“Morning, runt,” Leofric said. He did not think it would have been kind to call it “good.”
“Morning, indeed,” Sigefrith muttered without looking up from his desk.
“May I have a seat?”
“By all means.”
“How’s Eadie this morning?” Leofric asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know. I don’t have any words for it. Maud was already very ill when Harold died.”
“I’m glad you’re home, Sigefrith. She has needed you. But I wish you would shave.”
“What?” Sigefrith hissed.
“You need to shave. You look like a barbarian.”
“I look like a grieving father.”
“I know you are. But you need to look like Sigefrith again.”
“Am I not allowed to grieve?”
“Of course you are. But you must look like you aren’t.”
“What in God’s name?”
“Haven’t you seen the way your runts are looking at you? They had been thinking that when you came home, you would make things better. And so far you’re simply home.”
“How delighted I am to be getting advice on being a grieving father from a man who used to get drunk and beat his wife because his baby died!”
Leofric sighed. “Take the advice of a grieving grandfather if you won’t take the advice of that other man. Even if you don’t do anything else, your children will feel better if they see you’ve shaved. And Eadie will too.”
Sigefrith grunted, which Leofric took as grudging agreement.
“Thank you.”
“Haven’t you seen Eadie yet today, anyway?” Sigefrith asked.
“I’ve been at Sigefrith’s. I wish I could have seen his face last night when he got home and saw the Apostle, but it was already something this – ”
“Saw the what?” Sigefrith interrupted.
“The A – didn’t Eadie tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Well, Sigefrith’s new runt has been called Alred approximately seven times in all his life. And since the word ‘young’ was always attached, the elder Alred started getting nervous that he was about to become ‘old’ and so he started calling him Apostle. Because he thought that being born on the feast of Saints Peter and Paul was more significant than being born on his own wedding day.”
“Oh, good Lord,” Sigefrith sighed after a moment’s reflection. “First we have ‘the old man’ and now we have ‘the Apostle’.”
“It’s better than Duck or Chicken,” Leofric said slyly, hoping to see Sigefrith smile.
Sigefrith did not smile. “Not as pretty as Catherine.”
“Runt…”
“I know, I know. I’m not allowed to grieve.”
“Sigefrith…”
“What was I saying? Ah, yes. Eirik believes he has some idea who was trying to kill Whitehand.”
“Who?”
“The High King of Ireland.”
“What? Why?”
“He means to take Leinster before he dies. And he seems to think that if Whitehand ever becomes powerful enough to take it himself, it will be because he is too powerful to beat. So the old man seems to have intended to get him out of the way before he became powerful enough.”
“So Raedwald was working for the High King?”
“That’s Eirik’s idea. But he won’t tell me how he came to have it, so I can’t say whether mac Lochlainn himself planted it in his head so that he could get Whitehand on his side.”
“Perhaps mac Lochlainn himself tried to have Whitehand killed.”
“That’s what I wonder.”
“But, Sigefrith, I didn’t come here to talk about Irish kings.”
Sigefrith’s face, which had temporarily brightened, grew dark again. Leofric realized that talking about the affairs of the king might be what he needed to forget about the cares of the man. But the man had a family, and Leofric was worried about them.
“To hell with them, anyway,” Sigefrith growled. “I should have come home with Brede and Egelric. I would have been here.”
“Now, Sigefrith…”
“I should have been here. I should have been here that night. And if I couldn’t be here that night, then I wish I could have come home after the funeral.”
“I think Eadie is glad you were able to see her,” Leofric said timidly.
“Dead. That’s all I shall have seen of her. Her dead face. I wish I had seen her alive, or not at all.”
“Sigefrith…”
“And I can’t even tell Eadie she’ll have another. Perhaps she won’t.”
“I have always found it a rather cruel thing to say anyway,” Leofric said.
“It is even crueler when one is not able to say it.”
Leofric sighed.
“I should have been here, Leof. I knew I wouldn’t make it home in time for her birth.”
“You nearly did.”
“Not nearly enough!”
“Sigefrith, Eadie forgives you. She understands.”
“But I shall never forgive myself. I shall never understand.”
Poor, poor Sigefrith. He has to appear to be strong and in command even in his grief. I was afraid that with his kind-heart and good nature that the guilt would hit him hard. And now he can't even grieve the way he needs to so he can start healing properly.
And poor Eadie. She was sure for so very long that this child was a gift from God. Now what is she thinking I wonder?
Hmmmm. So, something is rotten in the state of... Ireland, huh? Is Synne & Murchad going to be safe there?
As always, I leave these updates wanting more and wondering about my newest friends in Lothere. Good job!