Sigefrith gets a letter

“Good morning, Sigefrith!” Sir Sigefrith beamed as he came into the King’s study. “Oh! Morning, Alred.”

His grin faded when it was met by only a faint smile from Sigefrith and a mere nod from Alred. Both men remained standing across the room by the King’s desk. Had he mistaken the message?

“I thought—I thought you wanted to see me?”

The King nodded. “In the first place, Sigefrith, I should like to apologize for opening a letter addressed to you. You understand that it was addressed only to ‘Sigefrith the Younger of Thorhold,’ so it arrived by way of the Baron, and, since my father was also named Sigefrith, I believed it was for me.”

“That’s no matter, of course,” Sigefrith said. Was that all? Then why did they both look so grim?

“However, I cannot regret that I did, for I have learned something interesting and, dare I say, important thereby.”

Sigefrith was mystified. The only person he could imagine writing to him was his father-​in-​law.

“You see, the letter was addressed in Latin, but the message was written in Norman French. This is why I had to call for Alred.”

Alred bowed his head slightly. Sigefrith had never seen such an utter absence of a smile on his face.

“So, young man,” the King continued, “can you please explain to me why you are receiving letters from a Norman named Robert, who calls himself your friend?”

Robert! Sigefrith’s mouth went dry. “What does it say?” he asked weakly.

The King’s calm face was instantly transformed with anger. “Who is this man?” he thundered. “What are his—his ‘affairs’ here that you are supposed to be managing?”

Sigefrith cast an anxious glance at Alred, whose face had darkened meanwhile.

“Sigefrith, may I speak with you alone?” he croaked.

He would have to tell Sigefrith. Sigefrith knew, at least, that he had been with Malcolm. But he would have liked to know what the letter said before saying anything. What if he said too much? Surely the “affairs” Malcolm meant were Colban and, perhaps, the Queen. But had he been more explicit? He would have to be very cautious, very clever… while by nature he was only frank and dull.

The King dismissed Alred with a nod, and Alred did not even glance at Sigefrith as he went out and closed the door.

“Sigefrith,” the young knight gasped. “I don’t know what to tell you. Robert is—Robert is Malcolm!”

“What?”

“Malcolm didn’t leave me at the coast. He came with me to Nidaros, and—I don’t know why—he didn’t want to go as a Scot, I suppose. He took a Norman accent and began calling himself Robert. But we didn’t stay together. He went out—he went out and got onto a ship bound for Brittany, and that’s the last I heard of him.”

The King blinked rapidly as he attempted to understand. “Why didn’t you tell me this, runt?”

“Malcolm asked me not to tell anyone. Not even you.”

The King took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So Malcolm is alive.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, we shall have to ask Alred to read the letter to you, but I wish I could tell him what it means. He’ll think we’re both traitors now.”

“To yourself?” Sigefrith asked, attempting to smile.

“In short, Malcolm broke his leg and has been sitting around for weeks, and he finally wrote to you—out of boredom I suppose. Simply told you that he made it safely to the continent, that he hoped your wife and child were well, and hoped that his affairs that you were managing for him here were doing well also. What did he mean?”

Now Sigefrith would have to lie. “Oh… I don’t know. He asked me to… take care of you, I suppose. His brother.”

Sigefrith chuckled. “So you had already told him that you meant to come here after your baby could travel?”

Damn! The King thought faster than he ever could. How did Malcolm know? He must have written to his father-​in-​law… “I don’t remember,” he mumbled.

“Well, I wish I could tell Gog about this. He seems rather broken-​hearted. Tell me something, Sigefrith. I’ve been wondering this for a while… do you suppose Malcolm is a spy?”

“A spy?”

“It would explain a few things about his odd behavior recently, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t know…”

“I only hope he’s on our side after all! Well, runt, I am quite pleased I shan’t have to execute you. It would have aggrieved me to no end. Say, that reminds me—your ‘Robert’ said he hoped you would give his regards to the young Scot in the vicinity who speaks Norman, and who would no doubt translate your letter. Apparently this ‘Robert’ doesn’t write Latin,” he laughed. “I was about to drag young Malcolm in here by his ear and find out how long this had been going on. Poor little potlicker!”