Colban makes a harmless-crazy friend
Dunfermline, Scotland
The King of Scotland proved to be a very big man. A Highland bull brought to graze on lush pastures, his whopping frame was packed with muscle and sleeked over with fat. He looked the part of a legend – of a man whose name, like the secret names of fairies, was rarely pronounced above a whisper in Colban’s clan.
This was the man who had whacked off King Macbeth’s head with a single stroke of his sword and strangled King Lulach in the crook of his beefy arm. And worse: this was the man who had ordered Old Aed’s father beheaded before the eyes of his son, the lords of Scotland, and the clergy; and walked out spinning the bloody crown of Strathclyde around his hand like a toy.
As Colban kneeled behind his father, King Malcolm snorted his red forelock aside and lowered his bullish head to stare at Colban out of his broad-set eyes. Rarely had Colban felt so very small.
The Queen intoned, “Malcolm, son of Colban, of the clan of Colin, my lord.” Still more stiffly, as if she had to force the words through the sieve of her teeth, she announced, “And Colban, his son.”
The King burst into laughter. “Well well well! I wouldn’t have believed it from any but your saintly lips, Mother! Malcolm! So you finally brought the lad! What were you doing – waiting for your fry to grow too big to be eaten?”
Colban’s father bounded to his feet. He was still graceful as a cat so long as he did not take a step and reveal the mismatched length of his legs. Colban rose slowly behind him, trying to fit himself into his father’s shadow.
His father said, “Only waiting for him to grow big enough to venture out of the den and join me in the hunt.”
The back of Colban’s neck prickled at all the attention. His nervous smile broadened, revealing his sharp canine teeth.
“Well, bring him here, Malcolm!” the King commanded. “If I was in a child-eating mood this morning I would have already gobbled up these plaguey creatures to get them out of my hair!”
He waved vaguely at the three identically-dressed boys lined up behind him, two of whom looked sourly offended. The third, whose face seemed brighter than the others on account of his darker hair and eyes, instead waited until his father’s back was turned, and then pretended to chomp at his arm.
“Come on, lad,” Malcolm said gently to Colban. “I’ve been asking to make your acquaintance for as long as I’ve known there was such a thing as you. ’Twould have been a shame for a man such as your father to have no son.”
Colban did not know what he meant by the remark, but gentle or not, he knew a royal command when he heard one. He padded across the bearskin rug as far as his father’s elbow.
“Well well well,” the King said reverently.
He stroked Colban’s hair, and Colban’s shoulders went rigid. His father laid his hand on his arm, as if to counteract the King’s touch. Colban could not stop smiling his taut, terrible smile.
“You couldn’t have denied him if you wanted to, Malcolm. But who would want to?”
The sole of the Queen’s shoe hissed across the floorboard, and her heels cracked together. Colban knew she had stood up straighter, and he imagined her towering like a giantess, looking down on him and his father from regal heights.
“But don’t try to convince me you were ever this pretty!” the King warned.
“It’s the eyes,” his father said. “The eyes of his mother is he having. I couldn’t have denied them if I’d wanted to.” He winked at the King. “But who would have wanted to?”
Malcolm burst into raucous laughter again, until he chanced to look past Colban’s father’s shoulder and see the Queen. He coughed and dropped his hand from Colban’s head to turn and look behind him.
“All right, all right, let’s make some legroom in here! Boys! Get over here and line up for me.”
The boys trooped around him and attempted to squeeze by. Colban stepped back to give them room, and then stepped awkwardly forward again, wondering whether he was supposed to join the line.
“Not you,” the King said, pulling Colban aside. Colban felt his father’s arm brush his shoulder again.
“You three!” Malcolm shouted to his sons. “Line up over here on the rug. By age! Come on now! Hup hup hup!”
The boys stomped and shuffled and bumped into line. The tallest and the shortest looked mistrustful, but the middle boy peered up through his dark auburn hair with a wry expression that he turned briefly on Colban.
“Etmond, Ethelred, and Etgair,” the King pointed out to Colban. “Etbard is away hunting, and by the time we got to Alasdair we were out of E-names, but anyway I figured one of these three ought to be about your size. Which one is it?” He reached over Colban and tapped his hand down the row of heads, counting, “Eena, meena, mackeracka…”
He stopped and moved his hand back to the middle boy’s head. The other he planted atop Colban’s. This time Colban’s father did not touch him. The boy smiled at Colban with one corner of his mouth and sent an ironic glance up at his father’s wrist.
After carefully comparing their heights the King said, “Looks like you’re It, Red.”
He grabbed Colban by the collar and Ethelred by the arm, and pulled them both behind him. The two boys left standing were beginning to look hostile. Colban smiled sheepishly. He was glad the middle boy had “won.”
