“Greetings, lord,” a voice said.

I had not heard anyone approach and I was startled. I sat up, looking for Serpent-Breath, then relaxed.

It was Mus. Also known as Sunngifu, Sister Gomer, bishop’s widow, whore, and trouble-maker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at prayer?” I asked her sourly.

“We’re always at prayer,” she said, “life is prayer. Here, lord,” she held out something wrapped in a scrap of linen, which I unwrapped to find a hunk of blood sausage. “And that’s Lord Osferth’s wine,” she added, putting a flask at my feet.

“Lord Osferth?”

“He’s a king’s son, isn’t he?”

“He’s a bastard.”

“Folk say that of Lord Æthelstan too.”

“No, his parents were married. I know the priest who married them.”

She had pulled the stool across the floor and sat opposite me. “Really?”

“Truly.”

“So . . .” she began, then hesitated.

“So,” I said, “Æthelstan is the rightful heir to his father’s throne.”

“But . . .” she said, and again hesitated.

“But,” I went on, “that little shit Ælfweard has a powerful uncle.”

“Æthelhelm?”

“Whose sister married Edward.”

“But he put her aside,” Mus said, “and he has another woman now.”

“But Lord Æthelhelm,” I pointed out, “leads four or five hundred warriors. The new woman just has nicer tits and no army.” She giggled at that and I scowled at her. “You’re not supposed to find that funny. You’re a nun.”

“Do I look like a nun?” She was dressed in a pale yellow linen shift, which, when I looked more closely, had hems embroidered with blue flowers. Expensive, I thought.

“You’re not a nun?”

“I was only ever a postulant, lord.”

“A postulant? That sounds like a boil.”

“And I got squeezed,” she said ruefully. “The abbess doesn’t like me.”

“So what,” I began to ask, then decided the question did not need asking.

“I help in the hall,” she answered anyway. “Lord Osferth likes me well enough.” She saw my expression and laughed. “He’d like to, lord, but he’s scared of his god.”

I laughed too. “Men are fools. Women make them fools.”

“It’s our skill,” she said, smiling.

“For some women, yes,” I said, “but life isn’t fair. Not all women are lovely.”

“I’m told your daughter was beautiful.”

I smiled. For some reason talking about Stiorra with Mus did not hurt. “She was. She was dark, not like you, and tall. She had a fierce beauty.”

“I’m sorry, lord.”

“It was fate, Mus, just fate.” I drank from the flask and found Osferth’s wine was sour. “So you’re a servant now?”

“I have charge of the maids in the hall and kitchen,” she said, “and I came to ask a favor of you.”

I nodded. “Ask it.”

“There’s a girl who joined us, I think you know her? Wynflæd. She has red hair.”

“The squirrel,” I said.

Mus laughed. “She looks like one, doesn’t she? She and her husband are helping in the kitchens.”

“He was a monk,” I said, “and broke his vows.”