Colburga listens

“Colburga, dear,” Cenwulf began gently, finding his wife still awake when he returned home. “Sigefrith had a letter from Theobald this evening. Githa sends her love to everyone, especially you, she said. She can’t come visit just now because she – ” Should he tell her? 

Colburga stood in her nightgown, staring down into her baby daughter’s cradle.

“Colburga, are you listening?”

“I am listening. I’m listening to her,” she said.

“Is she telling you something more interesting than my news?” he asked, coming closer.

“She was coughing.”

“Coughing?” he asked in alarm. “Coughing like…?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “She hasn’t done it again. It was only a baby cough, not like a – like a little girl cough.”

Her voice broke, and Cenwulf turned her away from the cradle and embraced her.

“No doubt she had only a tickle in her throat.”

“I can’t bear it,” she whispered. “If she – ”

“She won’t.”

“You can’t promise me that!”

“No, I cannot,” he admitted.

“I shall die, I can’t bear it again,” she gasped, trying not to sob.

“I know you’re stronger than that.”

“I don’t want to be! How can you ask me to live without them?”

“We need you, the three of us. Now, you’re tired. You need to sleep. Let’s go to bed. You’ll see, she’ll be fine in the morning.” And he led her, shuffling like an invalid, away from the cradle and to the bed.