“All right,” the King said, “you’re out, you other two. Go on with your mother. You have lessons to do.”
Both boys whined, but Malcolm grabbed the sleeve of the taller one and shuffled him along towards the door, driving his little brother before him.
“Out out out! Quit your groaning! Colban might be more boring than your tutor, for all you know.”
Colban’s father laughed, and the King grinned at him. “Don’t spoil their afternoon, Malcolm,” he pretended to whisper.
The Queen turned sharply and marched. Her two boys followed her out through the door, stomping their feet in protest. Colban’s father cocked his hip and glanced back over his shoulder at the Queen as she left, but he came no closer to a bow. Since Colban did not know what he was supposed to do, he did nothing, and felt stupid for it.
After the door closed, the King clapped his hands. “Well well well! Let’s stuff some cake into these boys to shut ’em up and slow ’em down, and then we’ll have our chat. Shall we?”
“Cake?” Ethelred asked dubiously.
“Eh… Don’t tell your mother.”
Ethelred gave Colban a slyly triumphant grin. Colban looked around for his father. Was he supposed to eat cake if it was offered, or was it more politic to refuse? Would there be napkins or plates, or would he simply have to eat out of his hand? Would it be sticky cake or clean? Was it even safe? Was it poison?
Colban’s father answered most of his questions by reaching over Colban’s shoulder and pinching the corner off a slab of spice cake on the tray beside him. He stood up again and stuffed it in his mouth whole.
“When you’re doing wrong, laddie,” he mumbled to Ethelred as he chewed, “it’s wise to make accomplices of your witnesses.”
Malcolm let loose another thunderclap of laughter. “Good God, Malcolm, not a quarter hour here and you’re already trying to teach my boy to be you.”
Colban’s father shrugged and swallowed. “Somebody has to undo the damage.” His hand fluttered over the tray before he selected a dried plum and popped it in his mouth.
King Malcolm pinched off a mouthful of cake for himself. “Go on boys! Help yourself. We all hang together!”
He shoved the cake into his mouth and turned mumbling away to address the pitcher of wine that stood on the table.
Ethelred sneaked in next to Colban and picked up a knife. “Will you have some cake, Colban?”
Colban opened his mouth, unsure of what to answer. He did like cake, but what he truly wanted was to creep into a corner and silently observe the proceedings until he had regained his bearings. Fumbling with cake did not tend to make a boy inconspicuous.
In the event, Ethelred decided for him, announcing, “We all hang together!” He bent over the cake until a cascade of chestnut hair hid his face, and sawed away with the dull knife like a boy who clearly had little experience cutting cake. Colban felt a twinge of compassion, but he was wise enough not to embarrass him further by offering to help.
“That one’s for me,” Ethelred mumbled as the first crumbling slice folded itself in half and flopped onto the tray.
“That’s all right.” Colban darted out his hand out to steal the bits away. “I’m not very hungry.”
Ethelred laughed awkwardly. “I’m not supposed to eat cake at all on Fridays.”
“Oh.” Colban forgot his manners in his embarrassment and ate a bit of cake while his host was still cutting.
The King pulled out a chair with a loud scrape. “What the hell do you want, Malcolm?” he asked. “Why don’t you ever come when I could have use of you?”
“They don’t call me The Cat for my whiskers,” Colban’s father replied.
Malcolm laughed. Then the knife clanged onto the platter and Ethelred’s head popped up beside Colban’s, all pink-cheeked and startled-looking.
“Shall we sit?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply he slipped past Colban and led him to the bench at the foot of the King’s bed.
Colban cradled his cake against his chest and looked up and all around at that piece of furniture: a monument on a scale of the man who slept in it, he thought, fashioned from oaks felled in Birnam Wood. His father had said it was a great honor to be received in King Malcolm’s bedchamber, but the room seemed calculated to impress.
Sigefrith never received any but closest family in his bedchamber. That, Colban’s father had said, was because he shared it with the Queen. It would seem that kings rarely did.
Colban sat on the edge of the bench beside Ethelred, careful not to spill any crumbs. His father and Malcolm were already seated, already talking, and Colban had missed a part of their conversation. Now he wanted to listen; from the King’s repeated glances, it seemed they were talking about him.
But behind him Ethelred asked, “How old are you?”
Colban peeked over his shoulder at him. “Twelve.”
“Oh, I too!”
“Oh.”
Colban’s father was laughing. “Isn’t that reason enough?” he asked.
Ethelred said, “I was wondering, for we’re almost the same height. I think I’m a little taller. They say I shall be tall. But your father is tall, too.”
