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

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СКАЧАТЬ that she did not know how to begin. The story of the death of King Edward continued to trouble her, boring through her brain like an insidious worm. She could not forget it, and she could not very well ask the king if it was true that he was a kin slayer and king slayer.

      For his part, he had said not a single word to her, and she began to wonder if he even realized that she could speak his language. But surely, she thought, Ælfric must have told him that. Nevertheless, all that had passed between them so far had been ceremony, scripted in Latin, and neither one of them had strayed from their assigned words. She had been advised that she must wait for him to initiate the first conversation, and so she had done. But the king had remained dourly silent.

      Determined that she would wait no longer, she had been casting about for some topic of conversation, and now she decided to ask about his children. Some of them, at least, had attended the wedding and coronation, for she had seen a flock of gorgeously gowned youngsters, accompanied by what she presumed were nurses and tutors, in one of the side alcoves of the cathedral. She did not see any of them here, though. This was something of a surprise, for she would have expected that at the very least his older children would attend the feast.

      ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I do not see your children here. I had hoped to meet them all today. Are they not allowed to attend the feast?’

      The king, using a large chunk of bread to fastidiously mop up the juice from a thick slice of roasted lamb, attended to his culinary duties as if she had not spoken. She had begun to despair that he would answer her at all when, still attentive to his plate, he asked, ‘Why did your brother send you instead of your elder sister? Had she no taste for the favours of an English king?’

      Emma froze, sensing in his words a danger that belied the casual tone of his voice. So it begins, she thought. Already she must dissemble, tell him enough truth to appease him but not so much that he could guess her brother’s intention to break the pledge he had made.

      ‘My sister and I,’ she said lightly, ‘do as we are commanded, whether it is our inclination or no. We do not ask for explanation, and I asked for none from my brother regarding his decision to send me here.’ In effect, this was the truth. She had asked her mother, not Richard. ‘Were I to guess, however, I would say that he feared that my sister, who suffers frequently from ill health, would not be strong enough to undertake the duties of a queen.’ She thought about what those duties would demand of her before the evening was over, and took another sip of mead.

      ‘Perhaps, then,’ said the king, ‘I should have insisted on your sister as my consort, so that I would not be saddled, as I am now, with a wife who demanded the title of queen.’

      Stung by his discourtesy and his apparent dissatisfaction with the marriage bargain he had struck, Emma could only stare at him for a moment while she caught her breath. Then she felt the weight of the circlet upon her head as well as the weight of her brother’s final words to her. You must demand the king’s respect. She roused herself to respond.

      ‘I expect my brother would have made the same demand, whichever sister he sent you. And as you did not insist upon my sister,’ she said, hiding her displeasure with a smile, ‘instead of a wife who might have been a burden to you, you have a queen who can share any burdens that fate may send you. Such is my wyrd, I think.’ She purposely used the term that Ealdorman Ælfric had taken such great pains to explain to her, hoping that it would goad her husband to courtesy, if not respect.

      Finished with his bread and gravy, the king took up his goblet, and she wondered how many times he would empty it before the night was over. Still he did not look at her but trained his eyes out over the throng of folk in the hall below them.

      ‘You are but a child,’ he murmured. ‘What can you possibly know of the burdens of …’ He stopped in mid-sentence, and his face blanched.

      Emma followed his gaze and saw that a newly arrived group of several men and a lone woman were striding now up the central aisle.

      Æthelred stared at the apparition coming towards him, at his brother’s wraith striding through the smoky haze of the hall. His heart seemed to shatter in his chest, and then, to his even greater terror, he realized that this was no phantom sending. This was a man of flesh and blood. Sweet Christ, this was Edward come alive again from the grave to condemn him. His brother’s familiar visage pinned him with merciless accusation, and although he mouthed a protest, the menacing figure did not stop.

      His grip tightened on the goblet in his hand, and his heart pounded so hard that the girl at his side must have heard it, for suddenly he felt her fingers clutch his wrist.

      He thrust her away from him, passed a hand across his eyes, then looked again. Edward still advanced upon him through streaks of light and shadow, and Æthelred rose to his feet, poised to summon his guards. But even as he raised his hand he grew uncertain, and he checked the cry upon his lips.

      The figure neared the dais, and he saw, bewildered, that it was not Edward who approached but one very like him. And then his confusion cleared and he recognized his son, Athelstan, who, by some trick of chance or the devil, had assumed an uncanny resemblance to the dead king.

      He mouthed a curse at the bitter irony of it. Surely this was another punishment sent upon him, to see the wraith that haunted him in the dark looking back at him now from the countenance of his eldest son. His mind flicked to his queen’s assurance that she would share his burdens. What would she think if he were to share with her the burden of his dead brother’s vengeance?

      Athelstan reached the dais, and Æthelred hauled in a breath. Good Christ! How long had it been since he had last seen the boy? It must be near a year, yet in that brief space of time his son had matured, in looks at least, from boy to man. Why in Christ’s name did he have to look like that man?

      At last he dragged his gaze from his son’s face, and only then did he mark the others who attended him.

      ‘Ælfhelm,’ he murmured, for it was the ealdorman who stepped forward now to bend the knee with the others and speak.

      ‘My lord king,’ Ælfhelm said, ‘I beseech your pardon for our late arrival on this auspicious day. We were delayed upon the road.’ He looked up then with not the least sign of regret evident upon his craggy face. ‘I return your sons to you,’ Ælfhelm said, but he was casting an appraising glance now on the young bride, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘They would greet their new … mother.’

      Æthelred did not reply. His eyes were drawn again to Athelstan, for he still marvelled at his son’s resemblance to the dead Edward. Finally he considered the others. Ælfhelm’s cubs he knew – the two sons and the daughter. He let his gaze linger on the girl briefly before he fixed his attention on his own whelps.

      They should all have been at the ceremonies today. This tardy arrival in the midst of the feast and the scowling faces of his three offspring were meant to underscore their opposition to the marriage. He had been right to think that granting his bride a crown would lead to friction. It had already begun, and Ealdorman Ælfhelm had no doubt fanned the flames of dissension. The old devil would like nothing better than to pit his sons against him, setting them upon him like a pack of hounds.

      Well, let them howl their outrage to the moon for all the good it would do them. The deed was done. They would have to live with the consequences, just as he would.

      He fixed his eyes upon the thunderous face of his eldest son and said, ‘You are welcome to our feast. It would have done my queen greater homage had you arrived in better time, but go, refresh yourselves. We will speak of this another time.’

      He СКАЧАТЬ