Maud learns of a danger to herself

“Someone is coming,” Harold said, annoyed.

Maud looked down at him and smiled timidly. “Perhaps it is your father.”

“I don’t mind him, as long as he is alone.”

Maud knew he was thinking of Colban. “Perhaps he will be, and we shall be alone, just the three of us. You like that, don’t you, darling?”

“He is your husband, and you must obey him, but he has his mind too much on earthly things.”

Maud again knew what he was thinking. Sometimes he said that his father disgusted him. Other times he merely sighed and said that it was fortunate that the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife. Maud simply wished Harold would love him, but he did not believe it was right to love anyone but the Lord. He often criticized her for it – even for loving him! her own precious baby! as if she could do otherwise.

It was her husband.

“Sigefrith,” she smiled in her happiness.

He was frowning as he came into the bedroom, but he stopped a few steps away from them and smiled wearily. “How lovely you are,” he sighed. “You, I mean, Maud. As for you, little pigwiggen,” he said, squeezing Harold’s small hand, “you are simply ridiculous.”

Harold wrinkled his nose and waved his other hand frantically. Maud hoped he wasn’t too annoyed, but he didn’t like to talk much when Sigefrith was there, even though Sigefrith always pretended not to hear him.

“Maud, why don’t you put the baby down for a moment? I’m afraid I have some sad news to deliver.”

“Don’t put me in the cradle,” Harold warned. “Put me on the bed. I want to keep an eye on you.”

“All right,” Maud said to both of them, and went to lay Harold on the bed, wedged in between her and her husband’s pillows. She was careful to put him in the middle of the bed, even though he still had not quite mastered the art of rolling over when placed on his back. He tried anyway, kicking his feet in frustration like an overturned tortoise.

Maud went back to stand before Sigefrith, where Harold might be able to see both of them. She would have to try not to smile so much – Harold found it wickedly immodest. But it was so difficult before her beautiful husband!

“There, Maud,” he said softly. “I have sad news for you.” He took her hands. “I have had a message from Theobald and Githa.”

She blinked at him. The names sounded familiar, but they were not apostles.

“The Baron and the Baroness?” he prompted. “Do you remember?”

“The Baron is a good man, remember?” Harold said. “He fears God.”

“With the red hair,” Maud smiled at last.

“Yes, darling, Theobald with the red hair, and dear Githa with the blonde. Do you remember their little daughter Athelis?”

“Athelis,” she repeated, but the name meant nothing to her.

“A little girl, about the same age as Dunstan.”

“Dunstan is a wicked boy,” Harold said.

“Oh, but he is wicked!” Maud protested.

“I’m not speaking of Dunstan,” Sigefrith sighed. “I am speaking of Athelis: a little blonde girl. Theobald’s daughter. A very good, very good little girl.”

“I remember,” she murmured, hoping he would not press her further.

“You lied!” Harold howled at her. “Liar!”

“Oh, no,” she whimpered anxiously. “I don’t remember, I don’t remember, forgive me!” she pleaded.

“Hush, hush, Maud,” her husband said, catching her by the arms. “It is not important. If you remember Theobald, and you love Theobald, then you will be very sorry to learn that his little daughter is dead, even if you don’t remember her.”

“His little daughter is dead?”

“Whoever lives and believes in the Lord will never die,” Harold reminded her.

“Then she will never die,” Maud said. “She was a very good little girl.”

“Yes, darling, she was always a very good little girl, but she was a bit naughty yesterday, and was playing on the wall with the other children, and she fell.”

“She fell?” Maud asked in alarm, glancing over at Harold. Harold pretended to busy himself by sucking on the corner of her pillow. He would not help her.

“Yes, dear, she fell, and was killed.”

“She was killed because she fell?” Maud asked, stumbling backwards in her fright. She too had fallen, but she had not yet been killed for it. “My darling, help me!”

Harold stopped chewing on the pillow and looked up at her, pouting out his lower lip. But her husband thought she was talking to him.

“There now, Maud, it is not your own child. It is Theobald’s daughter. Your children are all well, and they may not reach the walls. All of the doors are locked or guarded.”

“But how could she fall? How could she fall? She was only a little girl!”

“Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me,” Harold muttered.

“She must have been careless, Maud. We don’t know.”

“Careless!” Harold scoffed.

“Oh!” Maud wailed, terrified. If one could fall, and be killed, even through carelessness! And she had sinned in full knowledge of her sin, and sneered at the Lord!

Sigefrith sighed. “I wanted to ask you whether you would like to come with me to visit Theobald and poor Githa, and say goodbye to Athelis, dear, but perhaps it would not be wise.”

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” she cried. “I might be killed!” She did not know why the people of the hills had killed Athelis for a careless sin while the people of the valley let her live for her mortal ones. But she did not dare test the mercy of the hill people, and she certainly did not want to climb closer to the heavens, whence Lucifer might again fall at any moment.

“You won’t be in any danger,” her husband soothed. “But it might be best if you remain here. I don’t like to see you so troubled.”

“And Harold shall stay with me.” She could never manage without Harold to guide her. She was daily beset with temptation on all sides.

“Of course Harold will stay with you, and Emma too. She’s too small to understand.”

“But Colban?”

“He is of his father the devil, and the lusts of his father he will do,” Harold laughed maliciously.

“I shall take Cubby with me,” Sigefrith said.

“And will he be killed?” she quavered.

“Certainly not! Maud! I shan’t let him out of my sight.”

She looked warily over at Harold.

Ever since his birth, when she had realized that it had been the voice of her unborn baby that she had been hearing all through those months, she had come to trust Harold in all things. But she could not – could not quite–empty her heart of the love she held for her second son, even though she hated his father with all the righteous passion her frail body could bear, and even though Harold told her that loving Colban was no different from loving her sin. Nevertheless, Harold had told her that it would be wrong to kill him, or even to pray for him to die. So she secretly hoped he would not.

“I shall wait here for you to return, husband.”

“Then I shall certainly hurry home,” he said, smiling gently.