“There you are!” Sigefrith panted in feigned exhaustion. “I’ve been upstairs, downstairs—”
“In your nightgown?” Eadgith interrupted.
Sigefrith coughed. “I do not possess a nightgown, young woman, as you ought to know. If I were to take to running about the castle dressed as I am for bed, you would come to find me, if only to learn what all the squealing and giggling was about.”
“Would you squeal and giggle?”
“I meant the maids, but I might if enough of them pinched me.”
His daughter rolled her eyes, and to his sense of humor that was a compliment indeed. But it was far sweeter to see his wife smiling up at him, blushing a little at the image he must have called up in her mind, but smiling, smiling, with eyes more sparkling than the jewels she wore.
“Did you need me, Sigefrith?”
“I didn’t, but now that you have me thinking about getting undressed…”
“Oh, dear!”
He laughed. “In truth, I was looking for Brit here. Young Sir Eadwyn just came down from a visit to his beloved, and he brought letters.”
Britamund was immediately at attention before him, like the good soldier she was. “For me?”
“Including one for you, from a certain… Oh, bother, what was his name again?” Sigefrith pretended to pat around his belt in search of this missive.
“From Brin! Let me see it!”
She began yanking at his belt and pawing at the pouches he wore on it. Sigefrith laughed and lifted his arms.
Though he lived six score and seven years, and though he were king of the world and all its colonies, he would never let it be said that he or she was too old or too dignified to play this game of hide-and-seek. It had been toys when she was a little girl, and it would be jewelry or other trinkets when she became a woman, but for now, in the between time, it was nothing but some childishly earnest letter from her best friend.
He winked at his wife. “I think I shall be undressed in spite of my best intentions, honey.”
“I don’t want to see you naked,” Britamund groaned. “For heaven’s sake! Here it is!”
“Now, Princess, I think that’s only my list of tithes…”
“No!” She snatched it away from his grasping hand and laughed triumphantly. “I recognize his writing. Oh, Papa!” She stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Papa, is it?” he chuckled.
“Did I ever thank you for teaching me how to read and write?”
“No, though you have often heartily cursed me for making you learn.”
“I take it all back!” She kissed his cheek, which in itself served to erase all those maledictions. “It was very wise of you to do!”
“Do you hear that, Eadie? She thinks her father’s wise, and she’s not even thirty yet.”
“I think my father is,” Eadgith said.
“Perhaps by the time you’re thirty you will have guessed the truth.”
Eadgith laughed, Britamund laughed, he laughed. He was happy; everyone was happy. He was wise enough to not let the moment pass unheeded.
His wife was happy again, and now that her happiness had been announced to the people, he was reminded of it everywhere he went. Meanwhile there were new knights setting up their manors at strategic locations, and Stein had come back to the valley to be knighted in his turn and swear his oath to the king. He had also taken a daughter of Lord Aed to wife, and strengthened by that alliance, Sigefrith thought he might manage a daughter of King Enna next. Even the lords to the south and the west were taking note, from the Baron’s hills all the way to the sea, and while they were not yet paying fees to King Sigefrith, they had stopped paying them to any other king.
He had perhaps been happier as a man, but he had never been happier or more optimistic as a king.
“May I be excused to read it?” Britamund asked.
“If you’re all finished hugging your so-called ‘Papa’.”
“For now! I shall hug you some more later! After I read it!” Or so he thought she said; she was already far down the corridor by the time she finished her declaration.
“Well, I’m not all finished hugging,” he said to Eadgith, “so if you don’t mind…”
Eadgith was only too delighted to sit on his lap, and she was not yet so bulky as to make it uncomfortable.
“What do you suppose they write about?” Her question came out in a sigh: he was already kissing her neck.
“I don’t know,” he chuckled. “I never ask her. Now that they have Eadwyn and Ana married off or nearly so, they must be hatching some new plot together.”
“I hope it’s not another romance. She’s a little young to meddle with those.”
“I don’t think Brit even has the word ‘romance’ in her vocabulary.”
“I wish Dunstan would write to her. Then she might learn it.”
“Give him time, Eadie. There’s nothing a boy that age hates more than being told what to do. But there’s also nothing that boy likes more than writing poetry, so I’m certain that his desire to have an interested reader will win out in the end.”
Eadgith tipped back her head and sighed. “Alred used to say I should have learned to read so men could write poetry in my honor.”
“I hope he wasn’t thinking I would! Name of God!”
“No…”
“He writes them for you anyway,” Sigefrith grumbled, “and reads them to my entire court, so you needn’t sigh over your missed opportunity.”
“How old is a boy when he starts to learn to read?”
“Five or six. I started Caedwulf younger so he could keep pace with Dunstan.” He turned his attention back to her neck and earlobe. “Whenever.”
“Was he four?”
“I suppose.”
“Sigefrith?”
“Hmm?”
“I think we should have Drageling start learning.”
Sigefrith lifted his head. “Drageling? Amongst my valuable books? He’s as likely to set fire to them as to read them, or… or tear out the pages to make sails for his little boats.”
“But he’s a Prince, Sigefrith. He must be prepared for a princely life.”
“Oh, must he?”
“If Caedwulf started at four, I don’t see why Drageling can’t,” she pouted.
“Because Drageling is a little monster, whereas Caedwulf was only a little monstrous.”
“Don’t say such things about your sons!”
“Eadie!” he sighed. “I love them just the same.”
“I think that we should have Brother Myrddin as a tutor for him. Drageling always behaves for him.”
“That’s only because he likes adventure stories, and Brother Myrddin has enough for seven lifetimes in him. Besides, Malcolm doesn’t like him, and I trust Malcolm’s instincts.”
“That’s only because Malcolm is a Scot and Brother Myrddin is a Welshman. The Scots don’t like the Welsh.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s what Brother Myrddin told me.”
Sigefrith laughed. Only a woman would be satisfied with such an explanation coming from the disliked party himself, but then again, only a woman could be so soft, or smell so sweet, or fit so neatly onto his lap, or make him so very, very happy and optimistic as a man.
“If you want to try the experiment, honey, you are more than welcome. But I shan’t be held responsible if our dear Abbot loses a monk to that fire-breathing dragon of a son of ours. And for Christ’s sake, keep him away from my most valuable books!”
Chapters
Don't be careless in/with your happiness, Sigefrieth! Good lord, how clueless you are about the brother and about your own daughter!