Sigefrith receives a sad message

“Damn!” Sigefrith swore softly as he read the short message the servant had brought into the hall. And then he shouted: “Damn!” and hurled the scrap of parchment into the fire.

“What is it, Sigefrith?” Maud asked tentatively, watching him from the corner where she sat playing with her three children, while young Malcolm studied his Latin close by.

“Witburga is dead,” he growled.

“Dead?” she cried, stunned. “Dead?” She rose awkwardly, thrown off balance by her heavy belly.

“Yes, dead! Dead!” he snarled, stalking up to her. “Don’t look so surprised! She’s been dying for weeks. Don’t you ever step out of your own head and look around you? If you ever spoke with anyone over the age of seven you would have known this was coming!”

“I – I knew, but I – ” she stammered, shrinking away from him. He reeked of wine.

“But you were too busy fawning over your own children to spare a thought for another woman’s!” Sigefrith supplied. “When was the last time you went to see Colburga or that child, whom you shall never see again?”

“But Sigefrith, you know I can’t…” she said, waving a hand at her round belly.

“You can’t, can you? Matilda has been every day, and she expects to be confined long before you!”

Maud looked away, uncertain whether it was wiser to defend herself or to say nothing. “You wouldn’t have me put my child at risk to go visit a child whom I cannot save, would you?” she asked quietly.

“Very good, Maud! Excellent! Make Matilda look like a thoughtless, selfish, irresponsible wretch, wildly galloping over the countryside with nary a thought for her babe, while Saint Maud sits sagely at home and generously sighs blessings over children she can’t save! Excellent!”

“If you had wanted me to – ” she protested, numb and yet blinking away tears.

“If I ever want you to do anything, I shall ask the opposite! God forbid you ever do anything because I ask you to! Don’t look at me like that, boy!” he said to his son, who stared up at him with his own eyes. “Oh, never mind this! I’m going to see them,” he said, striding to the door and snatching up his sword as he went.

“Be careful, Sigefrith,” Maud called. “It’s dark.” And he had been drinking.

“‘Be careful, Sigefrith,’” he called back to her, mocking her. “What are you worried about, Maud?” he asked from the doorway. “Perhaps I shall fall from my horse and break my neck, and you will all be rid of me!” He pulled the heavy door closed in a clap of thunder.

“Mama,” Caedwulf whimpered after the echoes had died. “He won’t fall and break his neck, will he?”

“No, no, darling,” she soothed. “Your father is the best rider you know, isn’t he? And his horse is sure. He’s simply unhappy because your little friend Witburga has died and gone to heaven to be with the Lord. We shall all miss her, shan’t we? You know he doesn’t mean what he says when he – when he is unhappy.” And she kissed his dark hair and kissed the tears from his hazel eyes.