Sigefrith's trip is again postponed

Sigefrith was at Nothelm when the word came, planning his trip to Scotland with Egelric, and enjoying the excellent wine that Alred had won in some obscure wager with Theobald, and whose source Sigefrith had not yet been able to pry out of the Baron’s steward.

Better than the wine was the sight of Egelric almost back to his old self. His skin might have hung a little more loosely, but that could be remedied easily enough by building up the muscle underneath. A bit of sword practice along the way would do for the body, and a lot of laughing would do for the face. Sigefrith thought he could manage to provide both. And a visit with his family always did him good, and would provide anything else that lacked.

Sigefrith too thought he could use a voyage. He saw that the new baby would not be the thing that restored his wife to him. Perhaps time was the only thing that would. But meanwhile he was being worn down.

Caring for her was a little like caring for a three-​​year-​​old. One had to let her go about on her own, but one had to keep a sharp eye on her to make sure she didn’t do anything dangerous or – or wrong. Simply wrong.

She had locked Colban up in the big chest in the bedroom that morning. She must have been playing hide and seek with him, and he must have thought it a fun game at first, but she had apparently forgotten all about him, and gone away and left him there. They had searched all over the castle before Sigefrith had gone up to the bedroom a second time and listened long after he called. He finally heard muffled sobs coming from the chest, and he had found Colban inside, twisted up in his father’s shirts, with red eyes and a runny nose and his sweat-​​darkened hair clinging to his forehead.

“How did you ever manage to get in there, Hercules?” he had asked him when the boy had quieted a little in his arms.

“Mama put me,” he said.

That was wrong, not to say dangerous. Maud had not remembered having put him there, but the boy could never have opened the heavy chest alone.

He was wondering for the thousandth time whether it was right to leave at all when the word came: one of Alred’s servants showed in one of his own men, who had come to tell him that he wouldn’t be leaving just yet in any case.

“Prodigal son of a serpent!” he laughed. Young Sigefrith was home.