Darkness Descending

in any way connected to Kaunians. But this fellow, after frowning, answered in halting, thickly accented Kaunian: “Understanding little. Not using when . . . after . . . since school.” He beamed at coming up with the right word.

Leofsig nodded to show he understood, too. “What do you want?” he asked, speaking slowly and clearly.

“Not finding,” the Algarvian said. After a moment, Leofsig realized he meant lost. The redhead pulled a sheet of paper out of a tunic pocket. It turned out to be a map of Gromheort. He pointed. “Going here, please?” Here was a barracks where soldiers had been garrisoned. The Algarvian waved, one of his people’s extravagant gestures. “I now where?” He made a comic display of frustration and embarrassment.

“I will show you,” Leofsig said. He’d started to help before remembering he hated the conquerors. He had trouble hating this particular one, who was rumpled and funny and had asked for help instead of demanding it. And so, instead of sending him the wrong way, Leofsig traced the route back to the barracks on the map.

“Ah.” The Algarvian swept off his hat and bowed as deeply as his rotund frame would allow. “Thanking.” He bowed again. Leofsig nodded in return; Forthwegians were a less demonstrative people. Peering at the map, the redhead went off down the street. Maybe he would find the barracks. He was headed in the right direction, anyhow. He looked back to Leofsig and waved. Leofsig gave him another nod and headed on toward his own home.

He mentioned the affable Algarvian over supper. His father nodded. “That must be one of the constables they’re bringing in,” Hestan said. “If they use constables to keep order hereabouts, they can put more soldiers into the attack on Unkerlant.” He glanced over to Uncle Hengist, as if he’d just proved a point.

By the way Hengist fidgeted, maybe Hestan had. Hengist said, “They’re still moving forward. By the news sheet, they’ve trapped a big army west of the capital of the Duchy of Grelz--forget the cursed place’s name. After a while, Unkerlant will run out of armies.”

“Herborn,” Ealstan put in.

“Unless Algarve runs out first,” Hestan added. Hengist snorted and gestured dismissively, almost as if he were an Algarvian himself. Hestan sipped from his cup of wine, then turned back to Leofsig. “And what was this constable like, son?”

“He didn’t seem too bad a fellow,” Leofsig answered: about as much as he would say for any Algarvian. “He thanked me when I showed him where he ought to go. None of their soldiers would have.”

“All their soldiers were good for were pinches on the bottom,” Conberge said.

“I never had that happen to me,” Leofsig observed.

“You’d best be glad you didn’t,” Sidroc said archly. Everyone laughed. It was easier and more comforting to think of the Algarvians as woman-chasers--which they were--than as warriors who had overwhelmed all their opponents--which, unfortunately for their neighbors, they also were.

“Would anyone like more of this beans-and-cheese casserole?” Leofsig’s mother asked, reaching out to touch the spoon in the bowl. “There’s plenty, for once; I went to the markets early, and got the cheese before it all disappeared.”

“I’ll take more, Elfryth,” Hestan said. Leofsig and Sidroc pushed their plates toward her, too. If his mother hadn’t said there was plenty and plainly meant it, Leofsig would have made do with one helping. He’d grown resigned to being hungry a lot of the time. Feeling full, as he did after his seconds, seemed strange, almost unnatural.

After supper, Ealstan came to him for help with a bookkeeping problem their father had set him. Leofsig looked at it, then shook his head. “I know I ought to know how to solve it, but I’m cursed if I can remember right now.” He yawned enormously. “I’m so tired, I can’t even see. That’s how I am most nights. You don’t know how lucky you are that Father decided to keep you in school.”

“It doesn’t teach much, not any more,” his brother answered. “I’m learning a lot more from Father than from the masters.”

“You’re missing the point,” Leofsig said. “You could be out hauling rocks instead. Plenty your age are. Then you’d be too tired to think, too.”

“Oh, I understand that,” Ealstan said. “What makes me sizzle is watching Sidroc not even working at the watered-down pap the Algarvians still let the schoolmasters teach.”

“If Sidroc wants the masters to stripe his back, that’s his affair,” Leofsig said. “If he wants to try to get through life on gab, that’s his affair, too. I don’t know why you’re wasting your time worrying about it.”

“Because he goes off and does what he