The Emma of Normandy 2-book Collection: Shadow on the Crown and The Price of Blood. Patricia Bracewell

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СКАЧАТЬ am in need,’ she said, ‘of information about the English. I must know what their concerns are, what they think, what they believe, and, particularly, what they fear.’ She looked at the priest. ‘Father Martin, I want you to mingle with the cathedral community in any place where you can engage them in conversation. Hugh, I want you to go into the market square tomorrow, down to the port and into the alehouses. Find out what the people of England think of their king. Discover what is being said about his marriage. You must not be afraid to tell me what you learn, even if you fear it will displease me. Do you understand?’

      When she had dismissed them she felt more composed. She had set something in motion, and soon she would have results. She reminded herself that she was not alone here, and that she had resources, if only she took the care to use them.

      The next evening Emma met Hugh and Father Martin in a once barren abbey chamber that her attendants had transformed into a quiet retreat suited to a queen. A brazier burned in the centre of the room, and embroidered hangings covered the cold stone walls. Emma sat in a high-backed chair with cushions behind her shoulders, furs on her lap, and a stool under her feet. As she considered the two men before her, she saw that the priest looked particularly grave, so she turned first to him.

      ‘Tell me,’ she said.

      ‘There are … evil rumours, my lady,’ he said slowly, ‘… about the king, and how he obtained his throne.’

      Emma frowned. ‘But surely Æthelred inherited the throne from his father,’ she said. ‘Ealdorman Ælfric said that King Edgar died young, and that his son was crowned after that.’

      ‘That is true,’ the priest said, frowning, ‘but the boy who was crowned after King Edgar was not Æthelred. It was his elder half brother, Edward. In the cathedral scriptorium there are chronicles that report,’ he paused, ‘unsettling events that occurred in those days.’

      So Ælfric, whom she had liked so well, had told her only part of the truth. Could she not trust anyone in England then?

      ‘Go on,’ she said.

      ‘King Edgar had three sons by two different wives. The middle son died very young, while his father still sat the throne. Some years later, when King Edgar died of a sudden illness, no heir had been named, and the two sons who survived him were born of different mothers. Edward, the eldest, was crowned, but many of the great men in the land questioned his right to the throne, for his mother was not a consecrated queen, and Æthelred’s mother was.’ He paused and heaved a weary sigh before continuing. ‘After he had ruled but three years, King Edward was murdered – brutally, the chronicles say. He was young when he died – only sixteen. It was then that his half brother, Æthelred, was named to the throne by the witan, the group of nobles who advise the king.’

      ‘And what happened to the murderers?’ she asked. As a brother and a king it would have been Æthelred’s particular duty to punish such a terrible crime.

      ‘The murderers were never discovered,’ Father Martin said. ‘No one was punished and no restitution paid.’ He hesitated, his expression grim. ‘I persuaded one of the brothers here, an old man now, to tell me what he recalled from that time.’

      Again he hesitated, clearly unwilling to burden her with his knowledge. Emma waited, her heart filled with misgiving, and at last Father Martin continued his tale.

      ‘It was believed by many that Æthelred’s mother, the dowager queen, plotted the murder of her stepson. That was a terrible time, with bloody portents in the night sky that even the priests could not ignore. I am told that last autumn, just before the dowager queen died, the night skies ran with blood again, although the old man I spoke with did not see it.’

      Emma sat very still, pondering his words. She knew well the power of rumour and superstition. When her father was alive, Rouen had buzzed for a time with tales that he wandered the streets at midnight, going into darkened churches to battle phantoms and demons. Indeed, it was true that her father had visited the churches by night, for his final illness had bereft him of sleep, and he sought the intercession of one saint after another in his search for healing. But the duke had wrestled with no demons, only with the knowledge of his own coming death. The rumours about him had contained a kernel of truth that had been misshapen by wild conjecture. Perhaps this was the same thing.

      ‘How long ago did this happen?’ she asked the priest.

      ‘King Æthelred has ruled England for twenty-three years.’

      She did the sums. Æethelred, who was now in his thirty-fifth year, could have been no more than a child when his brother had been murdered. What possible role could a child play in such a heinous act?

      ‘Tell me, Father Martin,’ she said, ‘do you believe that the king had a hand in his brother’s death?’

      The priest fingered the cross at his breast as he pondered her question. At last he said, ‘This is a Christian land, my lady, yet through all the years of Æthelred’s reign, godless men from across the North Sea have raided and burned and tortured this realm. Why would God allow such a thing, unless there was great sin in the land?’

      And what greater sin, she thought, than the murder of an anointed king? Was this the truth about Æthelred that no one had been willing to reveal to her?

      Her anxiety about the man she was to wed grew, yet troubled as she was, she would rather be armed with knowledge than go to him cloaked in ignorance. She murmured her thanks to the priest. Then, as an afterthought, she reached down and touched his hand. ‘Please pray for me, Father,’ she said, ‘and for the soul of the king.’

      As she turned her attention to Hugh she wondered what horror story he might have to tell.

      ‘The word in the marketplace,’ Hugh volunteered, ‘is that the king has just sent nearly thirty thousand pounds of silver to a Danish host camped on an island off the southern coast. I’m told that the Vikings spent all of last summer burning and robbing in the southern shires, and that the silver,’ he paused and smiled wryly, ‘is meant to discourage them from picking up where they left off when the weather turns fair again.’

      ‘So the king bribes the Vikings to leave his lands,’ she said. ‘Jesu, it is a vast amount of money.’

      ‘Aye, my lady,’ Hugh agreed. ‘And the common folk, and even the nobles, it seems, begrudge having to pay the high taxes that the king has imposed to raise it. They complain that first the Danes raid the land, and then the king’s men come and take whatever is left to bribe the Danes to go away.’

      ‘But where are the warriors?’ she asked. ‘This is a rich land with a wealthy king. Can Æthelred not defend his people?’

      Hugh shrugged. ‘The king has his personal guard, as do many of the nobles, but in times of great need he must summon warriors and arms. By the time word of an attack is spread and the levies called up, the Vikings have taken their plunder and made their escape.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘It is whispered, too, that the king is unlucky. Whenever his soldiers meet the enemy some hapless thing occurs to sway the battle in favour of the outlanders.’

      Was it bad luck, she wondered, or, as Father Martin believed, was it God’s curse? And, merciful heaven, what was the difference?

      ‘My lady,’ Hugh said, ‘my news is not all dismal. There is general rejoicing over your nuptials. The common belief is that the arrival of a new queen can only bring good fortune to England.’

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