Darkness Descending

His sister wrinkled her nose. “I believe that.” To leave no possible doubt about what she believed, she added, “The basin’s waiting for you in the kitchen. It’ll be mostly cold by now, but I can put in some more hot water from the kettle over the fire.”

“Would you?” Leofsig said. “It’s chilly out there, and I don’t want to end up with chest fever.”

“Come along, then,” Conberge said briskly. She was between him and Ealstan in age, but insisted on mothering him in much the same style as their true mother. As Leofsig went past her and turned left toward the kitchen, she lowered her voice, murmuring, “We’ve heard from him.”

Leofsig stopped. “Have you?” he said, also softly. “Where is he? Is he all right?”

His sister nodded. “Aye, he is,” she whispered. “He’s in Eoforwic.”

“Not in Oyngestun?” Leofsig asked, and Conberge shook her head. “Is the Kaunian girl with him?”

She shrugged. “He doesn’t say. He says he’s happy though, so I think she is. Now come on. People will have heard you come in, and they’ll be wondering why you’re dawdling in the hallway.”

Fondly, Leofsig patted her on the shoulder. “You’d have made a terrific spy.” Conberge snorted and stopped acting motherly; she elbowed him harder than Oslac could have done. Thus propelled, into the kitchen he went. His mother was stirring a pot hanging over the fire next to the kettle. By the way Elfryth nodded, by the secretly delighted look in her eye, he knew she knew the news. All she said was, “Clean yourself off, son. Supper will be ready soon.”

“I’m going to give him some fresh hot water,” Conberge said, and used a dipper to draw some from the kettle. As Leofsig scrubbed dirt and sweat from his arms and legs and face, she went on, “I think he ought to put on a clean tunic, too, before he comes to the supper table.” That was also motherly: she didn’t seem to think he had sense enough to change clothes unless she told him to.

“Let me have a cup of wine first,” Leofsig said. Conberge poured him one. Before he drank, he raised the cup in salute. His sister and mother both smiled; they understood what he meant.

After putting on a fresh wool tunic and fresh drawers, he went across the courtyard to the dining room, which lay just to the right of the entry hall so as to make it convenient to the kitchen. As he’d expected, he found his father and uncle already there. Uncle Hengist was reading the news sheet: reading it aloud, and loudly. “ ‘No Unkerlanter gains reported on any front,’ “ he said. “What do you think of that, Hestan?”

Leofsig’s father shrugged. “The Unkerlanters have already gained a lot of ground,” he said in mild tones; his brother enjoyed hearing himself talk more than he did.

“But the Algarvians haven’t fallen to pieces, the way you said they would a few weeks ago,” Hengist insisted.

“I didn’t say they would. I said they might,” Hestan answered with a bookkeeper’s precision. “Pretty plainly, they haven’t. You’re right about that.” He nodded to Leofsig, looking to change the subject. “Hello, son. How did it go today?”

“I’m tired,” Leofsig answered. He could have said that any day and been telling the truth. He raised an eyebrow at his father. Hestan nodded, ever so slightly. He knew about Ealstan, too, then. Neither of them said anything where Uncle Hengist could hear. After what had happened to Sidroc, if he knew where Ealstan was, he might let the Algarvians know, too. Nobody wanted to find out whether he would.

“If you want to work with me, you may,” Hestan said. “Numbers are as stubborn as cobblestones, but not so backbreaking to wallop into place.”

“You’d make more money, too,” Uncle Hengist pointed out. His mind always ran in that direction.

“I still don’t think it’s safe,” Leofsig said. “Nobody pays attention to one laborer in a gang. But the fellow who casts accounts for you, you notice him. You want to be sure he knows what he’s doing. If he saves you money, you tell people about him. After a while, talk goes to the wrong ears.”

“I suppose that’s wise,” his father said. “Still, when I see you come dragging in the way you do sometimes, I wouldn’t mind throwing wisdom out the window.”

“I’ll get by,” Leofsig said. Hestan grimaced, but nodded.

Conberge came in and set stoneware bowls and bone-handled spoons on the table. “Supper in a minute,” she said.

“It smells good,” Leofsig said. His stomach growled agreement. The bread and olive oil he’d eaten at noon seemed a million miles away. Any sort of food would have smelled wonderful just then.

“Same old stew: barley and lentils and turnips and cabbage,” Conberge said. “Mother chopped a little smoked sausage into it, but only a little. You’ll taste it more than it will do you any good, if you know what I mean. It’s probably what you smell.”

Elfryth brought in the pot and ladled the bowls full. As she was sitting down, she asked, “Where’s Sidroc?” Uncle Hengist called his son, loudly. After another couple of minutes, Sidroc came in, sat down, and silently began to eat.