Colban looked around at him. “My friend Cedric is a little taller than I, even though my father is taller than his. And we’re exactly the same age. Born on exactly the same day.”
“Truly? What day?”
“The third day of June.”
Ethelred looked disappointed. “Oh. I was born on the fifteenth of November.”
Colban murmured a polite, “Aye?” and looked back to the men.
The King pounded on the table and damned his father to Hell, a sentiment somewhat softened by the wicked grin that bristled his eyebrows and beard. Colban wondered desperately what he had missed.
“That makes me younger,” Ethelred added softly.
Colban turned to him. The boy’s head bowed over the cake he cupped in his palm, and his other hand darted about like a little bird, picking up crumbs and pecking them into his mouth. His hands looked older than the rest of him, slender and pale and long: more like a grown woman’s hands than a boy’s or a man’s. Indeed, it seemed likely he would be very tall, but tall like a stag rather than like a bull.
“It’s good cake,” Colban said.
Ethelred looked up. “Aye?”
“My compliments to Her Majesty’s cook.”
Ethelred grinned. His smile was startlingly wide.
The King grumbled, “Brittany, then, I suppose. I can always – ”
“Ach, no!” Colban’s father cried. “Last time I was there I nearly broke the other leg, falling on the rocks.”
Colban stopped chewing to better listen. This was it – they were deciding where he and his father were to go.
He was a little sorry it would not be Brittany – even a little hurt. His father spoke of Brittany with a voice he used for no other foreign country. It was almost like his voice on those achingly rare occasions when he mentioned Colban’s mother. It made Brittany seem a special place that his father did not want to share with him.
“Ach! Denmark, then?” Malcolm proposed wearily.
“Nor neither,” Colban’s father said. “I’ve had my fill of the sea for a time.”
Suddenly Colban realized Ethelred had just asked him a question.
“Beg pardon? What?”
“I said, What did you think of my mother?”
“Ahh…” Colban shrank back and flailed about in his mind for something polite to say. “Very regal.”
“She doesn’t like your father,” Ethelred whispered.
“Ahh… I was noticing that…”
“Do you know why?”
Colban shook his head and then bowed it over his hand to lip the bits of cake from his sweaty palm. He did not much want to talk, and on this particular subject not at all.
“I don’t know either,” Ethelred whispered. “I just… I wanted to tell you it isn’t because he brought you. She has never liked him.”
Colban sat up and squinted at him. “Why would she not like him because he brought me?”
Ethelred’s face turned pink, but it was plain he was trying to speak unashamedly. “Because you’re a bastard.”
Colban stared.
“Not – I mean–I don’t think badly of you for it…”
“Why should you? ’Tisn’t any fault of mine.”
By now blotches of red marred the even pink of Ethelred’s face. “Uh… That’s right. That’s why I don’t.”
“France!” the King bellowed. “Oh, God, no!”
Colban’s father laughed. This time both boys turned to listen.
“The last time I sent you to France, I almost got my legs broken!”
“Ach, the devil! There was never any danger to you! I got you what you wanted, didn’t I?”
“After helping yourself to what you wanted! Pff! And you’re wanting to take this poor innocent child to Paris, are you? Straight from the cradle to the stews?”
“Nothing of the kind! The devil! I’ve had enough of that for the time, too.”
The King laughed. “Tsk tsk tsk, Malcolm! What did you break in Brittany? Do you take me for a fool?”
Colban’s father threw up his hand and fidgeted in his chair. Colban leaned forward, wishing he could have seen his face.
Ethelred whispered, “I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Colban sat up. “You didn’t.”
“Sorry anyway.” Ethelred finished his cake and brushed the crumbs from his lap. “So, would you like to go do something? Would you like to visit the castle?”
“No, thank you. I’ve seen castles before.”
“Oh.”
The next thing Colban understood from the men was his father’s laughing plea, “Ach, never! Paris is the only city in the world where the noble ladies have more lice than the whores!”
Ethelred asked, “Your mother was a queen, too, wasn’t she?”
Colban gasped, “What?”
“I was only thinking… we were born on different days, but we both have fathers named Malcolm… and we’re both the sons of queens…”
“You don’t have many friends, do you?”
Ethelred replied at once: “Only my brothers.” Only then did he look hurt. Colban was sorry he had been snappish.
“No offense meant, Your Highness,” he said. “But it’s no wonder if you don’t. You’re going about it all wrong – reminding a lad he’s a bastard, and asking him about his mother, and telling him your mother doesn’t like his father…”
Ethelred picked at invisible crumbs on his lap. “Sorry.”
“Eh… never mind, lad. I know you aren’t meaning to offend. You’re likely crazy, but you’re harmless-crazy.”
