Leofric comes back to himself

Leofric watched himself walk down the narrow corridor. His body had been like an awkward puppet at first, but now it moved almost on its own. He spoke almost without thinking, and he worked as if he were another man under his own orders.

It was the only way he could live. His mind – his soul – his true, living self always surged ahead across the span of hours that separated him from dinner. It was only at dinner that he lived; the rest of the time he waited, and his body worked and spoke and slept and gradually caught up with him until they met again at dinner of the following day.

The dinner hour was the one time he could be certain of seeing Matilda. She took breakfast in her room and often supper as well, though from what he had gathered she did not eat both – or either meal – every day.

She worked with her steward and her reeve, and so he scarcely needed to bother himself with the affairs of Nothelm. Meanwhile he – or his puppet body, rather – was tremendously busy with his own affairs and those of the King, and he went by Bernwald to help Edris with what he could. He never saw Matilda during the day.

Nor did she ever come again to the little green-​​lit study to interrupt a game of chess, nor his silent vigils on the nights when Dunstan slept. Nevertheless he did not fail to wait.

There was only the dinner hour, when she would come in from her daily inspection of the fields, still pink-​​cheeked and magnificent from her ride, and preside over her table. He tried to arrive before she did. For a moment, before she had settled into her domesticity again, she was yet a little wild, and that was the crowning moment of the day.

Of course, she never spoke to him unless politeness demanded it. He was seated at the far end of the table, as far away from her as he could be without sitting in her husband’s chair and facing her down the long row of heads bent over their plates.

Dunstan sat in Alred’s chair now, and Leila sat across from him instead, but he didn’t even need to turn his head to see Matilda. He would occasionally risk a brief glance in her direction, and his eyes would light upon some feature of hers that would remain in his vision long after he turned them away. He could then stare into his cup and contemplate her long nose, or her little, pointed chin, or the way she threw back her shoulders when she laughed, or the blinding whiteness of her breast–

For she laughed again, and showed off her shoulders and breast again. She was herself again, as nearly as one could tell from this distance. Something he had said had released some hidden spring in her. Her pride, no doubt, had been wounded. Her pride, no doubt, was the only thing he could touch. She would not let herself be despised by a man she despised.

Still, he was well-​​satisfied. She was magnificent again, and he knew he had at least that much power over her. She despised him, but he was not nothing to her.

He watched his puppet self walk down the narrow corridor. He was not likely to meet anyone here, but he did not dare let his puppet mind wander into betraying his distraction.

Thus he was able to stop and wait when he heard the latch of the door at the other end of the passage. Someone had come up the stairs he was about to descend. Someone would be surprised when he or she came blundering around the corner. His puppet self was alert and ready.

His living self was not. It was Matilda.

Fortunately only she, who was walking, betrayed her surprise. She hesitated for a moment, but he saw her realize that the only way for her to go and retain her pride was straight ahead. She threw back her dark head and this she did.

“Leofric.”

“Matilda,” he bowed.

“I was going to see Baby,” she explained.

“I am just coming from Baby’s room, and I am now going to sit by the pond and take some air before dinner. Would you care to join me afterwards?”

Had his puppet self managed that on its own? He himself certainly had not had the intention to invite her, nor the presumption – nor the courage, if truth be told.

“But I am just coming from the pond,” she said, and a smile wavered on her lips.

“Ah,” he said. “If I had left a moment earlier I might have met you there.”

“And if I had, I would have met you in Baby’s room.”

“Instead we meet half-​​way. I like that,” he smiled. She only looked away. “Will we see you at supper?”

“I think not,” she murmured. “I’m not hungry.”

“You will eat something, I hope?”

Her eyes flashed. “Who are you to be – ” Her eyes dimmed and looked away again.

This was unexpected. In the past days she had found her old pride again, and he had thought she had erected it specifically against him. But now that he had her alone, it had fallen away, or had failed her when she tried to lean upon it.

She stood before him almost humble, and he was dazed. She appeared as she did in his stolen glances at dinner time, but he saw her all at once: a confusing mosaic of lovely features atop a swath of red.

His living self came rushing back from whence it waited, at tomorrow’s dinner hour. He felt his own solid self more certainly than he had in weeks. He was a man, and he could feel how his broad shoulders spanned the narrow corridor nearly from wall to wall. She could not get past him unless he let her. He had at least that much power over her.

“You shall come to supper,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see you eat. And because I want to see you.”

“I shall eat in my chamber.” She would not look at him.

“You don’t want to see me?”

“I am not hungry, but I shall eat because you asked me to.”

“Are you saying I should be satisfied with that?”

She stared at the wall. Her head was low, but it was not the weary, listless droop of weeks past. She was proud, but she was sad.

The fine point of her little chin made her seem perilously delicate. It was all he could see. It trembled like a drop of water at the tip of a leaf.

“I want to see you,” he repeated.

“I can’t bear it,” she said softly.

“Seeing me?”

“So many people,” she whispered.

“We’re alone now.”

“Not now. I must go.” She moved slightly as if she meant to walk past him, but he still blocked the corridor with his body. However, she finally looked up at him.

“Later,” he said. “Tonight. You know where I am to be found.”

“But Dunstan…” She flushed.

“Here, then.” He reached out and laid a hand on the door closest to them. He knew it for the room where he had once slept when Cedric and Raegan were ill and Leila was caring for them through the night. He knew that it was currently empty. He knew that no one came down this hallway at night.

She stared at his hand on the door, and he held it there as long as she stared. She hesitated, trembling in her whole body like a drop of water hanging over a void, and then, with a nod, she let go.

He removed his hand, and now that he stood turned slightly towards the wall, he had opened up enough space for her to slip past him. She lifted the hem of her gown and ran. The hollow floor echoed with the tap-​​tap of her little boots.

He stood and watched her go. She had nodded. He was certain he had seen her nod.

His living self surged on ahead to midnight.

His puppet self stood forgotten in the hall.