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

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СКАЧАТЬ of his mind. He had forgotten that the children would have returned to Winchester, and he followed the sound of laughter into the queen’s garden. There, the sight of his brothers and sisters playing at dodge the ball seemed innocent and blessedly carefree. He was astonished, though, to see that the queen had joined them in their game. It was not something that their own mother had ever done.

      He glanced around the garden, noting the absence of any of the English noblewomen who should have attended the queen. So the rumours that had reached him at Headington were true. There were two courts at Winchester, one made up of the king’s retinue, the other of Emma’s mostly Norman entourage. That, he guessed, was the result of his father’s dissatisfaction with his bride. The king had expected to wed a child who would speak only Norman French, and so could be kept ignorant of the currents of information swirling around the hall and the palace – information that she might impart to her brother and, through him, to the king’s Danish enemies. Emma’s skill at English had astonished them all and must have infuriated his father.

      But if the queen could be a conduit for information going from England to Normandy, and thus to Denmark, then she could be a conduit in the other direction as well. His father, so focused on Pallig and the enemies he perceived within his borders, had probably made no effort to learn anything from Emma about Duke Richard – about his ambitions or his allies. But someone ought to do it, and soon – before the king’s misguided animosity towards his bride made her despise all of them.

      Emma scooped up the leather ball, took aim at Edgar, and threw, but the lithe nine-year-old easily dodged her poorly aimed missile.

      His brother Edward taunted her cheerfully from his position next to her in the circle. ‘You throw like a girl.’

      Emma laughed. ‘I did not have any brothers to teach me how to throw.’

      ‘But you have a brother, do you not?’ Edward asked, deftly using his foot to stop the ball that skipped towards him. ‘Is he not the king of Normandy?’ He hurled the ball at Edgar, but he, too, missed.

      ‘He is the duke,’ Emma corrected him. ‘Normandy is a part of France, and so my brother’s overlord is France’s king.’ Not that her brother ever took much notice of the opinions of the French king. ‘But my brother, like your father, rules a great land filled with many people, very much like a king. He is much older than I am, though. When I was a girl he was already a grown man and had no time to teach me to throw a ball. I am very good on a horse,’ she said, hoping to impress Edward, who was regarding her sceptically. ‘I learned to ride when I was quite, quite small,’ she said, catching the ball that Wymarc, in the centre of the circle, had nimbly sidestepped.

      ‘Then we must go riding this afternoon,’ Edward urged, his face lighting with enthusiasm. ‘It is much better than playing with a ball.’

      Emma frowned, wondering if she should attempt it. She longed to ride, but every time she had even approached the stables here, which lay just outside the palace compound, her guards had turned her aside. They were courteous enough, but they had their orders, and she could guess what they were. The queen must not be allowed outside the palisade – for her own safety, of course.

      If she attempted to visit the stables with Æthelred’s children and was turned away, they would quickly realize that she was a prisoner, and from that deduce that she was an enemy. The bonds between them – so fragile, so carefully forged during their time together in Canterbury – would melt like ice in the sun.

      ‘Perhaps we can go tomorrow,’ she hedged, ‘if the weather remains fine.’ She would have to try, once again, to speak to the king. If she were in the company of the children, their attendants, and a score of guards, perhaps he would let her go.

      She reached to her left to catch the ball that the boys’ tutor had hurled from the other side of the circle, but it bounced against her hand and went off at an angle. Emma turned to retrieve it but drew up abruptly at the sight of the young man who captured the ball with easy grace.

      ‘My lord,’ she said, unsettled by the steady gaze of Æthelred’s eldest son.

      ‘I advise you to take advantage of the sunshine, my lady,’ he said. ‘You cannot count on fine weather for the morrow. I, for one, wish to try one of the excellent mounts that accompanied you from Normandy.’ He tossed the ball to his brother. ‘What do you say, Edward? Shall we take the queen for a ride?’

      ‘Yes!’ Edward said, the ball game forgotten. ‘Edgar must come, too. We do not have to bring the girls.’ His tone became suddenly imperious. ‘They are too little. They would only slow us down.’

      He smirked at his sister Edyth, who wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue.

      ‘We don’t like horses, anyway,’ she said. ‘They smell. And boys smell even worse. We’re going to play with the kittens.’

      She marched off to her nurse, nose decidedly out of joint, her sister Ælfgifu in tow. It appeared that the ball game was over.

      Emma turned back to Athelstan, who, with a quick jerk of his head, sent his two younger brothers pelting for the stables. The sun lit his tawny hair with golden highlights, but that was the only thing warm about him. He did not smile, merely waited politely for her reply.

      She did not know what to make of him, or of his invitation.

      ‘The guards,’ she said, hesitating, ‘will not allow me to—’

      ‘I will take responsibility for your safety,’ he said.

      She understood then. She would still be a prisoner, escorted by the ætheling and his men rather than her Norman hearth troops. Nevertheless, she would be outside the city walls for a time, on her own mount, in the sun and the gentle summer air. It might not be freedom, but it was as close as she was likely to get.

      ‘Do not leave without me,’ she said. ‘I will be with you directly.’ She beckoned to Wymarc and made for the passage that led to her apartment.

      As she hastened to her chamber, her mind was busy. What had prompted the ætheling’s generosity? On the few occasions that she had attempted to converse with Athelstan, he had been civil but hardly warm. She had given up trying to placate any of them – the king’s grown sons, the ladies of the court, the king himself. She felt like a pariah at the table and in the hall, for the king ignored her, and everyone else followed suit. What, then, had prompted Athelstan to seek the company of his father’s reviled queen?

      She could not guess, yet she was certain that he had some hidden motive. Every word, every act, every gesture made at court was laced with cryptic intent. The very walls held secrets. And the king’s eldest son had reason to mislike and mistrust her, for she might one day bear a son to supplant him. She wished that it were not so, that she could ride today with a carefree heart. But she knew better. She would have to be wary.

      Soon the cluster of riders was making its way past the mill, stringing out in smaller groups when they turned south to follow the path of the River Itchen. Emma found herself at Athelstan’s side, with Wymarc and Hugh – summoned by Emma because she wanted at least one of her Norman hearth guards with her – immediately behind them. Edward and Edgar, their rambunctious spirits kept in moderate check by two grooms, rode some way ahead, while the ætheling’s well-armed outriders trailed at a discreet distance.

      As she rode Emma studied the young man beside her, looking for traces of his father. Their colouring was the same – hair as golden as ripe wheat, although Athelstan, like most English youth, wore his cropped roughly about his ears, in contrast СКАЧАТЬ