Alred makes a deal with Sigefrith

Alred opened the door at the top of the stairs without knocking. He did not really expect to find Sigefrith inside, but perhaps he should have known.

“Anyone else but you, and the dragon would have slain you at once,” the King slurred from the bed, pointing at Alred with an unsteady hand.

“I have often remarked on how fortunate it is that I am myself,” Alred said as he stepped inside and pulled the door softly closed behind him. “What are you doing in here, Sigefrith?”

But the jug on the floor and the cup on the table told him precisely what Sigefrith was doing in here. Perhaps what he should have asked was, “Why here?”

“What does it look like?” Sigefrith asked.

“It looks like you are getting drunk alone, and it pains me to see it.”

“Then get drunk yourself, and I shan’t be alone.”

Alred sighed and sat in the chair. “A drink, but I shan’t get drunk. I don’t suppose you have another?” he asked, looking dubiously at the cup.

“What? Don’t care to drink out of the same cup as I? You often have. You even kissed me once, I remind you.”

“I only kissed you to win a bet. And I was drunk at the time.”

“Then I suppose it is fortunate that you don’t intend to get drunk tonight,” Sigefrith tittered. “With me already in the bed and all.”

“I don’t even want to think about that.” Alred poured himself a half cup and took a drink. It was good wine. “Why this room, Sigefrith?”

“She isn’t in it anymore,” he huffed. “I thought it would not be indiscreet.”

“It isn’t. Only a little odd.”

“Well, it had been the only place I could go where no one would think to look for me. You’ve spoiled that.”

“I shan’t tell.”

“Don’t tell her, either. Nor her mother.”

“Certainly not. But what do you think she would say if she saw what you are doing in her bed now that she is gone?”

“Shut up, Alred. I tried to use her disapproval against her father; don’t you try to use it against me.”

“May I use your own?”

“What?”

“Do you not recall how ashamed of yourself you were after Emma’s illness, when you sobered up for the first time in two years and took a look at the mess you had made of yourself?”

“I don’t intend to get drunk for two years.”

“How long?”

“Until I don’t need to any longer.”

“Sigefrith,” Alred sighed. “That is not a solution.”

“I quit drinking for her,” he growled. “Now, she’s gone,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t do this to her children.”

“I shan’t harm her children. You don’t understand, Alred,” he said, pointing at him with a trembling finger. “You don’t understand.” He let his arm drop. “When did she die?” he asked mournfully.

“Nearly four weeks ago, I believe.”

“Wrong! She died months ago. Years ago. I don’t know. It’s only now I can begin to grieve, and you don’t want to let me. It’s not fair, Alred,” he whimpered. “It isn’t fair. I did everything I could. She was gone. My Maud was gone.”

Alred could only sigh.

“He killed her long before she died,” he snarled, pushing himself up onto one elbow. “If I ever find the man that did this to her, I shall cut out his heart before his eyes, to show him what he did to me!”

Alred did not think he ever would find the man, but he nodded sympathetically. No doubt he would wish to do the same, if anything ever happened to Matilda – God forbid.

“Oh,” Sigefrith moaned, laying a hand against his forehead. “Give me that cup, Alred.”

Alred passed it over. “Listen, old man, suppose we get utterly piss-​​drunk tonight and get it over with all at once? And tomorrow we put the jug away?”

Sigefrith considered this, staring into the bottom of the cup he had just emptied. “Very well. But not in her bed, Alred,” he said wistfully.

“I said ‘utterly piss-​​drunk,’ not ‘drunk enough to kiss you!’”