Emma issues a command

Sigefrith stood at the window and looked out onto the dawn. It was as bright and as buoyant as lead, perhaps, but after the night he had spent, a relief.

Now he would have to face the day, and the duties of the day, but a day was structured, split up into small pieces that allowed it to be measured, and gave one a sense of progress. The night had been an interminable, unbroken misery.

The door to the stairs opened again. The servants had crossed and recrossed the corridor at his back without attracting his attention, but this time the quiet feet stopped, and a small voice said, “Sigefrith?” That voice was better than a dawn.

Eadgith had come in on her way to see Britamund, as she did every morning. Britamund must have her hair done “just like Eadie’s,” and then there would be a bit of chattering and giggling before they would go with the younger children down to breakfast.

Caedwulf and Sigefrith himself, both early risers, ate together. Sigefrith was usually with Cenwulf by the time Eadgith arrived, but there would be no Cenwulf this morning. Nor did he have much appetite for breakfast. But now…

He turned and smiled at her, but he was sorry that there was nothing he could do about his eyes.

“Oh, Sigefrith…”

She did a thing she rarely did: she came to him unbidden and wrapped her arms around his back, and she allowed him to pull her head against his shoulder and bury his face in her hair.

She knew when to ask what the trouble was, and she knew when the trouble was not important, but only that one was troubled. This was one of the things he loved most about her. He had seen it in the way she handled the children’s little problems, but it was sweet to learn that she could do the same for him.

Her hair was still cold and damp from the winter air, and he took a handful of it and wrapped it over his burning eyes like a bandage, and smoothed it out over his nose so he could breathe through it. It bore both the metallic tang of winter and the faint perfume of flowers, as if she were a hint of a future spring, or the souvenir of a spring past.

She pulled her head away and took his face between her hands. “I don’t believe you’ve slept,” she said when he reluctantly opened his eyes.

“Emmie is ill.”

It was the first time he had said it, and the sound of the words came to his ears as if the voice were not even his own, so unwilling was he to admit it.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered.

“I was up all night with her.”

It was already a relief to be able to tell it to her.

“What about the nurses?” she asked.

“Emmie wanted Papa.”

“Of course she did, but Emmie’s Papa needs to sleep.”

“Emmie’s Papa slept in the chair a little. There will be time for him to sleep when Emmie is feeling better.”

She did not answer, but only looked at him, and he closed his eyes again, all the better to savour her gaze. She was precisely what he had needed.

“May I see her?” she asked, breaking the spell.

He opened his eyes. “Of course.”

He led her back to his baby’s room, and the wise old nurse got up and left without a word. But when he went to peek in the bed, the dark eyes snapped open, and the little mouth quivered, and his baby said, “Papa, I missed you.”

“Already! I only just stepped out, Emmie-​Em. I thought you were sleeping. But I brought someone far nicer than old Papa to see you.”

“Eadie!” the girl whimpered when Eadgith came to look in on her. “Oh, Eadie, I frew up all night!”

“Oh, dear, poor Emmie,” Eadgith said. “Would you like a hug?”

“Oh, yes. And I frew up on Papa but he didn’t mind.”

“Of course he didn’t. You didn’t mean it.”

Emma buried her face in Eadgith’s hair, just as he had a short while before.

“How is young Sigefrith?” he asked her softly.

“I—” He could see her hesitate.

“Tell me, please.”

“He’s not well. I believe Mother is quite worried, though she won’t tell Hilda.”

“I shall go see them later.”

“I hope you will sleep first.”

“I have too many things to do today, honey. Cenwulf won’t come until later, with Ardith so ill. If at all. Then I shall have to go see them, as well, and I suppose I should stop at Nothelm and have a peek at the Old Man.”

He rubbed his hands over his face in exhaustion at the very thought of such a journey. His household had been spared the longest, but now they all had at least one sick child.

“When do you plan to sleep?” Eadgith asked him.

“I told you. When Emmie is feeling better.”

“That won’t do, Sigefrith. You must sleep. Why didn’t you send for Mother last night?”

“Because I suspected your mother was taking care of Siggy. Hilda knows little enough about such things.”

“Well—why didn’t you send for me? Emmie would like to have me take care of her, wouldn’t you, my darling?”

Emmie mumbled her consent.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Sigefrith said.

“Why not? I shall be her mother.”

“You aren’t yet.”

“That is only because my father forbids it.”

He smiled in spite of everything. It was the first time she had admitted that she did not desire the wait either.

He said, “I believe your father would also forbid your staying here without your mother.”

“But certainly, under the circumstances, Sigefrith…! I don’t know much about… about… but surely… just now…” Her freckles faded into her blush.

“Have no fear, Eadgith,” he smiled. “Certainly not, under the circumstances.”

“So! I shall come. I shall bring Estrid with me, to appease my father.”

“Estrid!” Sigefrith rolled his eyes. It was neither himself nor Eadgith that he did not trust, but Estrid and Brede. However, he could not say so to her.

“Papa, please,” Emma mumbled, lifting her weary head from Eadgith’s shoulder.

“Oh! You’ve been listening, have you?” Sigefrith smiled.

“Eadie can hold me when you sleep.”

“And when are you thinking to sleep, Emmie-​Em?”

“I can sleep when you hold me or Eadie holds me.”

“I believe it. But you won’t ‘frow up’ on Eadie, will you?”

“No, only you.”

“Excellent. Well, honey, if my Princess commands it, and your mother doesn’t mind, and Estrid consents, and you insist…”

Eadgith nodded firmly. “Now, kindly go sleep for an hour or two.”

“Only in exchange for a kiss.”

“Oh, no, Sigefrith,” she smiled. “What would my father say?”

“Your father is a far crueler dragon than I ever was,” he sighed.

“You think so now. Wait until Emmie is my age and has a dragon of her own.”

She said it as if there were no doubt that Emma would be her age one day, and the sound of the words came to his ears as if the voice were not her own, but the voice of an angel—one who knew.