Ethelred peeked up at Colban through his hair, his face pinched and pink and frightened, but he smiled at the sight of Colban’s friendly smile.
“Anyway,” Colban said, “it’s kind of you to try to make friends. You’re probably wishing you’d been a little taller or a little shorter and been sent off to do your lessons.”
“Ach, no! I’m glad I’m It. I’ve been curious about you, ever since I heard you were here. I wondered how much you would resemble your father.”
At that moment, Colban’s father shouted, “Not when your cock comes out smelling like roses and itching like nettles!”
Colban winced. “Hopefully not that much.”
Ethelred laughed and laughed without making a sound. His mouth grew positively enormous, stretching from ear to ear like a toad’s. It was difficult not to laugh before such an example of laughter.
Colban pointed back at his father with his thumb. “He’s harmless-crazy, too,” he confided.
Ethelred bent double, laughing until he squeaked. Colban finally broke down and joined him in wicked giggles.
Ethelred whispered, “That’s probably the one thing we have in common!”
“Eh? You and my father?”
Colban sat back and looked Ethelred up and down. Nothing immediately came to mind.
Then he looked over at his father. The men’s heads were bowed together, and they seemed to be speaking seriously at last, too softly for Colban to understand.
Only a few names broke loose and drifted back to him, as familiar names will do: Philippe, Robert, Ogive, Guillaume. France it would be, then, or Normandy or Flanders.
“Well,” Colban said, turning back to Ethelred, “I’ll admit you’re little enough alike. Unless you’ve some of your harmless-crazy business in common… such as: Did the mothers of you both conceive you dog-fashion, on their hands and knees beneath the light of a full moon?”
Ethelred’s broad mouth narrowed into a tall O.
Colban sighed and shook his head. “That’s my point, son. If you’re wanting to get to know a body, and learn what you’ve the twain of you in common, you cannot be asking him awkward questions about his mother, do you see?”
Ethelred closed his mouth and nodded, but his lips soon spread into a sheepish smile.
“You want to ask a fellow: What sorts of sports does he like? Or mayhap does he prefer books and studies to sports and things? Or, has he ever been to Dunfermline? Does he have any sisters or brothers? That sort of thing. And if you must ask something harmless-crazy, then make it something such as won’t make a fellow want to sock you in the nose. Such as, for instance, can you roll your tongue?”
“Roll my tongue?”
“You know.” Colban stuck out his tongue and curled it into a tidy round between his lips. “Like thith.”
Ethelred laughed his silent laugh again, squeaking like a panting dog enjoying a nice scratch behind the ears. He stuck out his tongue between giggles, but he only managed to flop it around.
“Like thith! Like thith!” Colban taunted him. Cedric could not roll his tongue either, but Colban liked to mock him when he tried.
At last Ethelred burst into audible laughter. It was warm and infectious, but louder than Colban expected after so much silent squirming. He peeked over at the men, fearing he and the Prince were not being inconspicuous enough. The King only glanced up from his quiet conversation and smiled.
“I shall practice before a mirror,” Ethelred announced.
“Ach! It was a joke, son. If tongue-rolling is the best thing you can come up with when a lad is asking you what you like to do for fun…”
“Well, what do you like to do for fun?”
“Ach! I don’t know. Lots of things. I suppose I like horses more than anything.”
“You do?”
“Ach, aye. I’ve a way with horses, everyone says. My father does, too.”
Colban nearly spoke aloud his private creed that for a certain sort of man – a solitary, shiftless sort of man – a man’s horse was a man’s best friend. Instead he blurted something stranger.
“We had to sell my horse at Tynemouth, so we could take the ship. A big, fine bay with a snip of a blaze on his nose.”
“You did?”
Colban froze. Why had he said that? And why – since it seemed such a banal thing to say – did he so wish he hadn’t?
He still remembered that horse’s eyes when he had said goodbye: huge, dark eyes that reflected a broad swath of cloudy sky and windswept horizon, and a little figure of a boy shrinking into a speck as he retreated.
He wondered how many hours or days had passed before the horse had realized he was never coming back. Colban supposed he should be grateful he had not had to see him running up and down the paddock fence, the way that dog had frantically followed their ship up the beach. He had to hope his horse would get a good master. He had to hope that dog had not drowned.
“What was his name?” Ethelred asked.
“Ah… Caspar.” Colban put on a grin and managed a tinny laugh. “Ach! I’d only had him since Christmas anyway. ’Twas a pity, but I’d much rather go abroad. It’s best not to get too attached anyway.”
“Would you like to go see our stable?”
Colban looked automatically to his father. His father leaned heavily over the table, murmuring with the King in dark tones, and running a restive hand over his tightly-bound hair. Below the tabletop his leg bounced with impatience to be gone across the sea.
