Sir Sigefrith decides

Afterwards Sir Sigefrith sat a long while in his study. Outside the rain continued to fall, and his fire burned unattended until it collapsed into embers. He was glad that it was Sunday, for there would be no one to disturb him. On the other hand, he was sorry that it was Sunday, for there would be no work to distract him.

His first thought had been to ride to his father in spite of the rain. His father’s castle was far enough away that such a visit always seemed to permit him to leave his own problems in suspension while he took the time to consider them.

But then he would have to face his mother.

And worse still than his mother would be his father. Oh, he had thought at first that he could tell his father, and his father, of all people, would understand. But his father would not understand. His father would shake his head sadly and say, “I told you, runt.”

He realized now that what Hilda said was true. Not because she said it—she would say anything if it could hurt him. But if his father could shake his head sadly because Sigefrith had not followed his advice, then it meant that his father too had concluded that he was not a real man. Indeed, he was not.

Where could he go? Whom could he see?

What would Brede and Eirik say? They would want to know how his conversation with Hilda had gone.

What would the King say? He had never lifted a hand against a woman in his life—had never needed to, because all the women knew him for a real man.

Sigefrith had risen at one point and had nearly gone to Alred, but then he remembered how Alred had once tried to explain to him that Hilda was only afraid of being unloved. He had always tried to remember that, and tried to love her, but today he had not tried, had not remembered. What would Alred say? Alred was Alred, and he would never…

Sigefrith realized that among all the men he knew, there were those who would despise him for hurting his wife, and others who would despise him for cowering in a corner with his bleeding head in his hands while his wife laughed at him and left him standing there. There might even have been a few who would have despised him for both, as he did himself.

But what he truly wanted was not the sort of advice or comfort a man could provide. Though he sat a long while before he would admit it to himself, and the rain fell, and the fire burned low, he knew he would rather have tenderness from someone who didn’t understand than the grim fellowship of someone who did.