Alred stays in
“What’s this young runt doing on the furniture?” Sigefrith cried. “Make way for the King!”
Cynewulf had been nearly asleep with boredom, but he sat up hurriedly. “I thought you were only Aldwyn coming in. And I am not a young runt. I am an Old Man.”
“Since when does Aldwyn cast as long a shadow as mine? And you are young, and you are a runt, whatever your doting pater says.”
“He’s not as runty as his father and brothers,” Alred said. “So he might best be termed a young man.”
Cynewulf curled his lip in scorn.
“Speaking of doting paters,” Sigefrith said, “I was surprised I didn’t find you at Egelric’s.”
“Did you already go?”
“I’m on my way home.”
“I heard he had a boy.”
“What else?” Sigefrith laughed. “A handsome little man, too, though I suppose that his poor button nose can’t help but become a gargoylish knob one of these days.”
“He claims that Lili likes his nose, so there’s hope for the boy,” Alred said.
“For that matter, Egelric has never been hindered by his nose, at least not where women are concerned. And I don’t know of whom he’s prouder today—his new boy, or his wife,” Sigefrith laughed. “He’s telling anyone who will listen and some who won’t: ‘Lili said she would have him for Martinmas, and by God, she had him for Martinmas!’”
“So will he name him Martin?” Cynewulf asked.
“I think he means to name him Alaric, after Lili’s father.”
“I like Wulf better.”
“You would!”
“I want to go see him!” Cynewulf whined.
“Since when you do you care about babies, young runt?” Sigefrith asked him.
“He doesn’t want to see the baby,” Alred said, “he only wants the ride.”
“That sounds more like it. But you shall have your ride, and if you’re lucky the sun will be out by then.”
“No, I shan’t!” Cynewulf grumbled. “My father doesn’t mean to go.”
“What?” Sigefrith cried.
“Old Man!” Alred sighed wearily.
“You aren’t going?”
“We shall go,” Alred said. “I have a good number of things to do first. I don’t know whether I shall have time today.”
“Name of God, it’s a holiday! What do you have to do that’s more important than making google-eyes at Egelric’s latest runt? And at Lili, by the same occasion?”
“Some things…” Alred said and looked vaguely at the clutter on his desk.
“What’s the matter with you now, boy?” Sigefrith squinted at him.
“I don’t know,” Alred sighed. “I don’t feel like looking at babies today.”
“And why not? Who doesn’t like babies? Besides this young runt here?”
“Old Man!” Cynewulf growled through clenched teeth.
“This is my baby!” Alred cried and waved a hand at his son. “My last baby is almost seven years old. He’s getting his sword in a few days…”
“In five days,” Cynewulf said.
“In five days,” Alred repeated. “My baby will not be a baby any longer.”
“I shall be an old Old Man,” Cynewulf laughed.
“Ahhh! Is it making you feel like an old, old man?” Sigefrith asked Alred.
“I’m only feeling like a lonely, lonely man,” Alred sighed.
“You’re not so old-old that you’re obliged to remain lonely-lonely. Nor too old-old to have more babies. Look at Egelric!”
“Looking at Egelric is precisely what I cannot bear.”
