[Bêthberry]

Not only did Bethberry blink courteously, she blinked several times courteously. The domestic tragicomedy played on as nephew and uncle each sought his own purpose and Bethberry slowly lost interest in it. She wondered mildly if they ever resorted to silly knockabouts as some families did, but somehow she doubted it. She suspected Sigurd would storm out in a huff and protest before Osric ever got that worked up. How different they were from Frodides and Liofan's family.

She sighed. These thoughts would not get her any closer to getting a straight answer out of Sigurd. She hmmmed for a bit. And then hawed for a bit. Her fingers absent-mindedly picked at some loose threads on her apron. She looked up at the banners high above the Mead Hall, banners of heroic times, and wondered how peace managed to produce youngsters so self-interested as these were.

She looked at Osric, whose eyes were about to bulge out of their sockets over some issue or item of which she was not aware. She looked at Sigurd, whose eyes wavered when she tried to make contact with them. She could not quite catch where it was his eyes were more drawn. Hmm. He is not speaking all the truth, she decided. She looked over at Aylwen, who was lost in a happy, eager conversation with the children. She looked down at Goldwine, regally commaning passage wherever he chose.

"Well," she proclaimed, with the kind of deliberate address which really means this is all a bit of a muddle, "you have made a most interesting claim, Master Sigurd."

"I have?" he intoned, a bit surprised by this tact.

"You have," she affirmed, quite pleasantly.

He waited. His uncle waited. Bethberry waited. Somewhere out at the back came the sound of tree branches snapping back and forth in the wind, not violently, but dolorously.

Osric began to worry. He coughed. He rose and would have begun a florid statement had Bethberry not raised her hand and gently, kindly bid him stop.

"No, please, this is indeed a profound matter. You are right, worthy Osric, to take such a keen concern and deep worry in your nephew's future."

Oscric's mouth seemed to pop several times as his lips quivered in a slight imitation of the words, "Quite so." And he huffed a bit.

Sigurd, for his part, began to bounce up and down on his heels. He was no closer to getting where he really wanted to be and he was not used to having to work this hard to get there.

"Your nights are as empty as your days, you say?" The woman caught him off guard with her question.

Sigurd stammered a sort of reply and cleared his throat.

"Well, then, without further ado, shall we call Aylwen over here and see what she thinks of hiring you as the night watchman? You can sleep all day, when we have plenty of hands here at the Horse, and then take over when we are all abed for the night. Perhaps you can help Liofan to put the horses to bed for the night at the stable, check that all the doors are locked, the shutters closed, restock the firewood for the next day for the main fireplaces and for the kitchen, clean out the chamber pots, restock the barrels of ale. A good way to fill your night, no?'

Neither Osric nor Sigurd could swear afterwards that there was any trace of a smile on Bethberry's face, yet both were strangely aware that there was a sort of gleeful sheen to her eyes as she spoke.

"Aylwen! Aylwen, come! We have the possibility of some new hands here at the Horse and we need your thoughts on the matter."

Then Bethberry turned back to Sigurd with her blandly polite face, and said, "Well?"