Maud watches

Maud had spent many hours in this way, over many days, standing in the west window and looking out onto the road and the land beyond. She could have told the daily habits of half the kingdom by now, as they came and went by the road and by the gate.

She knew that Alred went out almost every dawn for a gallop over the bronze and green of the downs. She saw Cenwulf riding up in the morning to see Sigefrith, who awaited him in the chamber next to this, and then would hear his deep voice rumbling behind the door, accompanied by Sigefrith’s baritone.

She saw the farmers fanning out across the fields as the sun rose, and saw their women bringing them their dinner when the sun was at its highest.

She saw how the brown grew and spread every day as the gold was harvested, and she saw the hayricks growing up like mushrooms that were taller than men.

And, from this height, she saw how the leaves on the topmost branches of the trees were beginning to turn, and how the September moon was growing full and bright, giving the farmers enough light to work after supper if they would.

A year ago at this season and beneath this moon she had been with Malcolm. And she had thought that this year…

But there was still no sign of Malcolm, nor of Colban, nor even of Egelric. Sigefrith had told her that Egelric had hinted to Alred that he planned to marry while there. Did that take long in Scotland? Perhaps someday she would learn for herself…

But that thought would lead to others more precipitous, and sinful though she knew herself, she always skirted around the edge of these. She had never even seen Sigefrith ill. No doubt he would have his threescore and ten years, and if she herself lived she would see him gather Caedwulf’s children’s children onto his old knees.

Her future lay spread out before her as far as the darkening horizon, as bleak as the stubble fields. She knew she could not leave Caedwulf and Britamund, but she could never be truly happy here.

By the red twilight she could see the black dots of farmers converging on the roads like the ants in her garden coming together upon some secret signal and following one another to food. A smudge of smoke topped the chimney of each hut as their wives warmed their soup. Did such people love as she loved? she wondered. Did anyone?

He would have to come soon. She could not convince Sigefrith that the baby was ill for much longer. This room had been an incredible piece of luck, though she had not thought it so at first when Colban lay burning with fever. This year there would be no slipping away from her bed and sneaking into the nursery to lie with Malcolm on the rugs—he could join her in her bed, here.

And he could hold his son all night if he would. How she longed to lay Colban in his arms! She thought that this might make her happier than to lie there herself. But if he came—if he came!—they both would.

The moon was as golden as the elder Colban’s cat eyes, and the night was deep, and the land was empty. They would not come this day. She would have to put off until tomorrow her hope that this long separation would end.

She could feel how, as dearly as she wanted to see Malcolm, this waiting with some hope of seeing him was more painful than living as she had before Colban was born, with the thought that she would never see him again. The very idea that her suffering would soon end caused it to renew itself daily when the moon rose over an empty road, and she went to her bed alone. It was the same sorrow, the same emptiness, but now it struck her every night with all the force of the first night she had spent without him.

This is how she lived now, over many hours and over many days, lying at night with that sorrow draped heavily over her, and standing at the window all through the bright day with the hope—more heart-​rending than the belief that it would never end, harder to bear than the sorrow itself—that it could drop from her at any time.