Malcolm considers the size of his nose
“Don’t let go of your bone, young pup!” Sigefrith cried as he came through the curtain that divided his bedroom. “It’s only your reflection.”
Malcolm cringed. He did not need to turn around, for he could watch the King’s approach in the mirror in which he had been inspecting his own face – and been caught in the act.
“I didn’t know you were back there,” he muttered.
“Some spy you’ll make! However, if you have a habit of sneaking into my bedchamber, I congratulate you, for I never guessed it until now.”
“I never do. I only wanted to – to look.”
“Whom are you hoping to impress?” Sigefrith laughed and clapped a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder to turn him around. “Tell me and I shall attempt to guess your chances of success.”
“I don’t mean to impress anyone. I only wanted to see.”
“See what?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Do you think Murchad’s nose is smaller than mine? I know my brother’s is.”
“Are you hoping yours is bigger or hoping yours is smaller?”
“Hoping it’s smaller! I think I have more nose than face.”
“Don’t worry about that, Malcolm. You know what they say about men with big noses.” Sigefrith winked and pinched Malcolm’s nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“What do they say?” Malcolm smiled.
“Oh – I don’t know. Take cover when they sneeze?”
Malcolm laughed.
“Anyway, you might find consolation in the fact that your cousin Egelric’s nose is far bigger than yours.”
“That’s not such a consolation, after what you just said! Anyway – weren’t you explaining to Sigefrith recently that it was men with big hands?”
“Was I? Well, your cousin Egelric has bigger hands than you, too.”
“But I’m not fully grown.”
“Is your nose?”
“Probably not,” Malcolm grinned.
“At least you’re smiling about it now.”
“Oh, you meant my nose nose…”
Sigefrith laughed. “Anyway, Malcolm, whoever may be the lady love for whose sake you are fretting about the size of your nose nose, she will need to do without you for a few weeks.”
“Oh! So I’m coming?”
“Malcolm! Would I go deaf and blind and stupid to meet this King Godred? What would I be without my eyes and ears and Scots cunning? How’s your Norse?”
“Oh,” Malcolm scowled. “It is not my favorite language.”
“You needn’t like it, only understand it. I want you to spend the next few days with young Eirik or Stein – or better yet, both. Make them speak Norse to you. And ask them to pretend that they are planning to assassinate me and invade my little kingdom. I want you to learn the vocabulary of treachery.”
“Does the Norse language have any other?”
“Does the Scots have any vocabulary other than curses and oaths?”
“Does the English have any vocabulary other than grunts and squeaks?”
“Damn your lice-ridden hide! We have oaths too.”
“But are you so worried about Whitehand?”
“Should I trust him? I never wanted anything to do with Norsemen, and it seems I am accumulating more with each passing year.”
“The Irish Sea is filthy with them.”
“I know,” Sigefrith sighed.
“Eirik thinks Whitehand is more interested in allies than enemies on this side of it.”
“Eirik lacks your cunning. Moreover, I’m not certain I trust him either.”
“I don’t know,” Malcolm shrugged. “In this, I think I would. Trust him in what he thinks he knows, that is. He admires you. I don’t think he would lie to you. I don’t think he is lying. Now, if I were you I wouldn’t trust him with my daughters, but that’s a different problem…”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” Sigefrith winced. “And Brit will be ten in a few months, and it seems to me that you were already making sheep’s eyes at your cousin when she was ten.”
“I never made sheep’s eyes at anyone! Anyway, I’m fourteen now, and all of the rest of us are fourteen or more, too. We don’t care for little girls.”
“Dunstan is twelve.”
“Oh, Dunstan! But he’s supposed to marry her anyway.”
“In the fullness of time, young Malcolm. I don’t want any surprises. I suppose I shall have to start sorting her friends out into girls and boys as I did with Synn.” He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.
Malcolm turned and peeked into the mirror again. His nose was big! It wouldn’t have mattered to his cousins at home, who all had ladylike versions of the same – but here the girls had such little noses – and worse, so did Stein and Eirik and Eadwyn and Leofwine… Only Bertie was similarly cursed, and for some reason all the girls seemed to like him anyway. Was it because he was so tall?
“What was I saying?” Sigefrith asked.
“About Whitehand.”
“Oh, yes. Good Lord, why did my godson and my cousin have to get me tangled up in this? Why did those damned fools have to tell him I call myself a king?”
“I believe you just answered your own question.”
“You’re right, Malcolm. Twice damned and thrice fools are they. I can handle my enemies myself, but God in heaven, save me from my family!”
