“Tssh! Hush, girl! We heard enough about all that back then. I beg pardon, Your Excellency. My children will rattle on. The lady prayed with us, and said if we professed the Redemption she’d send us salt and spices in the autumn. But none came. Because of your disobedience, Erkanwulf!”
“Still,” said her daughter, with a dreamy smile, “I liked listening to what the lady’s cleric had to say.”
“Because of his blue eyes!” said the old crone with a wheezy laugh. “Ah, to be young!”
“I am surrounded by fools!” cried the chatelaine, but even her expression softened as she allowed herself a moment’s recollection. “Yet it’s true he was the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. More like an angel than a man, truly. And so soft-spoken, with a sorrow in his heart. Why, his good counsel softened even old Marius’ heart and he patched up his ancient quarrel with his cousin William that they’d been nursing for twenty years.”
“That was a miracle!” observed the crone wryly. “And he was handsome! Whsst!”
“You’re the fools!” cried Erkanwulf, for whom this recital had become, evidently and all at once, too much to bear. “There can only be one young lord fitting that description, and he’s no cleric. He’s the lady’s kept man, her concubine. She beds him every night, and parades him during the day like a holy saint wanting only a shower of light to transport him up to the Chamber of Light!”
“You’re just jealous because Nan wouldn’t roll you!” retorted his angry sister.
“At least she doesn’t bed every man who comes asking!”
Everyone began talking at once, as many laughing as scolding, but his mother walked right over to him and slapped him. “You’ll speak no such disrespectful words, young pup! Nor have you explained yourself yet! Steward put herself out for you because she liked you and thought well of you. Now look where it’s gotten her! Speak up! The rest of you shut your mouths and listen!”
No captain could have controlled his unruly band of soldiers more efficiently. They quieted, coughed, crossed arms, shushed children, scuffed feet in the dirt, and waited for Erkanwulf to start.
Ivar forestalled him by raising a hand. “I’ll speak.”
“Begging your pardon,” said the chatelaine hastily, as he’d known she would. He was a churchman, but in addition he sat mounted on a fine horse, and carried a sword.
“I escaped from Queen’s Grave with the aid of Erkanwulf, here, and his captain.”