Edris offers no reassurance

Edris stood before the window of her sitting room, looking down into the inner court of the castle.

It was a quiet place compared to the bustle at Nothelm, and certainly compared to the beehive that was the King’s castle. Her husband had almost no servants when she arrived – he had been the only resident of the castle until a few months before, since little Baldwin had been living with his wet nurse before then. He really needed no one in the castle other than his valet, a small kitchen staff, and a few maids to clean. He didn’t even have guards until she had arrived, for, he had said, he had nothing worth stealing.

Now she had a small household to manage, but – thankfully – it was still small indeed. She thought she had made many mistakes with the servants, and she did not think they respected her. But all of them had known her husband’s first wife, and, knowing Colburga as she did, she knew she did not compare favorably. She hoped they would come to love her over time.

She hoped her husband would, as well.

Now she waited for him to return. He was supposed to be home before supper, and they had planned to eat together. She was not sure whether either of them would still have an appetite after she told him what she had to tell him. She hoped that he had had a good dinner with the king, at least. She hadn’t been able to eat a bite alone.

The snow in the court was bright and trackless. There was almost no need for anyone to cross it. They did all of their living in the north end of the castle, where were the gates, the kitchen, the small hall where they ate, her husband’s study, and their bedrooms and sitting room.

The southern half was cold and dark. From her bedroom window, she could look across the courtyard to the blank wooden wall behind which was Colburga’s bedroom. It was a dreadful thought, but she could not help feeling as if Colburga’s body lay within. The place was as sacred and untouchable as a tomb.

Below the bedroom was the great hall in which he would sit with Colburga and their children and their friends in happier days. In the southeastern tower there were the children’s rooms. There were so few approachable rooms in the southern half of the castle that the entire wing had been closed.

And so no one crossed the court any longer, save the cook’s orange cat, who went prancing distastefully through the snow like one of the King’s saddle horses, punching holes in the smooth, white surface with his little paws.

Suddenly she heard the door behind her open.

“Good afternoon, Edris,” her husband said gravely as he came in. “I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Cenwulf, it’s Baldwin,” she said anxiously, without preliminaries.

“Baldwin?” His face paled.

“He’s ill. He’s – he has a fever since this morning. He was so tired, and then, coughs, and so.” In her confusion she was having a difficult time even speaking his own language.

“Does he have the spots?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“In his bed.”

He went at once.

Edris returned to the window and stared out at the snow again. It had been a miserable winter so far. There had been snow on the ground almost constantly since November, and it had melted but once, only to freeze again suddenly and split the stones.

And now there was the illness raging among the children. It started with a fever and red, puffy eyes. Then came the coughing, and then came the rash over all of the body. It had killed many babies among the peasants and quite a few of the younger children. She did not know what was meant when people said that most of the deaths were “babies”. Baldwin was sixteen months old. Was he still a baby?

Cenwulf returned, looking grim. “He’s certainly ill, but he’s breathing well. I meant to tell you something today, Edris, but now I don’t know whether I should. I don’t like to frighten you. However, I suppose you shall hear of it soon, and I should like you to hear it from me.”

He took both of her hands and continued, “Githa Ashdown’s little boy Brandt died last night. Their daughter Kyneburga is very sick as well, and now that Githa has her new baby, of course they are quite worried about him too.”

Edris nodded, trying to look brave. But she felt her hands begin to tremble, and knew Cenwulf must feel it as well. And then her mouth, too, began to tremble, and his face blurred and wavered before her as her eyes filled with tears. “Baldwin won’t die, will he?” she asked.

It was the worst possible thing to say. This man had already lost all of his children but one to illness. Baldwin was not even her son. And yet she was the one seeking reassurance of him.

Colburga would never have done so. Colburga would have known what to say to reassure him, and if she had wanted to cry, she would have gone off someplace to do it alone, and he would never have known.

And yet he did not seem angry or even hurt. He did not answer, but he pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms around her back. He was solid and strong, and she embraced him with relief, and let her tears drop.

It was selfish and weak of her to seek reassurance from him, but he gave it – he did not say that Baldwin would not die, but he gave the reassurance of his strength.

If he cried silently over her shoulder, she never knew.