Dunstan meets a rival

It was not Anna that Dunstan found in the studio, but neither was it her father or her little brother. Dunstan was too stunned even to wish he could silently disappear again. He could not imagine what this person was doing here.

“Ah! Oh!” the young man cried and closed the book he had been examining.

The book was Yware’s own bestiary that Magnus had sent him, and which Dunstan had loaned to Anna so that she could reproduce on tiles all of the beasts that could be found within, starting with the most fantastic.

The person reading it was Oswald Bridsson of the Birch Hill Farm, better known to Dunstan as Lady Wynflaed’s brother. He and Dunstan had met on several occasions at Sir Sigefrith’s manor, and Cynewulf often talked about him. Dunstan knew him to be about a year younger than himself, though he had never found that fact important before now.

Oswald lay the book on the table and rose to bow. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Good afternoon, Oswald. It is a pleasure to see you again. Are you here to look at tiles?”

“No,” Oswald laughed. “I’m here to look at the tiler’s daughter. Or rather to take her to the market.”

“She was just there this morning,” Dunstan protested. He knew this because he had visited her there at her father’s stall.

“I know, but then she was working. Now she might like to have a little fun. With me, if I’m lucky,” he smiled. “I saw some of the tiles she made for you. Or for your brother, rather?”

“They are for my brother’s castle. I do not believe you have met my brother. Lord Yware.”

“No.”

“That’s his book. It was King Harold’s son Magnus who gave it to him.” Was that boasting? Dunstan did not care.

“Oh. She said it was yours.”

So she had shown him the book?

“I hope you don’t mind me looking at it…” Oswald said sheepishly when Dunstan did not reply.

“Not at all. Do you read?”

“Not very well,” Oswald admitted. “Only English. That’s Latin. I think.”

“It is. Perhaps we should sit and wait for Anna?” he suggested.

Dunstan was unaccountably furious. Anna had never mentioned Oswald to him, but it appeared she had mentioned him to Oswald. What had she said? That he was the Duke’s son and so she was obliged to make tiles for him upon his command?

Surely she had not mentioned to Oswald that she called him “silly-​my-​lord,” nor that he called her “only-​Anna” as she often called herself.

Surely she had not told Oswald that they had sat in this room for hours on several occasions, laughing over the tiles or the book or each other, until the light had grown too dim to see the tiles or the book; until he could see only her pale face in the gloom, round like a full moon, and the two dark crescents that were her laughing eyes.

Surely she had not told him that.

“I’m certain it’s very interesting,” Oswald said after an awkward silence.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The book. If one can read it.”

“It is.”

They sat quietly afterwards, and for once Dunstan did not feel obliged to speak to fill the silence. He did not care to ease Oswald’s discomfort, for it appeared that Oswald was sorry to have been caught by a Duke’s eldest son reading a book belonging to a Duke’s second son.

For once Dunstan did not wish to shrug off the title he wore, and he lifted his head as high as he could given his stature—which was, he had already seen, smaller than Oswald’s. Nevertheless, just then he felt like the bigger man.

They sat quietly until the door opened, and then they both sprang to their feet.

“Oh!” Anna laughed after a moment’s astonishment. “What do I do now?”

Dunstan was stunned. Did she laugh because she had been found out? And if so, did she find it funny?

“Who was here first?” she asked. “That’s only fair.”

“Oswald was,” Dunstan said.

“Oh! Do you know one another?”

“We have met at his sister’s house,” Dunstan said. “And his little brother is a friend of the Old Man.”

Dunstan was particularly interested in showing Oswald that he and Anna had spoken enough of themselves for her to know who was called “the Old Man.”

“How sweet!” she laughed. “Now, what can I do for you, Os?”

“I was wondering whether you would like to go to the market,” Oswald said.

“But I was just there all morning! Do you really think there is anything interesting there that I haven’t seen already?” she asked playfully.

“I’m certain there’s a lot that you can’t see from your stall.”

“And what about you, my lord?” she asked Dunstan.

“I suppose you had better stay here,” Oswald said. “Lord Dunstan has work for you.”

“I never said that!” Dunstan protested.

“Don’t you?” she asked.

“You don’t have to do any work for me now,” he said quickly. He thought he would rather see her go off with Oswald than be responsible for spoiling her pleasure. And he thought the offer might have the additional benefit of making him appear generous.

Anna gave Dunstan a look that he could not decipher. It could have been amusement—with him or at him. It could have been gratitude. It could have been hesitation between her two choices. It could have been a plea for him to offer to take her to the market instead, or to insist that she remain with him after all.

“You know what your father will say, Anna,” Oswald said.

“Please go ahead to the market, if that’s what you would like to do,” Dunstan said. “I can come back any time. The big market is only once a month.”

Anna finally laughed so that her eyes crinkled up into new moons. “You want me to stay here and work,” she said to Oswald, “and you want me to go out and have fun,” she said to Dunstan.

“You know what you should do, Anna,” Oswald scolded—as if he had any right to scold her or tell her what to do!

“I know, but it makes me like you better!” she said to Dunstan.

“But if you stay here with me then you won’t have any fun,” Dunstan pointed out. It was a reckless maneuver, but she had only just said she liked him better.

“Now, who ever said I don’t have fun with you?” she asked.

“Even so, you can have fun with me thirty days out of the month, and fun with Oswald only on the first Saturday of the month.”

It was the bold stroke of a man who already had his opponent off-​balance. He had never dreamt that one could find a source of courage outside of oneself, but Anna’s apparent approval of him was making him giddy with a feeling of sudden power.

“That’s not fair at all!” she gasped. “Now I feel sorry for Os. I think I had better go with him.”

“I think you should,” Dunstan said.

“And you can come back tomorrow and I can do your tiles then.”

“But tomorrow is Sunday,” Dunstan pointed out. “I can’t ask you to work then.”

“Well—then you could come and read me some of the stories in that book. I’m going wild with curiosity about some of the animals in there.”

Dunstan was too stunned to reply. Had she just invited him to come to not work?

“But you mustn’t tell my father I sent you away today, or he will never let me go out alone again.”

“Of course not!” Dunstan cried.

“Shall we go, Os? You better have some fun planned for me, if it’s worth skipping out on my work on a Saturday. You’re certain you don’t mind?” she asked Dunstan.

“Not at all,” Dunstan smiled. Indeed, he did not mind at all. He would go home scarcely having seen Anna, but he was certain he had won the day.