Ethelmund is surprised

When she returned home, Githa found her husband sitting at the table eating his supper – and Eadgard on the floor playing with his.

“Eadgard!” she shrieked when she saw the state of the little boy’s shirt.

“You’re home!” Ethelmund beamed and stood to embrace her.

“Mama!” Eadgard came trotting up to do the same, but Githa squirmed away from the both of them.

“Just a moment, young man!” she commanded. “Not on my best cloak!”

She pulled his shirt off and then picked him up to give him a squeeze. Ethelmund put his arms around the both of them and sighed in contentment. “We’re so happy to see Mama home, aren’t we, boy?”

“I suppose you are!” Githa cried. “A pretty piece of business is this, to give the boy his plate on the floor, as if he were a dog!”

“He wouldn’t sit at the table,” Ethelmund explained sheepishly.

Eadgard barked and then laughed at his cleverness.

“Where’s Colburga?” Githa huffed.

“She’s up to the Hogge’s with Wynnie,” Ethelmund said. “Why don’t you give me this boy and sit down? You must be tired.”

“That’s more than true,” Githa sighed.

“How was it? How’s Hilda?” he asked.

“And you are eating your supper at the table like decent folk, young man!” Githa warned.

Eadgard snorted like a pig and giggled at his joke, but he sat quietly afterwards. He knew his mother was not to be disobeyed.

“Hilda’s as you would suppose,” Githa sighed. “She was rather fond of the man.”

“He was a nice man,” Ethelmund agreed. “And her poor children?”

“Those children are just that broken up. They need a father more than anything,” Githa said, watching closely her husband’s reaction.

“I suppose they do,” he said and looked wistfully at his boy.

“But, mind you, I suppose what they need is simply a man around. But I don’t see Hilda marrying again any time soon.”

“Why not? She’s a fine-​​looking woman.”

“Oh?”

“Not as pretty as her sister,” he winked.

“Oh. That’s all right then,” Githa laughed. “I suppose she has aged well, but she will be forty next year. She won’t get a younger man, and I doubt she’ll have an older man. He’ll be some widower with ten children, that’s what, and she doesn’t want to be a slave to some other woman’s children.”

“What will she do, then? She’s a widow herself, with three children.”

It did seem a shame, to see him eating so tranquilly, talking so peaceably, so innocently walking into her snare. But she had promised her sister…

“Well, I suppose she will have to go live with someone,” she shrugged.

“Didn’t Eadric have a brother?”

“He died two years ago, Ethelmund.”

“How old’s young Leof again?”

“He’s only fifteen.”

“What about your brother, then? He has a big house.”

“Not as big as ours.”

Ethelmund grunted and lifted his bread halfway to his mouth before putting it down again and staring at her. He had understood. She would not wait for him to protest.

“Now, Ethelmund, we have lots of room here. And wouldn’t it be a fine thing for Colburga, to have Osgyth here, just like a sister? She wouldn’t be running up to see Wynnie all the time. I know you don’t like that. And – ”

“But, Gytha!” he wailed.

“But, Ethelmund, you always liked Hilda! And you like having children around!”

“Mine!”

“Well, that’s another thing,” Githa said impulsively. “I hadn’t meant to tell you so soon, but you will be having another one, and I would surely like to have my sister around to help out, and to be here when the baby comes. Wouldn’t you?”

“Well!” he said and pushed his plate away.

Indeed she didn’t like to tell Ethelmund before she had felt the baby quicken inside of her, for she had lost too many in the first months and didn’t like to grieve him unnecessarily. But she had thought he would scarcely think of Hilda and her children once she had put into his head the idea of another one of his own.

He stared at her for a long moment, working his eyebrows as if he did not know what to think. Finally he lifted them wistfully and asked her, “Have you eaten anything?”

“Not since an early dinner,” she said. “If you’re not eating that, then I shall.”

“You had better,” he scolded. “And then some. And then you shall go lie down a while. Riding up to Thorhold and back in four days!”

“I didn’t fall.”

“Praise God!” he snapped, but his eyebrows betrayed him yet.

Githa bent her head dutifully to the plate and took a bite. He drummed his fingers on the table, but he chewed on his lower lip in concern.

“We’re feeling fine,” she said softly.

That did it. “Oh, Githa!” he sighed and grabbed the hand that she had conveniently left lying on the table beside him. She smiled up at him for as long as he cared to smile, and then he asked, “When?”

“The feast of Thomas the Apostle or so – high summer, that’s when! And I shall be that glad if I can have Hilda to help me out. There’s nothing worse than being that big in the summer,” she sighed wearily.

“That’s so,” Ethelmund agreed, and his brows dipped in worry.

“How should you know?” Githa laughed.

“Because I have to watch you suffer.”

“Hmm!” she said and stopped laughing. “Well, it’s worth it in the end. But, Ethelmund, couldn’t we have Hilda and her children? We shall have the room, even after the baby comes.”

“If it makes you happy,” he sighed.