Sigefrith shows how much he knows about dogs

“Here it comes,” Cenwulf said ominously under his breath. “Here it comes, here it comes…”

“Ye gods!” Sigefrith said brightly. “How work does advance on your chapel! Mind if we skip up the hill to have a look? Or don’t you want me to see your secret for getting your men to work so hard?”

From behind, Alred saw Lord Gifmund cringing his broad shoulders at first, knowing as well as Cenwulf did that any sign of construction would require a detour on Sigefrith’s part. But at the end Gifmund let out a guffaw and turned up the hill himself, leading the way.

“It’s no secret!” he said. “Just plain authority! And if you don’t know the trick of that, there’s nothing I can do to help you!”

He concluded this pronouncement with a stinging slap to Sigefrith’s back.

Sigefrith, to his credit, did not flinch. In his place, Alred would have stopped to remove his tunic and taken it to be laundered posthaste. The Baron’s eldest son had such a nauseating personality that he must surely have exuded some noxious ichor from his pores.

As Sigefrith and Gifmund drew ahead, Alred confided to Cenwulf, “Sigefrith leads him around by the nose like a bull.”

Cenwulf snorted. “More like a cat playing with a mouse. Did you hear him? ‘Ye gods?’ Sigefrith is amusing himself.”

Alred laughed over the mildness of the oath. “‘Ye gods and little fishes!’ I don’t doubt he is, old man, but I cannot condone your metaphor. There is nothing mouselike about that man, and I submit as proof the fact that any woman of sense would rather have a mouse run up her skirts than Gifmund. I stand by my bull.”

When the slope began to level off they stopped beneath a tree, keeping themselves beyond the range of Gifmund’s ears. The wooden skeleton of a chapel was taking shape in the sawdust-​strewn clearing. It was a sudden project of Gifmund’s, intended, Alred thought, to show Sigefrith he wasn’t the only man who got to building in the spring. But every whack of a hammer was answered by pinging echoes from afar. Work in the valley was proceeding faster than Sigefrith let on.

“You dishonor the race of bulls,” Cenwulf said to Alred, watching Gifmund lecture Sigefrith on the management of work crews.

“I’ve seen bulls that mean and bulls that ugly,” Alred said. “Though seldom both at the same time, I will concede.”

“Even the meanest bull has his nobility. Gifmund reminds me of a mastiff we had at Hwaelnaess. Ugly and mean, but fundamentally stupid. It sufficed to tie a few knots in a sock and hold it out to him. Took it between his teeth and shook it, convinced he was tearing you limb from limb.”

“And meanwhile you and Sigefrith made your getaway.”

Cenwulf chuckled. “Close. He guarded the brewhouse. Sigefrith and I went through a lot of socks that year.”

Gifmund must have had some sort of authority, mean though it might have been, for his arrival at the worksite had sent the men scurrying like ants. To the hammering were added the creak of ropes, the rasp of saw teeth, and a volley of self-​important shouts meant to prove how busy they all were.

Alred recognized the burly foreman: deeply tanned, streaked with sweat, and clad as ever in only a loincloth. A bull-​like man in every way, including smarts, but he was the best foreman Sigefrith had so far found hereabouts. On two or three occasions Sigefrith had already hired his labor from the Baron for a span of several days, at no small cost.

As for the other men, they might have made up some of the temporary work crews as well. Alred had not paid them much attention. Work went on at his own “fort” whether he occupied himself with it or not. Sigefrith saw to that, with pleasure.

Cenwulf scuffed his boot in a patch of sawdust and took a few steps into the clearing, pensive, head down. “Sometimes I miss that dog,” he said softly.

Alred followed. “Now that is a metaphor of which I can approve. Odd, isn’t it, how one can have a nostalgic fondness even for the unpleasant things in one’s past life, especially if they were intimately associated with the pleasant.”

“I wouldn’t call him unpleasant,” Cenwulf said after a moment. “He was a good guard dog if one didn’t know the trick with the sock.” Cenwulf shook his head regretfully. “He was an ugly old mutt, but what wouldn’t I give to have one of his pups right now. Any Hwaelnaess dog. Nowadays the least little thing from home seems to have a certain glow, doesn’t it? I’m certain you feel the same way about the dogs from your own kennel.”

Alred grunted. “Never much cared for dogs.”

Cenwulf turned his head and lifted a brow in surprise. “You? You like to hunt.”

“I never said I saw no use for dogs. However, not even the glow of nostalgia suffices for me to imagine one with a halo. Not even from my own erstwhile kennel.”

“On second thought,” Cenwulf mused, “you do seem to be more of a cat person.”

“Never liked cats either.”

Cenwulf’s brow went higher. “Not even kittens or puppies?”

“Never had pets. Pets die. That’s why I like horses. A horse can live as long as a man. I was a boy when Jupiter was foaled, and I might still ride him for ten years yet, or more. Afterwards he’ll be retired to pasture, where he’ll spend the rest of his days eating grass and humping mares. An excellent arrangement.”

Cenwulf smiled. “For everyone involved. But one can learn a lot about men from living with dogs, I find. Sigefrith certainly has.”