The King looked up and gave Colban another kindly smile, but his own father seemed to have forgotten he was there.
Colban turned his back to them.
“Aye, Your Highness, I would like that very much.”
Ethelred smiled another of his broad smiles. “Call me Red.”
“Call me Cub.”
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Soooo much chemistry...
I almost expected them to kiss. I'm rather disappointed that they didn't (although I suppose they would have gotten in serious trouble, with their fathers right there and all).
That messenger had better catch up before Magog and Cubby leave Britain...
Errr... does anyone else find it a little weird that the king addresses his wife as "Mother"? Gog did this too, and it's a little ooky, I'm finding, especially considering that there aren't even any small children around...
EDIT: Ooooh, I just looked up Ethelred on Wikipedia, and apparently he was passed over for succession for some reason or another. I take it you're planning to capitalize on that?
...and Margaret called him "my lord." You know, you don't have to go any farther back than Jane Austen to find spouses calling each other "Mother" or "Mr. Bennett" so I'm just going to have to use the old: "It's the times!" excuse.
Ah, "the times"... inducing seizures in Van since it stopped being "the times".
...sorry, I've had waaaaaay too much caffeine today.
I think it might be normal, I've noticed that in lots of stories, I think it is because that was the primary job of women, as mothers.
Good chapter! It is so cute seeing Red trying to make friends, I like him a lot!
Ooh, ooh, Leofric does it too!
It's a "times" thing, and also a social milieu thing. I don't know that I would make peasants talk like that, but it seems right for nobles like Leof and Gog and King Malcolm. Especially since so many of them married for reasons other than love.
"huge, dark eyes that reflected a broad swath of cloudy sky and windswept horizon," This is the deepest line you've written that I've taken full notice of. I love it.
This chapter was amazing! I enjoy the dynamics between Red and Cubby which could lead tour first bromance.
On another note its still very sad how Maud is a sore spot for Cubby; but it can't be helped.
*waves Team Cubred banner*
Okay, I see your point about the marriages not being about love, but still... can you imagine what they might shout out in a bedroom-type scenario? I can maybe understand the woman panting "My lord, my lord!", but I sure hope the man wouldn't start moaning "Oh, Mother!"
I think that would effectively scar for life any poor noble kid trying to get to sleep
I just saw that Malcolm' second with his first wife died in June of 1085. I hope it was a result of natural causes..
Him screaming "Oh my mother," is very disturbing.
Oh my god, I am so charmed by Ethelred. Just overflowing with love. The sweet, shy awkwardness that leads to unexpectedly huge smiles and warm laughter!
So, so cute together these two are. God, it takes me back to those days as a kid when you could make a new best friend almost instantly. You just can't do that as you get older the same way.
Yeah...my heart, it is fluttering. I hope to see more of these two! (Also, I always melt when Cubby says "My friend Cedric..." and Red being disappointed that he didn't get the birthday trifecta! D'aww!)
Ethelred is adorable. As is Cubby. And they are adorable together. I'm glad it seems they are going to be friends. At first I thought Cubby was going to try to block him out, but by the end it seemed as though they are going to get along quite well.
Poor Cubby trying to stuff down missing all things he's had to leave behind: his horse, that dog, and Cedric.
Ah! When is that messenger going to catch them?
"Oh Mother!" too funny.
Heheheh... I was thinking about that myself last night. What DOES he call her at more... intimate moments. He obviously sleeps with her often enough to have a kid practically every year.
Leof calls Eadgith "Eadgith" on a regular basis, as well as "my pigeon" and probably other pet names. Maybe Malcolm calls her Margaret when they are alone? Maybe he calls her "darling" or something? I think they must be close, in spite of the "my lord" and "Mother" and her stiff attitude of today. Malcolm can't even read -- I expect he trusts Margaret a lot and therefore relies on her for a lot of things.
As for Gog, I can totally see him calling her "Maire" when they're alone, making it almost a pet name I suppose. Gog seems kind of reserved in public about romantic relations, but there is obviously a lot of chemistry between those two.
I personally get all squishy when I read old-fashioned books and lovers address each other as Mr. and Miss, and call each other vous in French, and so on. All that passion hidden beneath all that formality just makes me melt.
As for Ethelred... I like him too.
He's shy and socially awkward, but he seems spirited too, and kooky in a fun way. I think he flubbed the conversation so much because he was making such an effort to impress/entertain/befriend Cubby, in spite of not knowing how such things are done. He seems like he would be a fun fellow to hang out with once the getting-to-know-you awkwardness was out of the way.
