Elfleda Makes an Acquaintance

The heavy drifts of snow that had kept her housebound through most of February had finally melted, and Elfleda was eager to be out on the prowl—such was the term her husband Egelric used to describe these morning outings. After her chores were done, she went out in search of gossip—particularly the scandalous sort. No servants’ hall was too humble, no peasant’s hut too lowly for Elfleda, as she often found the juiciest secrets among people who were only too pleased to speak ill of their betters.

Her favorite topic was the goings-​on at Nothelm Keep. She had already seen for herself that the Duke no longer walked up the hill to the Selle farm, and she had since heard from the Nothelm servants that the Duke and Duchess had taken up separate quarters within the castle.

But Elfleda hadn’t been able to get anything out of Githa herself. The oddest thing was that Githa and Theobald seemed to get along fine, as if nothing had happened. Elfleda thought that proved Theobald was not the man he seemed—but then Elfleda’s ease at cowing her own husband had already given her a poor opinion of the true mettle of men.

Clearly, though, things were very wrong at Nothelm. The Duke scarcely spoke to anyone these days—not even to his pet Egelric—and her husband had been drifting rudderless the past few weeks without his patron to guide him into new projects.

How she despised him for moping around the house in the mornings, hoping His Precious Grace would deign to pay him a visit! Elfleda’s lip curled at the thought of him, brooding over his beloved book, forlorn as a child’s doll outgrown and laid aside.

Ah, here was someone she didn’t recognize coming up the hill towards the castle. She would go see who it was, and perhaps hear the news from Thorhold, for it seemed he had come from there. Elfleda put on her sweetest face and headed down the hill towards the traveller.

The man was tall and simply dressed and had a mane and beard of thick hair, red as her own. His long stride made short work of the distance between them, and soon she could see the heavy crucifix swinging from a cord around his neck and slapping against his belly. Could it be? Was this the priest for whom Egelric had built his precious little house?

The man smiled as he approached her. “Good day, my young lady! I have heard this is the valley of Lothere, where lives a lady named Colburga?”

He spoke English, but he had a heavy accent she did not immediately recognize. Goot day? I haf heard? It was the Countess herself who spoke that way.

Elfleda smiled sweetly. “You must mean my lady the Countess of Bernwald?”

The priest clasped his big hands, beaming with delight. “Ach! She is a Countess! Her mother will be so proud!”

“And you must be her brother the priest, who has come to us at last?”

“Even so! I am he, Father Brandt, at the command of my sister, and thy charming self.” He bowed. “And how art thou called?”

“I am called Elfleda, Father,” she curtsied, suppressing a smile. “And it was my husband Egelric built your house here.”

“Ach so! Then, dearest Elfleda, thou shalt be the first to visit my humble self in it, thou and thy husband.”

“We would be honored.”

“Now, young Elfleda, I cannot decide where to go first. Shall I go to this big castle here, which I trust must belong to His Majesty your King? Or instead to the church whose roof I see yonder? Or should I go first to my sister, whom I have not seen in many years? Or should I go first to my charming abode that was built by thine own husband?”

Elfleda was not eager to surrender this interesting visitor to her betters, and so she immediately suggested that he refresh himself first at his new house.

As they walked, he peppered her with questions—about the valley, about its inhabitants, about the royal family, and especially about his sister. Elfleda, inveterate gossip as she was, was happy to reply. She couldn’t help but like the man, a little. He was positively childlike with his high spirits and his chatter.

When they had passed the castle, though, he turned his questions onto her and her family. “Hast thou then any little children with thy husband Egelric?”

Elfleda’s charming smile fell from her face like a mask. “My babies are dead.”

“Ach so, dearest heart,” he said gently, “I thought I saw a sorrow on thy lovely face.”

Elfleda frowned. He had no business reading her story on her face, especially not when she had been taking pains to hide it.

He began telling her then about his long voyage, which allowed her to walk silently beside him. He had only reached the mouth of the Rhine when they arrived at the doorstep of his little house beneath the pines. He invited her in to show him around, but she declined, insisting that only Egelric could do it properly. Now that she had so much to tell, she wished to waste no time in telling it.

“Forget not,” the old priest said, “that thou and thy husband shall be my first guests.”

Elfleda politely waited to let herself be blessed, but she trotted off towards Gunnilda’s while the priest was still creaking up the stairs to his new his house. She had a piece of gossip that trumped even the Duke’s misadventures for the time being.