Dunstan hears what he would rather not

“I know a few things about it, but I don’t know if I should tell you two,” Malcolm said importantly.

“Why not?” Bertie asked.

“Why, because it’s scary, and Dunstan is scared of everything.”

“I am not!” Dunstan protested.

“You can tell me,” Bertie whispered. “I know a few things about it, too!”

The boys sat on the dirt floor of the outbuilding where the men practiced their swordplay. Dunstan and Malcolm had come out to practice themselves, but Duke Alred and the King had forgotten the two of them for the moment while they swung at each other. 

This was very much to Dunstan’s liking, since he hated practicing with Malcolm. Malcolm was almost two years older than he, and what’s more, he had practically been born with a sword in his hands. He even had two real knives of his very own that he was allowed to carry with him everywhere. 

And Malcolm was not generous in victory. Dunstan hated it when the King would tell Malcolm to take it easy on him – Malcolm always won anyway, and it only meant that he could have humiliated his young opponent even more than he had.

And Dunstan’s father just didn’t understand. “Chin up,” he would say. “From the size of you, I should say you always will be going up against bigger and stronger men than yourself, so you had better learn now how to defeat them.” His father could – his father could defeat anyone, of any size – but he was not like his father. He didn’t know why his father couldn’t see that.

“You can tell me, too!” Dunstan said. “I’m not a baby.”

Malcolm sniffed. “Well, if you do get scared, don’t you be telling your Mama about what I said! I’ve had enough of getting yelled at for what I tell you!”

“Me too,” Bertie grumbled.

Dunstan flushed. “I won’t tell. I promise.”

“Well,” Malcolm said, leaning in towards the two boys, “I heard that the man that the King found, his whole face was cut off!”

“You mean the skin and what all?” Bertie whispered.

“Everything – the lips and everything!”

Dunstan paled.

“Was he dead when he done it?” Bertie asked.

“I don’t know. I guess he would be dead after, anyway. And also his whole belly was cut open!”

“Like what you do with a pig?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wonder if that man knows about butchering pigs? I wonder if he’s a pig farmer?” Bertie mused.

“What if he’s your father?” Malcolm grinned maliciously.

“Oh, no, he isn’t!” Bertie said angrily. “He can’t be ’cause my Da was home when my Ma saw the man! And anyway, he don’t look nothing like my Da.”

“What did he look like?” Malcolm asked eagerly.

“Ah, you don’t know everything Malcolm, you see that?” Bertie said.

“Well, you didn’t see him either!” Malcolm sniffed. “I wager you don’t know anything about it.”

“I do so! You listen up, Malcolm, in case you see him. He was a real pale man, with dark hair and he had no beard – that’s important!”

“Heh, sounds just like Dunstan!” Malcolm smirked.

“It wasn’t me!” Dunstan whined.

“I know it wasn’t you, you baby. I know it because it was I who killed them!”

“No you never did!” Bertie said. “Stop trying to scare Dunstan. You’re just going to get us in trouble.”

“I said I wouldn’t tell,” Dunstan grumbled.

“You should have made him swear,” Bertie said.

“I would have made him swear,” Malcolm said, “but a man swears on his knife, and this baby doesn’t have a knife.”

“Well, neither do I, so you just leave him alone, Malcolm.”

“What else do you know, Bertie?”

“Well, I don’t know, but I guess that man that was killed a few days ago was killed real bad too. ‘Cause Egelric had to burn a lot of the hay that was in his loft and some hay that was down on the floor. So why do you think?”

“Perhaps it was simply a lot of blood that came down from the loft onto the floor.”

“Or maybe he got cut up in pieces and some of the pieces was on the floor and some was in the loft,” Bertie whispered.

Malcolm nodded sagely. “That could be, too.”

The three boys sat a moment in silence pondering this possibility. Dunstan almost wished that his father would interrupt them to have them begin their practice. How could Bertie and Malcolm talk about such things? They almost seemed to relish it.

“Oh! I just ‘membered something else!” Bertie said.

“Tell us!” Malcolm said eagerly.

“Well, ‘member how my Ma saw that man? Well, I guess he was naked!”

“You mean he wasn’t wearing any clothes?” Dunstan asked.

“I suppose that is what naked means,” Malcolm said impatiently. “Did your Mama see him?”

“I just told you she seen him,” Bertie said.

“I mean, did she see everything?”

“Everything, like his man parts and what all?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“Well, I guess so.”

“Did she tell the priest?”

“Why should she tell the priest?” Bertie asked, mystified.

“Because she saw a naked man who wasn’t her husband. That’s bad.”

“Well, she didn’t mean to,” Bertie frowned.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s still a sin.”

“Then I’m sure she told the priest, ’cause my Ma would never sin and not tell Father Brandt about it.”

Suddenly the three leapt to their feet, revealing how anxious their conversation had made them despite the bold faces of the two older boys, for the King had shouted loud enough for the cry to echo beneath the wooden roof: “God damn you, Alred, I tell you I’m not drunk!”

Dunstan felt his mouth go dry. He hated when the King got like this. He looked to his father, but his father was simply staring at the wall behind the King, who was throwing what his mother would have called a tantrum on the part of Yware.

“I’m sick of you and I’m sick of Cenwulf and I’m sick of Maud and I’m sick of this!” Sigefrith ranted, tossing his sword and shield into the corner. “You always beat me anyway – what is your problem?”

“It isn’t any fun when you’re like this, Sigefrith,” Dunstan’s father said quietly.

“I’m not drunk, I tell you! I suppose I can handle a drink or two! I can still fight and I can still hold up my head without crying like a sulky wench, unlike some!”

Alred did not answer.

“Damn you, Alred! You weren’t always this way. Come along, Malcolm,” he barked as he stalked to the door.

Dunstan hesitated. His father still stared at the wall, and it didn’t look as if a joke would be forthcoming. But Dunstan could see he was hurting, and that was a thing Dunstan could not bear.

“Father?” He padded quietly across the dirt floor to his father’s side.

Alred sighed and smiled sadly at him. “Do you think he meant to insult me, boy?”

“Mama says it’s all right to cry, but not to have tantrums like that. So you’re right and he’s wrong.”

His father chuckled as he leaned his sword and shield gently against the wall. “Doesn’t she remember that I’m the one who cries and she’s the one who throws tantrums?”

“She remembers. She says you’re the better man.”

Alred laughed and embraced him. “No one’s a better man than your Mama, boy. Not even King Beebee. Not even on his good days.”