Sigefrith asks about a letter

“Good morning, Cenwulf. You look grim. Is Witburga no better?”

“I’m afraid she’s worse, though Colburga doesn’t believe it. She is so exhausted now that she can cough without waking.”

“How are Alfric and the baby?”

“They’re perfectly well. I should like to send them away until Witburga is better, but Colburga won’t be parted from them. But Witburga is getting that look that Alred had – where her cheeks and eyes are brighter than they would be if she were well.”

“Don’t worry about that, then – look at Alred now!”

“Alred has changed, though, don’t you think? The shadows around his eyes have never left him.”

“But he’s perfectly fit and beating me with sword and staff again. Don’t forget – he’s getting older. We all are,” Sigefrith sighed.

Cenwulf nodded. But he thought that the wine was taking a greater toll on his friend than the years.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sigefrith said, waving a hand at the table behind him. “I was just writing a letter to my erstwhile squire, and I want to know what to say about these chambers under the court.”

“I wish we had found our two young lovers,” Cenwulf grumbled. “I fear there’s another way in, since the men say that the flags could not have been removed from the trapdoor in recent times. It was firmly shut.”

“We never found one, though. I don’t see how there could be.”

“How did they get in there, then?”

“Perhaps there was another way to open the trapdoor, but the men simply smashed their way in instead.”

“Then why did we see no footprints on the floor of that chamber when we first went in?”

“I don’t know, Cenwulf,” Sigefrith shrugged in irritation. “I can’t explain it either. I would rather forget it. We’ve given the unfortunate souls a Christian burial, sealed off the trapdoor once and for all, and hopefully kept knowledge about the worst of it from all but a few trusted men. I simply want to know whether I should mention it to Theobald at all.”

“Oh, I believe you should. He may have heard something about it that will give us a clue.”

“Well, then, what shall I say? ‘Greetings, Theobald! I hope this letter finds you well. We have recently discovered a crypt of horrors under the floor of the court, where the flags cracked on the night the crucifixes were broken. How are your wife and children?’”

“I believe we could phrase it better,” Cenwulf grumbled.

“I know it! I’m simply frustrated – I’ve been trying to decide what to say all morning.”

“Was the wine intended to make you eloquent?”

“Oh, don’t start that again! Are you my conscience?”

“You have called me that.”

“That’s so,” Sigefrith said thoughtfully. “I shall start asking for Alred in the mornings, instead. He’s my sense of humor. And he doesn’t turn up his nose at a cup of wine.”

“And the two of you never get anything done, with your carousing.”

“Very true,” Sigefrith sighed. “It seems I need you both. Pull up a chair, friend, as long as I have you here. We shall get this letter done, at least.”