“I suppose you’ll tell me everything Sigefrith knows about men he learned from dogs?”

“Far from it. But there’s the sock trick in action.”

They fell silent and stepped forward to hear Sigefrith’s conversation over the banging and shouting of the builders. Sigefrith and the baron’s son were discussing building techniques, and Sigefrith was holding forth naive but bold-​faced assertions for Gifmund to shake and worry between his jaws.

Meanwhile, Alred noticed, Sigefrith had maneuvered Gifmund around to give himself a full view of the worksite, and he was studying the work and the workmen in subtle glances.

“I think I see your secret,” Sigefrith finally said. “Two foremen.”

Gifmund’s jaw dropped. “What?” He turned around to stare.

“I know Aethelman there,” Sigefrith said. Sigefrith never forgot a name. “But who’s the fellow in purple?”

“Maroon,” Alred corrected, judging the color to be madder over woad, rather than any Tyrian dye.

“That’s no foreman,” Gifmund growled at Sigefrith. “The only construction that ought to concern him is a gallows tree—or it would if I had my say. And by God, some day I will!”

Alred’s lip curled in disgust. One day the old Baron would die and this cur would begin exercising his “authority.” Alred hoped he and his friends would be long gone.

“Wodehead!” Gifmund bellowed between the posts.

The man let his arms fall in a defeated gesture and turned.

This Wodehead fellow was another big man, though not on the bull-​like scale of Aethelman. He appeared to have the advantage of a big frame, with an ordinary amount of flesh. There was nothing “ordinary” about the nose in the center of his face, however, and calling that overgrown monstrosity “big” would have constituted criminal understatement.

Gifmund stepped over a stray timber and into the skeletal structure, with Sigefrith right behind.

Cenwulf whispered to Alred, “I expect we’re about to get a demonstration of authority.”

Alred shook his head. “Poor bastard.”

“Wodehead!” Gifmund shouted. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work to do?”

The man replied quietly, “I finished it, lord.”

Gifmund roared, “You what?”

The man hesitated, pressing his thin lips into an even thinner line. Finally he shouted over the sound of hammering overhead, “I finished it, lord!”

“You finished it!” Gifmund sneered. “And you think that means you get to gad about and stick your big nose where it don’t belong!”

Aethelman, the real foreman, interrupted to say, “I asked him, lord.”

Gifmund turned his fury on Aethelman, notwithstanding the fact that the foreman was twice his size and carrying a hammer. “You asked him? Did I tell you you could hire any more men? Did I tell you you could hire him?”

“He ain’t expecting to be paid, lord.”

“That’s lucky, because he isn’t going to be!”

“That is quite a trick,” Cenwulf said gravely.

Gifmund spun around, still angry and only looking for someone to lash out at next. Cenwulf leaned closer, braving his wrath in order to speak confidentially.

“Getting men to finish their work early and come work on your building for nothing? Are you certain that’s something you can’t teach? I for one would love to know.”

Gifmund hesitated a moment longer, beady eyes glittering with wariness. Cenwulf lifted his shoulder and turned aside in a gesture inviting further confidences. Gifmund let out a crack of laughter and stepped over a board to follow him, bragging as he went.

Quite a trick indeed, Alred thought, watching them stroll off together. One didn’t need to be a dog-​lover to recognize the persuasive powers of a proffered bone.

He turned back to find himself standing alone next to Sigefrith. Sigefrith was attempting to catch the eye of the maroon-​clad fellow, but said eye was lowered, and half-​hidden behind a shock of dark hair.

“Wodehead, was it?” Sigefrith asked.

The man lifted his head slightly. “Egelric Wodehead, lord. Your Majesty,” he corrected.

Sigefrith laughed. “You’ve heard of me, then. You have the advantage of me. I feel I ought to have heard of you, infamous as you seem to be. Allow me to introduce my friend Sir Alred, Duke of…”

Alred turned his head aside briefly to roll his eyes. He was already growing tired of this King-​and-​Duke taradiddle. He would have refused the title outright if Matilda hadn’t taken to calling herself a duchess as if born to the station… which, on second thought, she practically was.

“Found a name yet?” Sigefrith prompted.

“I think we shall call the fort Nothelmsburh,” Alred muttered. “Family saint.”

“The Duke of Nothelm,” Sigefrith continued smoothly. “The southwest part of the valley. Have you ever been into it? I don’t think I’ve seen you in any of the work crews.”

Egelric cast a mistrustful glance at Alred, as unconvinced by this duke business as Alred himself was. But to Sigefrith his mien was more humble.

“I’ve never been as far as the lake, lord, if that’s what you mean.”

Sigefrith clapped a friendly hand on Alred’s shoulder. “That’s part of it. But Alred here is making his home just north of the river, atop a stretch of downs. There’s the foundation of an old fort there, and he’s building anew.”

Egelric glanced at Alred again, his dark eyes more alert and interested. Alred himself hadn’t altered in the last thirty seconds, from which fact he deduced that Egelric was interested in the fort or the land.

“So you’re a carpenter?” Sigefrith asked.

“No, lord,” Egelric said. “Only a farmer.”