And I think King Malcolm is extra-fond of the boy -- maybe worried about him because he's a bit eccentric? -- and was really quite pleased (and relieved) to see him talking and laughing with Cubby. If Cubby has just made friends with King Malcolm's pet, then that is a diplomatic win. Not really sure for whom, since Cubby's clan is officially at odds with the King... but for somebody!
Down here in the South we call women and girls 'Mama' and 'Little Mama' all the time. I have a coworker who calls her five year old that. I think its a term of endearment more than anything and not something used to the exclusion of actual names. My father always called my mother Mama or Mom (and she called him Dad) unless their conversation was only between themselves. It was for my benefit, I suppose. Its hard to explain. They would not be calling each other that during woohoo, I'm certain!
Cubby and Red are cute... Cubby reminds of myself when I'm trying to read and my husband or the kids are prattling nonsense in the background.
Isn't this where Caedwulf came when he left Old Aed? I imagine he probably had fun here. Also, this is the Queen of the Scots, right? Of the famed deerhounds? Will we get to see any?? Pleeeeease??
I'm a dog groomer, so I tend to be a little obsessive when it comes to dogs. I love deer- and wolf-hounds, but they're really uncommon, partially I'm sure because they're so short lived and have so many health problems...
Little Mama! That's the cutest thing!
Though I seem to recall Alred calling Gunnilda's girl "Mama Wynna" when she was about that age...
Yes, Caedwulf was in this same castle only a few weeks ago. He probably got to hang out with the older boys, if Malcolm applies the same height-based selection criteria to all visitors.
I am sure Margaret was also much friendlier with Caedwulf. Her loyalty to Sigefrith may actually be one of the reasons why she so dislikes Magog.
Well, I doubt we'll see Margaret's deerhounds, but now that I have Pets I can show Eadie's dog. I have already made her -- in fact I had to make her so I could make Yappy, since you can't make puppies in CAS. And of course there's Yappy himself, but he still has some growing to do. I just need to think of a reason to do a chapter with Eadie!
Yeah, Mama Wynna is the perfect example! I suppose with kids we mostly use it with the types of girls that are all mother hennish (is that a word?). My older daughter is like that... always taking care of her sister and trying to teach other kids how to read, that sort of thing. She's sweet.
I hadn't thought of that (Margarat not liking Malcolm for his affair with Maud), but I suppose that's completely obvious, isn't it?
Yeah, Eadie just isn't really someone that you can really just pop in there. She's not really important to the story. You could probably more easily do a chapter with Ogive, when her puppy is old enough to run with Eadie's dog. Although I don't get the impression that Ogive is that fond of dogs (she was trying to avoid being licked by the puppy when she got it, wasn't she?), so perhaps the most likely candidate is that Caedwulf has a chapter with them? Dunno. We'll see what happens.
I found two chapters where Alred calls Wynna that, "Alred is surprised" and "Alred goes to get some sense and some cake", and it is precisely because Wynna seems to love taking care of babies so much.
Dear Wynna... I guess if someone was going to get stuck with a man like Anson, it's just as well that it was someone who quite enjoys the motherly, housewifely role he expects his spouse to play.
Yappy is definitely Caedwulf's dog, but that's partly because he personally carried him all the way back from Dunfermline. I don't think Ogive dislikes dogs so much... it's just that she has led such an austere life so far, she never had a pet. She spent most of her "school aged" childhood in a convent, and her family just isn't the type for frolics and cuddles. I don't think she really knows how to behave with a dog, and she doesn't know how to set aside her dignity long enough to be licked all over her face.
But I don't think Caedwulf was entirely joking when he said he got Yappy for Ogive so that she could practice kissing and so on. He may have judged that she needed an excuse for frolics and cuddles, to loosen her up a bit. Ogive is still kind of flabbergasted every time she sees family and friends being affectionate with each other. But you get the sense that she really wishes she dared.
Yeah. Her conflicting emotions are funny to read, though a little saddening in their own way... it's awful standing there watching something that you really want and knowing you might be able to have it too, but not really knowing how to reach for it.
A big, happy, drooly dog probably is a good thing for her. And since she's expected to interact with it for diplomatic reasons, it gives her the comforting sense of duty as well. I'm sure its easier for her to set aside her dignity and try something a little childish for the political aspect. How awesome would it be for someone to bring word back to Queen Margaret that Ogive just looooooves the cuuuute puppy she recieved from her? Nice.
I just realized this might be the first time we all have the same opinion about a new character.
Red is endearing! I think he was actually trying to be nice and create some sort of bond between himself and Cubby at first, the poor dear. I'm glad Cub gave in, but that whole "It's best not to get attached" business just spells more heartbreak in the future. Don't send them away, Malcolm! D:
Boy does Queen Margaret look sour. I had expected something more of an entrance for her, but I suppose it's in keeping with her discreet/prudish ways. Speaking of, I wonder what she'd do if her son turned out to be gay? Not that anyone in the Middle Ages would jump in joy or anything...
