Through the Darkness

Leofsig had no good answer for that. He got out of having to make one by starting to wash. His sister left the kitchen, but left it with her nose in the air. He cleaned up as quickly as he could and went back to his own bedchamber to put on a fresh tunic in place of the dirty, sweaty one he was wearing.

He’d just changed when someone rapped lightly on the door. “Come in,” he called, and his father did. Leofsig nodded. “I thought that was you. Everyone else knocks louder, to make sure I notice.”

Hestan’s smile quirked up only one corner of his mouth. “Sometimes difference is enough to make you notice something. Things don’t always have to be louder. Softer often serves just as well.”

“Maybe,” Leofsig said. After a moment, he went on, “I wish you could convince Sidroc of that.”

His father sighed. “Hengist is still living here. And, apart from him, we’re the nearest kin Sidroc has left. When he got leave, where else would he go?”

“To suck up to his redheaded pals?” Leofsig suggested. “I don’t know why he loves them so much--if it weren’t for them, his mother would still be alive and his house would still be standing--but he does. As far as I’m concerned, they can have him.”

Hestan sighed again. “I can’t very well slam the door in his face, not with Hengist living here. And I don’t want to turn my brother out. That might be ... dangerous. You know why.”

“On account of me,” Leofsig said.

“That’s right.” His father nodded. “And so we’ll put up with my charming nephew as best we can for as long as he’s here. It’s only three days, I think. We can manage.”

“Aye, he told me he had to go back then,” Leofsig said. “Then the Algarvians teach him more about murdering Kaunians or terrorizing Unkerlanters or whatever they intend to do with Plegmund’s cursed Brigade. The king would sit up in his grave if he knew what the redheads were doing to his name.”

“I won’t say you’re wrong, because I think you’re right,” Hestan answered. “But having Sidroc off in the west somewhere far, far away won’t be the worst thing in the world for us, no matter what he ends up doing here.” He cocked his head to one side and waited to see how Leofsig would respond to that.

Seeing his father eyeing him made Leofsig think before he spoke. “No matter what happens to him there, you mean,” he said slowly.

Also slowly, Hestan smiled. “Hauling rocks hasn’t taken your wits away, anyhow. The Algarvians wouldn’t be recruiting Forthwegian soldiers if they didn’t intend to throw them into the fire. And the fires in Unkerlant burn hotter than they do anywhere else.”

From the kitchen came Elfryth’s call: “Supper’s ready!”

Leofsig grinned at his father. “The fires in Unkerlant burn hotter than anywhere else except under the supper kettle.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right,” Hestan answered. “And a good thing, too, says I. Come on.” They headed for the dining room together.

When they got there, Uncle Hengist did what he’d started doing again this summer: he waved a news sheet at Hestan. “Here, did you see?” he asked. “The Algarvians are driving everything before them down in the south.” Sounding as cheerful as if he were discussing a football match, he talked about soldiers and behemoths captured, soldiers and behemoths slain, provinces seized, and towns afire from eggs dropped on them from on high.

Beside Hengist, Sidroc sat listening to the recital with a broad grin. As Hestan and Leofsig sat down, neither of them said anything. That seemed to irk Sidroc, who growled, “No stopping the Algarvians. They’ll smash Unkerlant to powder.”

“If they were having everything their own way, why would they need Plegmund’s Brigade?” Leofsig asked. Sidroc didn’t answer him, not in words, but his scowl was eloquent. Leofsig smiled back as nastily as he could. Like most Forthwegians, Sidroc was swarthy, but an angry flush darkened his cheeks above the edge of his beard even so. Leofsig’s grin got wider and more provoking yet.

Before anything could come of that, Conberge and Elfryth brought in olives and bread and olive oil for dipping to start the supper. No matter how much Leofsig enjoyed baiting his cousin, he enjoyed eating more. A day on the roads always left him feeling empty. He noticed that Sidroc displayed the same sort of wolfish appetite, and wondered how hard the Algarvians were working him in the encampment they’d set up.

Both young men also dug into the mutton stew. There wasn’t quite so much mutton in it as Leofsig would have liked; times were hard. His mother and sister had stretched the stew with beans and turnips and parsnips. After two big bowls, he sopped up gravy with a thick slice of bread cut from the loaf. He drank three cups of wine, too.

He still had plenty of room for cheese and candied fruit afterwards. He could have eaten more than he got, but his belly had stopped snarling at him. “Enjoy it while you can,” he said to Sidroc. “When you head for Unkerlant, you’ll be lucky if you get barley mush.”