He spoke quietly, as if fearful that Gifmund would overhear. And yet this low rumble seemed to be the natural timbre of his voice, best suited for soothing animals or muttering to himself rather than speaking to other men, as his brief exchange with Gifmund had proved. Even Sigefrith was having difficulty drawing him out.

“Nevertheless,” Sigefrith said, “these men seemed to look to you.”

Egelric shrugged and lowered his head to study the fingers he was nervously knitting together. His hands were big and hairy, scarred and callused from heavy work. He was not a loafer, at any rate.

“Like building better than farming?” Sigefrith asked.

“I like them both fine, lord.”

Sigefrith chuckled. “That’s rarer than you may realize. Even among volunteers. There are men who’ve had second thoughts about joining us in the valley, once they’ve seen how much work is involved in starting from scratch.”

Sigefrith paused, and Egelric twisted his hands until he worked up a noncommittal, “Aye?”

“Farming and building aplenty. Not interested?”

Egelric hesitated. “Isn’t up to me, lord.”

“Isn’t it? You’re not a freeman?”

“No, lord.”

“Ah. But you hadn’t heard I was offering men their freedom and a farm if they came into the valley? We still have room for more. Sir Alred’s going to have to take to plowing himself if we don’t find a few more men.”

Egelric did not look up. Overhead the hammers went on banging. The tang of freshly sawn wood filled the air.

Sigefrith asked, “Is it because I’m an outlaw?”

That got Egelric’s attention.

“If I’d stayed in the south, my head would have been rotting on the walls of London by now.” Sigefrith scratched his wind-​rumpled hair. “It’s some consolation, though,” he added, grinning, “when I consider how I’ve lost everything else. As a wise man once said: one can only go so far in life without a head.”

Alred sighed. “Sigefrith, I do doubt any man ever said such a thing, wise or otherwise.”

“Then that’s because it goes without saying. What say you, Egelric? Up to starting over? A farm, a few pigs and a cow, and your freedom? No questions asked? You’ll have to build your own house, but I expect you may enjoy that.”

Egelric’s dark eyes were wide and wet with a plea he did not have the words to express. One did not have to be a dog-​lover to see the doggishness in that.

Nonetheless Alred did not believe Sigefrith’s experience with dogs sufficed to explain what he knew about men. Somehow he always said just what a man needed to hear. More than his freedom, this fellow in maroon longed for a chance to start his life over again.

“Have a family?” Sigefrith asked.

“A wife, lord.”

Sigefrith laughed. “Ah! Let us not rush to make decisions without consulting all parties concerned. Talk to your wife, Egelric, and give her my compliments. I shall be at the abbey for the next few days, and stopping back frequently to make various arrangements. I hope to see you again. I need men like you. Men who finish a day’s work in half a day, and spend the other half looking for work to do.” Sigefrith concluded with a wink.

Egelric swallowed and wrung his hands, and finally came up with a few words he seemed to find particularly difficult to say. Nevertheless they did not sound grudging.

“Thank you, lord.”

“Don’t mention it! But, ah…”

Sigefrith gestured at Cenwulf and Gifmund conversing behind him.

“He’s doing an admirable job, but I don’t think my companion can keep that up forever. Best make yourself scarce before Lord Gifmund remembers you’re here.”

Egelric jumped at the reminder and made haste to get away. He went off in a confused dance of bowing, walking backwards, and nearly tripping over a hammer before breaking free into the clearing and turning to climb the hill in long strides. He neglected even to wish them a good day.

“Interesting fellow,” Sigefrith said.

“Are you certain that was a good idea, old man?”

“What? Inviting him? Did you see the way the men looked to him? Every time they had a doubt about something, they looked to him.”

“I mean: inviting him without having some idea who he is or what he might have done. Gifmund seems to think he ought to be hanged.”

“I don’t know what he’s done besides make an enemy of Gifmund, but that’s a point in his favor. I thought he was going to deck him, there, when Gifmund was trying to make him speak up. Wish he’d done it, by God. I would have knighted him on the spot.”

Alred glanced back to make certain Gifmund and the workers were out of earshot. He asked, “You’re not worried he’s going to deck you? Seemed shifty to me.”

“Eh.” Sigefrith scratched beneath his chin. “I wouldn’t call him shifty. These men didn’t seem to mind him hanging around. Must have a problem with authority.”

He reached around and whacked Alred’s back, proving he’d been just as conscious of Gifmund’s blowhardery as Cenwulf and Alred had been.

“Reminds me of a dog who’s been kicked around a bit and learned not to trust men,” Sigefrith said. “But still a good dog at heart. Can’t earn the trust of a dog like that without trusting him first.”

Alred shook his head. “Cenwulf was wrong. Everything you know about men you did learn from dogs.”

Sigefrith twisted around to peek at Cenwulf. The poor man was valiantly holding up his end of the conversation, but he looked nauseated indeed.

“Cenwulf said that?” Sigefrith asked.

“Sock trick?” Alred prompted.

Sigefrith laughed. “Name of God! I’d almost forgotten that. If only men were so easy.” As Egelric disappeared into a stand of pines, he added thoughtfully, “For that matter, it may be that everything I know about dogs I learned from studying men.”