Alred sees what he should not

Sigefrith and Alred had been together for many hours now. They had talked, and drunk, and Alred had cried and blamed it on the drink, and they had talked some more. 

At first, as they had been drinking, they had talked about their past together, reminisced about the battles they had fought together in Wales, and the mad march years later to Stamford Bridge, and the even madder march afterwards, back to the southern coast where Harold would meet his fate.

They talked about how they had come to this valley, and then they talked about how they could stay, for Sigefrith had decided that it was folly to believe that William could be dethroned. His sons, perhaps, but not William. And Sigefrith wanted to stay. Given a choice between exile in foreign lands and exile in this fertile valley, they had all decided to remain. 

But there was much work that would need to be done. Their valley was difficult to defend if they did not control the hills, and so they would have to build castles capable of withstanding siege. Sigefrith had had a chance to study some of the castles the Normans had thrown up and which they had temporarily lost to the rebels, and he had a few ideas on how they could be improved.

But mostly they talked just to talk. They had to talk, or Alred would scream. His wife was very likely dying upstairs. And they wouldn’t tell him how she was, all through the night. He could only assume that she still lived, because there would be no reason to wait to tell him she had died.

It was before her time, but it would seem that the baby must come. She had been so sick today – her heart beat fast and weak, and her breathing came with more difficulty than his own. Colburga had sent for the wise woman, and the woman had said the baby must come today. He knew nothing more – not how it was done, not what would happen. Colburga had warned him once, twice, three times that it was too early for the baby. What she meant for him to understand was that it was almost too late for his wife. It had seemed as if they were waiting for him to make a choice. But there was no choice to be made. They would save Matilda, or nothing else mattered.

“Alred,” Colburga called softly from behind them. They both turned – neither had heard her arrive. “Here is your daughter.”

Alred didn’t understand at first. He wasn’t thinking about a baby. He was thinking about Matilda. “Is she alive?” he whispered.

“Of course she is, just look at her.”

Alred swallowed. “I meant Matilda.”

“She is alive. Look at your daughter.”

It was the smallest baby he had ever seen. He had seen puppies bigger than that. “Will it live?”

“She may. She cries and sucks.”

The baby’s wrinkled red face looked more like an old man’s than a child’s, but Alred thought she had Matilda’s mouth. But otherwise he could not feel anything for this little girl. “I want to see Matilda,” he said, looking back up at Colburga.

“You take care of your daughter. I shall go take care of Matilda.”

“I want to see my wife,” he insisted. “Has she seen the baby?”

“She has. Take the baby, Alred,” Colburga said firmly. “You stay here until you are sent for.”

Alred took the baby at last and laid her head on his shoulder. It was frightening to feel how limp she was – she had none of the springiness of his other newborns. But she was warm, and her breath was warm on his neck. He suddenly realized that this tiny, helpless thing was the same creature that had kicked so furiously in Matilda’s belly only a few weeks ago. Could she have grown weaker?

“Alred, dear,” Colburga said gently, “take the baby inside and get to know her. You may not have long. You will want to be able to tell Matilda about her.”

“Then let me take her to Matilda,” Alred said, his mind drawn back again to his wife.

“She can’t see her now. Sigefrith, please!”

“Alred,” Sigefrith said. “Come inside to the light and let me see her. It’s cold out here for a baby.”

“Go, Alred. Go! Go!” Colburga said, almost frantically, pushing him towards the door. “Sigefrith!”

Alred stood still. Something wasn’t right here, and he would not move until he figured out what it was. He looked up and saw Colburga making signs at Sigefrith. And then he looked out into the woods behind the castle, where something was moving.

It was a man. A man walking. A tall man in a long cloak. In August. It was the priest!

“You sent for the priest!” he cried, wounded to the heart. “You sent for the priest! Where is Matilda? I will see her!”

“Oh, Alred!” Colburga wailed. “Sigefrith, get him inside!”

“Take this baby!” Alred said, thrusting the baby into her arms so that she had no choice but to take it. And then he ran, and Sigefrith ran after him.

But Alred managed to shut and lock one of the doors in the hall before running on to the bedroom. They would not stop him. They would not prevent him from seeing her. She didn’t need a priest, she needed him!

He burst into the room and pulled up short. The women lifted their heads and gaped at him as one, like a lot of open-​​mouthed squabs in their nest. Only Matilda did not move.

All he could see was blood. All his mind could make of the scene was the aftermath of a battle, with the bloody clothes, and the bloody banners, and the bandages all soaked in blood. No – they were sheets, blankets, towels, and the only casualty was his wife, who lay white and bloodless on her bed. Alred swayed, and leaned forward, and the floor flew up to meet his face with a crash of dark.