Teehee, I love the Central American "Little Mama" thing. I think the only Southern South American (is that even a term?) equivalent we have is Old Man/Woman, but we don't use it that much. Anywho, I didn't find the way these two adressed each other odd, but I agree with Van in that it must be... interesting in the bedroom.
However I'd imagine it'd be creepier to see Caedwulf call Ogive "Mother" or "Mama". Eek!
I kinda like these different facets of Queen Margaret that we've been seeing lately. Caedwulf charmed her into giving him one of her precious puppies for Ogive. (And the fact that she HAS precious puppies already says something about her character.) And Sigefrith said she was one of his most valuable allies.
And here she is absolutely frigid, but we have to wonder why... why does she so dislike Magog? And why does Magog get the "great honor" of being welcomed like a friend in King Malcolm's bedroom anyway?
All of that, and we still know practically nothing about her...
Margaret is indeed an extremely religious woman -- she will become Saint Margaret a few centuries from now. Therefore I suppose that if her son turned out to be gay, she would attempt to make him turn away from his sinful acts and dispel his sinful thoughts, etc.
And that's probably how Ethelred would approach the matter too -- he's not going to say "But Ma, that's just how I am" or "But Ma, I can't change it, I was born this way" or "But Ma, it's how I want to live my life." Just as when I discussed the issue with respect to Cubby... it's not a valid lifestyle in their minds, they wouldn't feel "wronged" if nobody supported them in that. They would feel sinful and guilty and wonder what's wrong with them and why they can't stop feeling this way. It would be more like "Oh Ma, please help me!"
This story has limited scope for exploring what it means to be gay today -- too much has changed. But I think the 11th century setting makes for an interesting story too. These guys can still fall in love. They'll just have a very different experience from what they might have nowadays.
I think the only way around it is if Red (or Cubby) ended up in a situation where it was a sort of tolerated norm, even if acknowledged as sinful and never mentioned aloud. Recall Neshrael and the numerous hints he gave about homosexual relations being rampant in the priory at Loch Leven. And Ethelred was passed over for the kingship for some unknown reason, and he did later become an abbot at Dunkeld...
While I'm a big supporter of Cubby/Cedric (Cubric?) I think this new relationship is very sweet too... it was sooooooooooooo cuuuuuuuute. Sorry for the abundance of vowels but I really don't know any other way to convey the... cuteness.....
And Malcolm and Cubby in France... I'm interested to see how it will be. (if it happens)
My first comment! I wanted to wait until I catched up until registrating and commenting, but I already registrated last week.
More important: Those two are cute together. I want them to end up together, but they will get in that big trouble that I also want them not to see each other again. Cubby is one of my favorites and I don't want him to be imprisoned or banned or killed or whatever they do with sodomites in Lothere.
I can understand Malcolm calling his wife "Mother", I can remember a few times when my own grandfather called my Grandmother "Grandma". But that could also be because my little brother and I were around and we might not have understood when he had called her by her first name.
Malcolm and Cubby going to France, Malcolm must have seen most of Western and Northern Europe by this time, if you look at the amount of travels he has made and al the places we know he has been.
Oh my goodness, another stealth reader decloaks!
You wouldn't happen to be the mysterious Other Dutch Reader, would you?
I am not sure, but I don't think the punishments in store for Cubred include anything as nasty as death and mutilation... though "imprisonment" might be a possibility if you consider involuntary exile to a monastery as being imprisonment.
The harder part, I think, would be for them to live with those feelings. It's even worse than Leof living with his feelings for Hetty. They could never be together. Not openly anyway. So there would be all the deceit, and the longing, and the guilt, and the fear. Like I said, it could be an interesting story. I am sure I will write it one of these days. I'm just not sure yet whether it will be the story of Cubred, the (one-sided longing) story of Cubric, or whether it will be somebody else entirely.
I have to admit, Cubby's sexuality is still very vague to me at this point. I tried to get him excited about Gwynn, but it didn't take much for him to want to swear off of girls forever.
Whereas with Cedric, I have no doubts that he likes girls. (And Finn, and Conrad, etc.) I think, out of our current crop of teens, it will be Cubby or none of them.
(I don't count the Old Man as one of the current crop of teens, of course. Maybe the tragic story will be his. Maybe HE will fall in love with Cubby. Cubwulf! Oh dear oh dear!)
