The girls engage in idle talk

As far as anyone knew, they were supposed to be resting in their rooms before supper, but the four girls had crept as far as the gallery above the King’s hall, and from the shadows they could look down onto the people who passed.

“We shall see Malcolm, certainly,” Affrais whispered. “He’s a page, so he has to help wait.”

“But he waits on the King,” Angharat added quickly.

“How old is he?” Synne asked.

“Twelve, I think,” Angharat said. “He’s only a little older than I.”

“Just for you, Synne,” Sigrid giggled.

“Too late for that,” Affrais snickered. “Ana already likes him.”

“I do not!” Angharat protested.

“Does he like her?” Sigrid asked Angharat’s older sister.

“I don’t know. We hardly see him. He’s a real Scot, though. His father is a lord and wears a kilt.”

“But if he doesn’t like Ana then perhaps he will like Synne,” Sigrid said.

“No, he already likes Baby,” Angharat said. “That’s the elf girl,” she added.

“Oh!” Synne gasped. “I want to see her! Will she come?”

“That depends,” Affrais said. “If her father comes, he will bring her, and if he isn’t home then Alred will. But if her father is home and doesn’t come, he won’t let her either. He’s dreadfully hard on her.”

“That’s because the people don’t like her,” Angharat explained. “There goes Malcolm!” she whispered, clutching at her sister’s arm.

“I didn’t see!” Synne complained.

“You shall see him at supper,” Sigrid said. “Who was that behind him?”

“That was Dunstan,” Angharat said. “He’s the Duke’s heir, but he is not even eleven yet.”

“He’s small!” Sigrid said.

“Everyone in his family is,” Affrais said. “I’m already as tall as Alred, and Matilda is tiny. She’s probably shorter than you, Synne.”

“Doesn’t he have any older boys?” Synne asked.

“No, Dunstan is the oldest. Yware is nine, I think, and he’s a brat. And they have a baby boy, too, I don’t know how old he is.”

“Too young for you, Synne,” Sigrid giggled.

“Aren’t there any other boys besides Malcolm?” Synne asked.

“Not here. Besides your brother!” Affrais laughed.

“Freya likes Brede,” Angharat said, pleased to have an opportunity to tease as she had been teased. “Especially now that he’s a knight.”

“I do not!” Affrais said a little too loudly.

“Hush!” the other three whispered.

“Will that girl Estrid be here?” Sigrid asked with a slight curl to her lip.

“I don’t know,” Affrais said. “If Lord Hingwar comes then Lady Eadgith won’t, and if she doesn’t come, I don’t know whether Estrid and Eirik will.”

“I hope Eirik comes,” Sigrid said.

“Oh, that’s right,” Affrais said. “I forgot about him. He’s seventeen though.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m almost fourteen already. What does he look like?”

“He’s like a blond ox walking about on two legs,” Affrais said.

“Freya doesn’t like him,” Angharat added.

“I can tell,” Sigrid giggled.

“He used to torment me whenever we visited,” Affrais said. “He would pull my braids and step on my skirt and make mooing sounds when I went by.”

“Perhaps he likes you,” Sigrid said.

“I don’t think so,” Affrais muttered.

“Who was that?” Sigrid and Synne cried softly together.

“That was Lord Hingwar. If he’s here then you may not see Eirik, poor things.”

“We shall see him soon, though,” Sigrid said.

“Perhaps not,” Affrais said. “He and your brother hate each other.”

“Why?”

“Because of Estrid, silly.”

“So—oh! Who was that?” Synne cried softly. “That looked like a boy who was not a servant.”

“Oh, that was Bertie Hogge. I forgot about him too—but he’s not really a boy for you. He was born a serf, but Alred made a page out of him.”

“So? Won’t he be a knight someday?”

“Oh, probably,” Affrais yawned. “But who wants the son of a serf?”

“I don’t know,” Synne said. “But he looked nice. How old is he?”

“I don’t know,” Affrais said. “Twelve, I suppose? Like Malcolm. He likes Baby, too, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Do all the boys like Baby?” Synne complained.

“She’s quite pretty for a little girl,” Angharat said. “I suppose all elves are. It’s quite unfair. And she’s tall, so she looks older than her age. The boys here are mad about her, but she only likes Malcolm. And even so, she is nasty to him a lot of the time. She’s not very nice, except to look at.”

“Don’t say that, Ana,” Affrais scolded. “She’s nice inside, but she has had a hard life. Her mother—not her elf mother, but the lady who found her—hanged herself when she was a little girl, and Baby saw her dead with her face all purple. And her father is as hard as iron, and some of the children are cruel with her, and the adults too.”

“I suppose we’ve had a hard life, but that doesn’t make us so nasty,” Angharat said.

“I think you’re being nasty now,” Affrais countered.

“Hush!” Synne whispered. “Who is that? She stopped right there.”

“That’s the Countess Edris,” Angharat said. “She is very sweet and kind, but her husband never smiles because his first wife died, and all of his children.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” Synne said.

“Baldwin didn’t die,” Affrais corrected. “He’s a—”

“Girls.” A man’s voice, hard, clear, and cold, interrupted their whispering.

“Oh, Uncle!” Sigrid gasped.

“Excuse us, Father,” Affrais mumbled, overawed.

“I went to your rooms to ask whether you were well or needed anything,” the priest said. His black robes in the shadow of the corridor made him seem little more than a spirit and a voice until he strode forth to meet them. “I see you are all well-​rested and in need of occupation. Recollect, girls, that every idle word that you shall speak, you shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.”

“Yes, Father,” Affrais said.

“You shall come with me to the hall and meet the people whose faults and weaknesses you have been discussing,” he said coldly. “I expect I shall see you blush to do it.”

He walked past them down the corridor towards the stairs, and Sigrid and Synne followed at once. Affrais and Angharat only paused to give one another a grateful look as they remembered that their own Uncle Theobald was a kind and gentle man.