Well, Alred always had been a bit poetic. But Matilda had told him once that she now saw it simply as an uprooted tree, which seemed appropriate to her, since she and Alred were exiles. Could Matilda be happy here if they had to remain?
“Good evening, Goodwife Hogge!” called a hearty voice from the doorway.
Gunnilda turned and gasped when she recognized the visitor. He was dirty—his beard all grown out—but it was the King himself! The King had returned! And if the King had returned…!
“Send her in then!” Cenwulf barked to the man in the door. What was this—keeping Githa waiting? The servants knew that he might be interrupted at any time for her.
“Oh, my lord!” she gasped as she dashed through the door. Her face was flushed and her hands trembled—hands that held a scrap of parchment.
“Hallo, young Bertie!” Father Brandt called cheerfully. “Hast been in mischief lately, so I hear!”
That Dunstan! Always telling adults about their adventures. What a baby he was sometimes! “We didn’t hurt nobody,” Bertie said.
Alwy had forgotten how hard it was to wait.
He wasn’t worried—not really. Gunnie had said it would be all right, Githa had said it would be all right. And it had been all right the last times.
“Because having a beautiful elven lady be jealous over you is SO ROMANTIC. Never mind the fact that she can set you on fire.”
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