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Bregoware
Rædwald
‘Now lass . . .’ Rædwald stood up his arms out to his sides, fingers splayed open. ‘Is that any sort of greeting for an old friend? And here among those I have not had the opportunity to greet properly.’ He took a few steps forward hoping she would not skewer him with an arrow.
He stopped and put his hands on his hips, his teeth flashing in a quick grin at the approaching trio. ‘Rædwald, at your service,’ he said, nodding to Osmod, Eostre, and lastly to Meghan. ‘And yes, Leof has sent me, little mistress. But only to secure the ongoing health of his herds.’
She snorted at his explanation. But he waggled his finger at her saying, ‘Yes, it is true. If you do not make it back, he fears your goats will wither away for the want of you. And so melancholy will they be that his goats will catch the wasting sickness . . . and then the chickens will all go into molt . . . and who knows where the winds of disaster will spread from that.’ He shook his head dolefully and wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. ‘The entire village of Wulfham could be nothing but grieving ghosts if you do not make a safe return, little mistress. And then what good would all this riding to the King be?’
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Meghan
Meghan’s shoulders began to shake; a laugh broke from her though she did not will it. Shoving her arrow back in the quiver at her belt, she slung her bow on her back and ran to give him a quick embrace.
‘I never could stay angry at you, Rædwald. You old dog! I guess you can stay . . . that is if the others will have you.’
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Rædwald
It was the potatoes, he thought, that most likely won them over. That and perhaps the stories he could spin. It had been a long time since he’d had any new ears to hear old stories of campaigns and battles and rides for glory and such. Meghan, of course, had heard most of his tales, but she was as accommodating as ever – laughing at the old jokes urging him to tell another.
The night grew late; the fire was banked. And a watch was set for the first hours of sleep. Osmod volunteered for it and took his position a short ways from camp on a little rise. Before settling down for the night, Rædwald walked out to where the young man sat on a flat rock. He had wanted to offer his pouch of pipeleaf in case Osmod wanted a smoke as he kept vigil.
‘Now, what’s that,’ he said, peering over the man’s shoulder at the design he’d drawn in the dirt. Osmod shrugged off the question, as if to say it was nothing really. A few pleasantries were exchanged, then Rædwald bade him goodnight, asking if he would wake him for the next watch.
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