With the birth of a son, choosing a name threw Deormund into confusion. For several hours, he considered calling the babe Hartman—a common enough name—inspired by his fondness for deer. Finally, his good sense and love of his father won the tussle. So, little Asculf kicked and gurgled happily in the cot Deormund had made on his return from the confrontation with the Northumbrians.
AsculfNot long ago, on Sceapig, he had considered his life perfect, but now, living with his comely wife and cradling his son in his arms, he rarely missed his former existence. However, it so often happens that, just when a man considers his circumstances ideal, life rears up and kicks him in the ribs harder than an angered mule. The panicking Prioress Irmgard, on behalf of Lyminge Abbey, arrived at the thegn’