As for Malcolm, I am sure he has been all over the northern part of the Continent... France, Normandy, Brittany, Flanders, Saxony, perhaps Denmark. But I expect he mostly goes to the first four places. The only foreign languages besides English that we know he speaks fluently are Norman French and Breton. I don't think that he has engaged much with the Norse/Danish side of the Continent, nor with the Irish and Manx people. Otherwise a lot of our friends would have a much better idea of where he spends his time when he "disappears".
Cubwulf! I love it. I could TOTALLY see the old man swinging that way! He's so sensitive anyway.
The reason I said killed was because I can remember some image I saw somewhere on which some sodomites were burned alive, but if I remember correctly that image was from late medieval France, so things could have been very different to Lothere. And of course Cubby will probably get some kind of special treatment.
I am the mysterious Dutch reader, but as I said, I wanted to be anonymous until I catched up, but I have spend a lot of time on this side because I just love the story.
Thanks.
You have managed to make a compliment out of lurking unseen. 
You're right... I am tending towards a less ruthless view of homosexuality than was present in later medieval times. The medieval era was not just one consistent culture that lasted for five hundred years, after all. I haven't done much research on this -- and I should, if I want to address the issue seriously -- but my understanding is that in the 11th century, the whole business with burning people at the stake, or the horrific death offered to King Edward II, had not really begun yet. (Nor the whole tradition of witch hunts and witch burnings, on the female side.)
And at least among the Vikings, homosexuality was somewhat OK as long as you were the guy on top. The other guy just got ridiculed for being womanish.
So yeah, as I said, if I really intend to launch Cubby or some other character into such a storyline, I will do some more research, but at this point my idea is just that it would be considered horribly sinful and disgusting, and his family would be grieved and horrified, and he would be harrassed from a religious standpoint until he "repented" of his "sins." And if that's the case, the most interesting part of the story will be his feelings and his fears.
Would Cubby (or Prince Ethelred) get special treatment? Probably. Probably insofar as his relatives would be conspiring to keep the situation a secret. They wouldn't want the family name to be associated with that sort of thing. I can't IMAGINE what Magog would do, though. His only son!
I don't think it's been proved, but it has been heavily speculated that William the Conqueror's son, William Rufus II, was homosexual.
The execution of homosexuals through burning and other means didn't start until the mid-13th century. I'm not sure, but I think while there were certainly laws against it and while it may have been punishable by death or imprisonment, the punishments were never actually enacted in either the 11th or 12th centuries.
Some Links:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A7715315
http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/pwh/gaymidages.html
http://rictornorton.co.uk/homopho5.htm
http://community.livejournal.com/little_details/2266027.html
Thanks for those links! It looks like I'm on the right track. Also, with the whole penitential thing, with all its details.
The boys now know all about what men can do with other men, in case the idea had never occurred to them before.
There was an good quote in the first article you linked:
Yes! That's what I was trying to say, even though I was only half-able to conceptualize it. I don't think these boys will ever even be able to realize "Heh... I seem to be gay! So now what?"
Homosexuality is not something you can BE in this time period... it is simply something you can DO. So this makes for a whole different experience for these boys, I think. Of course that just makes it all harder for me... not only do I have to write about something I am not, I have to do it in a time period that is not like ours. *head hurts already*
Well this is going to be a challenge, and challenges are either fun or difficult to overcome. But you'll do great Meryt!
Typo: something harmlesss-crazy
Interesting. Much chemistry as previously mentioned. This friendship could prove to be promising indeed.
I happen to ask myself those questions too when offered cake... Except the last one, maybe.
Oh, my poor city !
I'll be some annoying professor here, but sports didn't exist in Middle-Age.
I like how you write the teenage goofyness. Red is certainly charming and very funny. And maybe gay.
And yes, I'm back after an awful time of too much work.
Aww, François! *hugs* I wondered when you would show up to defend your city.
Cubby wasn't talking about sports like modern day sports... like "Do you prefer football or basketball?" or "Who's your favorite team?" (Mameceaster United?) He was thinking of the sort of sports boys play... in his case, as a noble young knight-in-training, he was thinking of sports like sword fighting, jousting, archery, wrestling, falconry, hunting, and so forth.
Actually, the purpose of that speech (for me as the author) was the contrast between these two sentences:
After the first, Cubby quickly remembers that some boys don't like sports as much as he does, and he kindly suggests "books and studies." Cubby and Cedric are both very athletic boys -- Cedric in particular has more energy and muscle than he quite knows what to do with. So we may imagine that even if Cubby has a natural tendency to seek quieter pastimes, he will still go out and do something sporty if Cedric wants to.
But neither Cedric nor Cubby are interested in "books and studies" at all, whereas I think Red is much more of a dreamy, scholarly type. I wanted to start pointing out that contrast right away in the first Cubred chapter. You know how opposites attract and all...
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