Something is wrong with Sigrid

“Alred, have you seen Sigi?” Synne asked when the Duke noticed her behind him and turned.

“Sigi? Why, no, not in a while.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” she sighed. “Please don’t tell Brede I was looking for her.”

“Why not?” he smiled.

“I was supposed to stay with her. You won’t tell, will you?” she pleaded.

“Well, dear, I shan’t lie to him if he asks me whether you were looking for her. But if he asks me, ‘Did you see my sisters?’ I shall say I did not, for I only saw the one of you,” he said with a wink.

“That’s good enough,” she sighed.

“My pleasure. However, I shall tell Sigrid you were looking for her, if I see her.”

“Thank you.”

Synne wandered off again, peering between the bodies that moved slowly now with fatigue and drink, but still laughed and still talked on.

She had lost her sister almost immediately after the fires were lit, to her delight, for it meant that she could go off with Ana and Freya and talk to Malcolm and his brother – especially his brother – without her sister being there to roll her eyes or mock her, as Freya did Ana. Brede too had long since disappeared, and her Uncle Aelfden hadn’t come at all, since such festivities were pagan orgies as far as he was concerned. She didn’t doubt he was at home fasting and fervently praying for their souls.

But Selwyn had finally come to her asking where Brede was, for he was tired and sick from too much cake, and he wanted to go home. Then Synne found herself wishing her sister would come to find her, even if only to mock her, for her great fear now was that Brede would find her alone.

This meant she could not call aloud her name, lest Brede hear, and so she went from friend to friend asking after her. She was about to ask the Countess when Selwyn came jogging up.

“I found her, Synn,” he panted. “She’s over here sitting on a stump,” he said, pointing up to the edge of the woods.

“Why didn’t you simply bring her?” Synne asked, exasperated.

“She didn’t want to come. She wants to go home too.”

“Have you seen Brede?”

“No.”

“Oh, that’s fine! Now we have to find Brede, too. Come on, anyway, let’s go get Sigi.”

“I think she’s sick,” her little brother said as he trotted after her.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She just looked sick.”

“Splendid,” Synne muttered.

Sigrid sat hunched over with her arms clasped tightly around her middle.

“Well, what’s this, Sig?” Synne asked. “Are you sick?”

“No,” Sigrid said dully without looking up.

“You are, too! Look at you. You were drinking wine, weren’t you? Brede told us not to drink any wine! He will be fit to be tied when he sees you! Go get Brede, Wyn,” she said to her little brother, who ran off again. “Well?” she asked her sister. “Did you or didn’t you?”

Sigrid still said nothing.

“What’s the matter with you, Sig?” she asked more gently. Sigrid truly did look ill.

“Nothing. I want to go home.”

“Well, we shall, if we can ever find Brede. Where were you all the time? Sitting here? Well? Answer me.”

“Leave me alone, Synn. I don’t want to talk.”

“Were you sick?”

“Leave me alone!” she sobbed.

“Oh! Fine then,” Synne said, abashed, and sat next to her sister on the turf. She waited for a while, watching the black shapes of the people passing before the dying fire. She thought she could see her little brother flitting here and there in search of Brede. It seemed he would be as difficult to find as Sigrid had been.

She looked up at her sister and saw that she was rocking slightly back and forth, still hunched over on herself.

“What is it, Sig? Do you have your pains?” She waited a moment and then said, “But I thought you already did this month?”

“Shut up, Synn,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Synne said no more, but watched anxiously for her brothers. Something was wrong with Sigrid, and she didn’t want to talk about it, and it wasn’t her pains, so it must have been something grave. Synne was certain she had been drinking wine. But Brede would smell it on her breath if she had. She would let Brede handle it.

Finally she saw the silhouettes of a tall man and a young boy break away from the crowd and come toward them.

“What’s going on over here?” Brede asked. His voice was soft with concern and, she thought, with guilt at having left the three of them to their own devices all evening. Synne didn’t mind for herself – she had had a splendid time – and Selwyn had simply had too much cake, but she was beginning to worry about Sigrid, and wished she had stayed around to roll her eyes and mock her after all.

“Sigi’s sick,” Synne said.

“I know, Wyn already told me. What’s the matter, Sig?”

“I am not sick,” Sigrid said. “I am simply tired and wish to go home.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

“We can go to the castle if you like.”

“I can walk, I am fine, I simply want to go home.”

“So do I,” Selwyn whined. “I want to sleep in my own bed. It’s my last night!” For Selwyn was going to live at the castle as a page directly after the wedding.

“Are you so fond of your own bed after only two months?” Brede asked, amused.

“It’s my last night with my family,” he said mournfully.

“Sigefrith is your family! And anyway, we are only a short walk away, and I’m certain we shall visit back and forth all the time. Don’t forget I had to come all the way here alone while all of you were far across the sea.”

“I know, but you were big,” Selwyn mumbled.

“Come, Wyn,” he said, and he laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You will love living in that handsome castle after living like a little rat in our gloomy old barn for the past few months. Come on, Sig, let’s go.”

Sigrid got up and followed the boys, and Synne walked along at her side.

Brede chattered on to Selwyn about the fun he would have at the castle, Sigrid’s malaise apparently forgotten. This Synne did not like. She was not a spiteful girl and had not hoped that Sigrid would be punished for drinking the wine – or whatever she had done – but she didn’t think Brede was taking things seriously enough. What if she truly were ill?

“Are you all right, Sig?” she asked loudly, hoping Brede would overhear and remember.

“I’m fine,” Sigrid muttered, and Brede, although he had heard, seemed to be satisfied with this, and continued talking to Selwyn.

At home they found their uncle kneeling in prayer, his eyes tightly shut and his flushed face lifted to the ceiling as he muttered rapidly to himself in Latin. He too rocked slightly back and forth as if he were in pain. They knew better to disturb him, and they all passed back into their bedrooms.

“Good night, girls,” Brede said through the door. “Don’t forget we must be up early tomorrow.”

“Good night, boys,” Synne said, but Sigrid said nothing.

Synne wriggled out of her dress at once, but she saw that Sigrid was fumbling at hers with trembling arms. She had been drinking! She had even broken one of the laces somehow.

“Sigrid!” Synne scolded.

“What?” Sigrid asked, whipping her head around. “Don’t watch me undress!”

“I wasn’t watching you undress!”

“Weren’t you? I’m putting out the light.”

“You mean to undress in the dark?” Synne asked dubiously.

“Yes, I mean to undress in the dark. Shut up and leave me alone.”

“Oh, fine then, sourpuss. At least allow me to find my bed first.” Synne climbed into her tall bed and stretched out atop the blankets, for the windowless bedrooms of the dark stone house were stifling in the summer. “All right.”

Sigrid snuffed the candle, and Synne listened to her struggle out of her gown and then climb into her bed against the opposite wall.

“Good night, Sig,” she said.

“Good night,” Sigrid said softly. Synne heard her move around on the bed at first, and then she settled and began to breathe in ragged gasps that sounded little like sleep and more like stifled sobs.