Gunnilda prepares her piece

April 16, 1067

Gunnilda was ready for him.

Alwy ducked his head through the door and scuffed to a stop in the dirt. Gunnilda was ready for him.

“Alwy Hogge! Where you been?”

“Well, I was just – ”

“Where’s the bread?”

“Oh! The bread!” Alwy clapped his long hands over his face.

Gunnilda bounced the whining baby on her hip, succeeding only in turning the whines into grunts. “You forgot it!”

“Well, I almost ’membered it…”

“At least tell me you forgot it on the way there and not on the way home after you paid for it!”

Alwy patted her arm.

Alwy patted her arm and soothed her with his soft voice. “No, I never did pay for it, Gunnie. I still got your penny right here. I almost did make it to the baker, but them fine men was talking in the square…”

Gunnilda snorted. “Thank you for reminding me why I can’t never send you on errands in ordinary times. You’re worse than a soap peddler for gossip.”

“It never was gossip!” Alwy wailed. “I never tell tales nor speak ill of my neighbors!”

Gunnilda groaned. “I know, I know…”

Alwy’s tragic face immediately brightened. “And, Gunnie, don’t you want to know what them men said?”

'Don't you want to know what them men said?'

“No, I don’t want to know! I want my bread! This boy has been crying for his dinner for I don’t know how long, and he ain’t any closer to it now than he was when you left!”

“Oh, no, the bread! I’ll go get your bread, Gunnie.”

He turned and ducked his head through the door, but Gunnilda dragged him back by his sleeve and scooted Sigebert into his arms.

“Oh, no, you don’t! You stay here and take care of this boy. I’ll go get the bread myself. Where’s the penny?”

“But, Gunnie! You can’t walk all that way! You’re sick!”

“I don’t know but I guess I’ll be sicker if I don’t get something to eat!”

Alwy covered his mouth and nose with his free hand, but on either side of it his blue eyes filled with tears. “Oh, no! Oh, no!”

Gunnilda sighed. It would have been cruel not to reassure him. “Oh, pish! One late dinner won’t kill a tough little bird like me. And I’m hardly sick anymore anyway. I’ll be that glad to get out and stretch my legs.”

'I'll be that glad to get out and stretch my legs.'

She would be even gladder to get up to the square in time to find out what was what with these “fine men” on their “fine horses” that Alwy kept prattling about. A grave fever and weeks of recovery had confined her to her bed, and Alwy’s interpretation of “let her rest” had extended to turning back all visitors at the gate. More than for bread, Gunnilda was starving for gossip.

Alwy gently lowered Sigebert to the floor and wiped his hands on his shirt as he shuffled up behind her. “I don’t know, Gunnie. You look awfully pale to me.”

Gunnilda grumbled, “That’s just ’cause I hain’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

She glanced back to see Alwy’s eyes swimming with new tears. She sighed and patted his tanned cheek.

“Never you mind, Alwy. I hain’t got my appetite back yet anyway. And there’s lots of women what don’t always get their bread at all. I’ll say that for you: you always do keep your family fed.”

Gunnilda alone among her sisters had always eaten her fill during that hollow winter. Bertie alone among his cousins still had cheeks that were pink and fat. Her sisters had married clever, dashing men. Gunnilda had married Alwy.

Alwy broke into a shy smile at the unaccustomed attention.

Alwy broke into a shy smile at the unaccustomed attention.

“Well, I don’t know but I guess I do. But if you ever aren’t getting enough to eat, you just tell me, and I’ll work harder. Or if you ever have a reason to be a little extra hungry…”

He ducked his head to hide his foolish grin and tried to pat her belly, but Gunnilda twisted away.

“I’ll let you know,” she mumbled.

“Say, Gunnie! That reminds me!”

Gunnilda cringed, expecting to hear that he had “reminded” himself of the second child he lately hinted about – or perhaps more particularly the activities that would be required to bring it about. She could use the excuse of her recent illness for now…

She could use the excuse of her recent illness for now...

