Theobald Selle stood brooding before the fire with his young son in his arms. He had many things to worry about, but despite other dangers, the worst seemed to be that he had lied to Githa.
The day before, he had sent a servant riding up to Thorhold to beg the news from his father. Normally the Baron sent a servant of his own whenever there was news to be delivered, but Theobald couldn’t wait: he was in a daily anguish of wondering what he had best do to assure the safety and prosperity of his family.
And this evening the servant had returned with a long letter from his father. The news was bad. Even allowing for a certain amount of exaggeration, the news was very bad. And the Baron had repeated his pleas for Theobald to bring his family home – there would be danger enough in Thorhold, but at least there he would be no traitor. Not to William, anyway, he told himself bitterly.
And his father had not failed to remind him how his mother cried for him – she had even chosen to sign the letter. His mother could neither read nor write, but she had wanted to show him that she shared his father’s sentiments. Somehow her awkward scrawl at the bottom of the sheet had been the most convincing argument.
But when Githa had asked what the letter said, he had lied: a ridiculous story about how he had asked his father about advice for the spring planting, as if his father knew or cared about such things. But Githa trusted him – oh, she would have believed him if he had told her that his father had been recounting how he had slain ten dragons in battle last week, and then taken a quick jog to Rome between breakfast and dinner in order to be congratulated by the Pope – which made lying to her so much worse.
But he could not tell her the truth. Surely her gentle parents would never have told her stories of what the Scots had done the last time they had come raiding down this way. He would not even have her know such things existed – how then could he allow her to remain here where she might learn of them through her own experience?
No, there was only one thing to do. He would take the letter to the Earl in the morning, but whatever Cenwulf decided, his own mind was already made up.
Chapters
I hope his son grows into his nose