Cynewulf is up past his bedtime

Little Lord Cynewulf was not amused.

Matilda laughed aloud to see the corners of his small mouth turn into a frown and his eyebrows straighten into lines of long-​​suffering. She could almost hear him say, “Jupiter, Matilda! Have you quite finished?”

He was nothing less than a tiny copy of his father, or, as Alred liked to say, a graven image that she had erected unto him, that she might have something to worship when he was away.

This near-​​perfect resemblance to her husband had greatly comforted her in her disappointment at finding her last child so unlike her father – she had had a secret hope that giving him his name might transfer some of his essence as well, but the playful, cuddly boy looked, of course, nothing like him, and seemed to have none of his personality either.

Of all of her children, it was probably Yware that resembled her father the most in spirit. But while Yware had the elder Cynewulf’s brashness, he lacked his shrewdness. Her father had known that there was a season for everything, and could modulate his temperament as the situation demanded, but Yware was always his own self and the devil take the consequences. He tore through life like an arrow she had released at the moment of his birth and whose target – God grant it be distant! – was his very grave.

She thought Yware was what she would have been, had she been born a boy.

“Say ‘Yware,’” she prompted. “‘Yware.’”

Cynewulf thrust out his arm and pointed at her with his thumb and first two fingers, as was his wont. “Mama,” he said.

“Yes! I’m Mama. But you must learn your brothers’ and sisters’ names now.”

Cynewulf was suddenly entranced by the shape of his hand in that position and studied it intently.

“‘Yware,’” she said again. “Come now. Say ‘Yware’ and you shall have a kiss.”

Cynewulf ignored her utterly.

“Say ‘Yware,’ now. ‘Yware.’ ‘Yware,’” she repeated slowly.

She thought he must have been growing tired. Lately she had let him get into the unfortunate habit of putting off bedtime to an unreasonable hour, but Alred had been staying with Sigefrith every evening as late as he decently could, and she got lonely without him, especially when she allowed herself to think of the reason why he was away.

“Very well, say ‘Good night,’ then. Say ‘Good night, Mama! Time for bed!’”

Cynewulf clenched his fists and scrunched up his face, and Matilda shrieked with laughter at the resemblance to Alred in a fit of choler.

“Mama annoys the living hell out of you, doesn’t she?” she asked him gleefully. “Say ‘Jupiter!’ ‘Jupiter, Matilda!’ ‘Holy mother Juno!’”

She heard a low laugh behind her, and Cynewulf perked up and pointed at the door with two fingers and a thumb. “Papa!” he announced.

“Alred!” He was home far earlier than usual.

“What is this unbearded patriarch doing out of his bed?” Alred asked as he bent to pick up the baby.

“He was keeping his Mama company.”

She waited for him to say that he was there to keep her company now, but he did not. He merely said, “It’s well past bedtime for this boy. No wonder he grumbles like a grandfather in the mornings.”

“He grumbles like his mother in the mornings, you mean.”

He did not reply, but cuddled Cynewulf against his neck and stared off into the shadows beyond the dim firelight.

“What is it, Alred?” she asked, beginning to worry. “You look positively gray.”

“I came home to send you out, Matilda. They are already saddling Ruby, and Wulsy shall ride with you to see that you behave.”

“Send me where?”

“I must fetch Cenwulf and Edris, and I shall return with them.”

“What is the matter?”

“Harold will not live the night. You will wish to say goodbye, and moreover Sigefrith needs us. Maud is absolutely raving.”

“You could have sent for me,” she stuttered. “You needn’t have left him.”

“I had to get out of there for a while,” he said, ashen-​​faced. “After she saw they had sent for the priest, she clawed her breast to tatters, and she screamed until her voice ran dry.”

“Good God…”

“It is far more terrible than watching a child die.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t,” he muttered. He hugged Cynewulf for a moment and then said, “I want to give Sigefrith some time alone with Harold, but I shall need someone to help me hold Maud. Young Sigefrith would do it, but I should rather have Cenwulf.”

“Of course…”

“If you don’t mind, my darling, I should like a few moments alone with this offspring of mine before I head out. I shall put him to bed. Your groom and your horse await you below.”

“Of course…”

“Don’t envy the baby, Matilda. I shall be needing you, too, before this night is over.”