Brede is congratulated
Sir Brede did not enjoy writing letters. However, not being a man who was interested in the poetry of his words, he usually completed the task briskly and without hesitation.
Today he had only made it as far as: “To my brother Eirik and my sister Sigrid, greetings in Christ.” He did not know how to summon up the joyous tone that would be required to finish the rest of it.
As unusual as it was to see a quill lying abandoned on Sir Brede’s table, ink drying in the nib, stranger still was the sight of the jug and cup of wine beside it. He paid them scarcely more attention than he did his pen, but they would not have come to be there unless he had brought them himself.
But it was his pen he snatched up when he heard the door open behind him.
It was his steward, and Brede was sorry he could not hide the wine.
“Their Highnesses the Princesses, His Grace the Duke, and his daughters are here to see you, sir.”
“They’re not here to see me,” Brede grumbled.
“But they said – ”
“I know! Show them in.”
The girls entered in an order that seemed calculated to maximize his confusion as he attempted to kiss their hands in order of precedence; nor was he helped by Alred thrusting his hand under his nose to be kissed every time he passed. There were times when Alred’s clownishness could suffice to lift a man’s mood, Brede thought, but there were certainly times when it only aggravated.
“I brought you some girls,” Alred said, “to inspect your new baby and make certain she’s girlish enough. Though I should have thought that I am expert enough in the identification of girls by now…”
“Only when they’re old enough for flirting!” Emma laughed.
“You think babies can’t flirt? What were those eyes David was making at you the other day, in that case?”
“What’s her name?” Britamund asked.
“Thyra,” Brede said.
“Oh! Is it a Viking name?” Gwynn gushed.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Brede smiled at her.
“How romantic! How I do love babies! They can be anything when they’re grown. Will she have long blonde braids when she’s older?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve a growing affection for Vikings now!” her father wailed. “The fascination with Irishmen was troubling enough!”
“I don’t know whether she will braid it,” Brede said, “but I think they will be blonde braids if she does. She’s very fair.”
“Fairer than Finna?” Emma asked.
“Possibly. Her hair is almost white. I think she will be pretty, too.”
She would be pretty. All of his girls were pretty. He could manage that much.
“A fair Viking maiden!” Gwynn sighed.
“How romantic!” her sister Margaret cooed and rolled her eyes at the Princesses.
“May we see her?” Britamund asked.
“Edris and Maire are already here,” Brede said. “Go on up.”
“Don’t make too much noise in the stairs, girls,” Alred called after them as they scattered, “in case Baby Valkyrie is sleeping.” Then he laughed to himself and shook his head. “So much wasted breath,” he sighed. “Four girls between the ages of ten and fourteen! The whole land trembles at the sound of the neighing of our pretty ones. Fortunately, only half of them are mine. But, say! How old is Dyr?”
“Four.”
“Well, then, in ten years you will have yourself three girls between the ages of ten and fourteen,” he chuckled. “I do not envy you, sir.”
Brede rubbed a hand over his brow and sighed.
“I do congratulate you, however.” He waved a hand at the table behind Brede, whereupon sat the cup and jug he had not found the time to hide. “And I see you must have seen me coming, for you have already made ready for me to drink to your baby Viking’s health, long life, good fortune, and great beauty.”
Brede grunted.
“Unless that cup is yours?” Alred smiled wickedly. “Ah ah!”
“I shall pour you another.”
“It’s yours! Jupiter!”
“Don’t you always say the best cure for a hangover is another cup of what you had?” Brede asked as he poured. Pretending to laugh seemed easier when one had one’s back turned.
“You have a hangover? This calls for a celebration of its own!” Alred laughed. “Damn! I shall drink to that after I finish drinking to your daughter.”
“Eirik got me started with the practice when Finna and Pinknose were born. Helps the hours pass.”
“Did you wait alone?”
“Who’s left? Both Sigefriths gone, Stein gone, Aengus gone, Cenwulf gone. Shall I sit up with my steward?”
“He’s an agreeable man. But I see your point. Sorry I wasn’t there. I had a jolly time with Baldwin last night, but I am sorry to have missed seeing you drunk enough to have earned a hangover.”
“Did you stay at Baldwin’s, then?” Brede asked, not wishing to speak of his own night, and particularly not of his own drinking.
“By the time I made it that far, my horse and I were both ready to call it a night. Malcolm rode all the way back last night, though.”
“Did you see them today?”
“I stopped on the way home. I thought he looked a wreck. But he was quite ill when I found him. There was something to it after all, I think. But I believe this morning he is only tired.”
“Strange business.”
“Elves,” Alred shrugged. “Who can say? I feel sorry for all three of them. Perhaps Vash most of all.” He sighed into his cup and breathed deeply the scent of the wine before taking another swallow. At last he noticed that Brede hadn’t taken so much as a sip. “Aren’t you drinking?”
“I’ve probably already had enough.”
“That so?” Alred chuckled. “I’m only getting started. Don’t tell Hetty I’m drinking wine before noon. But we make exceptions for new babies,” he winked.
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“Oh! Damn!” Alred winced and began fumbling in the pouch at his belt with his free hand as if there were something inside that was beginning to scorch him. “That reminds me.”
“Hold your wine?” Brede asked uneasily.
“No! Got it! Here!” He pulled out a small parchment that was folded over on itself several times and sealed with an enormous chunk of dark wax. “Enna’s seal,” he said as he handed it over to Brede. “Must be news from your sister. I suppose I know what it is!”
“I hope it’s good news,” Brede muttered as he went to his desk to cut it open.
“They have a guardian angel or two, those two do,” Alred said with great assurance, but he hovered anxiously behind Brede as he read the short letter.
“Good news?” he asked softly after Brede had held the letter in his hands long enough to have read it three times over.
“Synne and Murchad are both well, and they had a son at the end of April. A big, healthy boy named Aed.”
“Jupiter!” Alred crowed. “That’s a fine way to start one’s family! That’s another cup of wine entirely,” he said and tossed back the rest of the first.
“Let’s have it here, then.” Brede held out his hand for Alred’s cup.
“Please and thank you, sir. But even if you believe you’ve already thoroughly drunk to your daughter’s health, you cannot have begun on your sister’s son, since you didn’t even know he existed until now. So! Will you drink with me?”
“I believe I shall,” Brede muttered.