But Alwy only asked, “What would you say if I owned all my pigs in my own name? Then we could eat meat every day!”

Gunnilda shrugged as she went to the table to cut a rind of cheese for Bertie to gnaw. “I would say we wouldn’t have pigs for very long, then.”

“Oh! But if we didn’t eat them at first, and they had lots of piglets, and they had more and more…” Alwy frowned and knitted his fingers together, for multiplication was not one of his strengths.

“I don’t know but I guess in a year or two you’d have enough that you could start slaughtering the extra head without cutting back the herd.”

Alwy slapped his thigh. “You’re so clever, Gunnie! I’m so glad I have you. That’s what we’ll do!”

Gunnilda huffed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “And I’ll have to make some pillow cases to fill with the plumes, since them pigs’ll be flying before they ever do belong to you.”

“They will?”

“That’s just a way of saying it won’t never happen, Alwy. Where’s my penny?”

“But that’s not what them fine men said!”

Gunnilda spun around to face him, ruffling her hair all over her head. “What?”

'What?'

“They said as how I could own all my pigs in my own name if I went with them.”

A throb of heat lit Gunnilda’s face, such as she had not felt since her fever had broken. “I think it’s time you told me what those men was telling you up to the square.”

Alwy hung his head, fearful her wrath was directed at him. “Well,” he faltered in his meekest voice, “I don’t know, but I guess you told me not to.”

Gunnilda flapped her apron in impatience, but she softened her voice to reassure him. “Go on, Alwy, I ain’t mad at you. You can tell me now.”

Alwy straightened right up and gave her an eager grin. “Well, you see, one of them men is a King, and one on ’em is an Earl, and they’re going to live down in the valley, and they need some men to farm for them, and they asked me would I come! And Gunnie, they’ll let me own my pigs in my own name, and own my house in my own name, and when I die it’ll be Bertie’s, and Gunnie, what do you say to that?”

Gunnilda squawked. “Horsefeathers!”

'Horsefeathers!'

“Don’t you mean pigfeathers?” Alwy corrected gently.

“Horsefeathers, I say to that! Oh, Alwy! Didn’t you even stop to think? Not a soul has lived in that valley for a hundred years!”

“Well, I don’t know but I guess that’s why they need farmers…”

“And a King! And an Earl! Alwy! Do you think a King would ever come to this village and gossip with pig farmers in the square? Do you think a King has ever come to this village before? Ever? Or even to the castle?”

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Oh, Alwy! Didn’t you stop to think – for even just a second – that maybe they was trying to trick you instead?”

'Didn't you stop to think?'

“Well, I don’t know but I guess I was too busy thinking about how it would be…”

“Oh! Alwy!”

Gunnilda flapped her skirts and looked wildly around for something or someone to turn her exasperation against. Still, she spared a glance for Bertie, who sat dribbling cheesy spit down his shirt as he sucked at his rind. So she must have glanced five hundred times a day, maintaining a maternal awareness of her baby’s location at all times, no matter how occupied her hands or her mind.

But she could not do the same for Alwy. He looked like a man, he worked like a man, and he went out like a man for most of the day – but in his mind he was almost a child, and when he was late, she snapped at him to hide her fear. One day someone’s “if you just come with me” would lure Alwy away to fight in some army, or to toil as a serf on some foreign lord’s lands, or worse – worse things that made her glad they were too poor for Alwy to carry anything worth stealing.

He looked like a man.

“Alwy, you get that boy and clean him up. We’re going back up to the square together.”

“We are?” Alwy’s face brightened for a moment, but his forehead wrinkled with worry as he looked over her pale face and neck. “But what about dinner? Shouldn’t you eat something?”

“I’ll take the cheese and a sausage, and we can eat up there after we get the bread. How ’bout that?”

Alwy grinned. “Like a picnic?”

“Like a picnic.” Gunnilda smiled slightly beneath scowling brows. “Maybe we can invite your King and Earl friends to join us. I’d like to serve ’em up a nice, hot piece of my mind.”

'Maybe we can invite your King and Earl friends to join us.'