Lady Hedwige begins a new year

Long after the sun had slipped behind the hills the ranges of low clouds had glowed red with its hidden light, but now they hung black and grim in a rapidly dimming sky.

Lady Hedwige was sorry that Lili’s husband’s castle faced west. She would have liked to have been able to look out onto the dawn, when the day was new and still held a possibility of happiness within it. The twilight only sealed the end of another unhappy day.

Of course, she had her beloved daughter, and the death of baby Alaric had reminded her how very dear Brunhilde was to her, though her face was a daily reminder of Friedrich. But Hedwige was a thoughtful, intelligent, educated woman, and she could not be satisfied with motherhood – at least not until her daughter was of an age to converse with her on an adult level.

She also had Lili, but her dazzling sister had a keen interest in people and the present – in living languages, diplomacy and the workings of the world, and even gossip when nothing serious was at hand. Lili did not often care to discuss Roman poets or Greek plays, and she was never interested in speaking quietly with her sister when there was any company to be had at all. Lili did not even allow her to speak with Alred when he came – and he so rarely came!

Though her heart ached for Lili after the loss of her baby, she was forced to admit that she was a little envious of her now. Lili’s own brush with death seemed to have startled her and Egelric into a realization of how much each was loved by the other. Their sudden devotion was touching, but it left little space in Lili’s life for her sister, and it only reminded Hedwige of what she had never had.

Her husband had been stern and distant, and he had met her every attempt at conversation with a withering contempt. All his love had been for his black-​​haired, pink-​​cheeked mistress. Hedwige had been nothing but a womb in a gentlewoman’s body: an accoutrement as necessary to an ambitious knight as a banner, a squire, or a warhorse, but less well-​​loved than any of these.

The sun was long gone, the light was fading, and the sky was nearly as dark as the clouds. There was no longer any hope for happiness in this day. This was hard to bear, for she had hoped… she had thought, perhaps…

Ethelwyn knocked at the door with the gentle tap he used to summon ladies. “My lady?”

“I am here,” she called.

Ethelwyn opened the door and stepped quietly inside. “Supper will soon be served,” he said.

“No guests?” she asked.

“No. But a little, cook-​​shaped bird told me we are having something fine on account of your birthday,” he smiled.

She nodded slowly.

“It’s a shame His Grace has a birthday on the same day as yours,” he said after a moment. “Of course your friends must attend his. And he is forty this year – no one would dare miss that.”

“That is true,” she said. “I forgot how old he was.”

“He’s probably been drinking since noon to help himself forget it.”

“Do you suppose it is so hard to be forty?”

“I don’t know, but I shall be thirty in a few weeks, and I shall give you my impressions of that then. What do you think of twenty-​​two?”

“It is better than twenty-​​one was for me.”

“That’s true. I think that year did not start out well. But now you have a brand-​​new year ahead of you. And nothing bad planned for it, I trust?”

“No! Perhaps there will be happiness in it.”

“That is my wish for you on your birthday, my lady. Shall we go down?”