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

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СКАЧАТЬ he motioned for the servants to leave the room, all but the clerks whose duty it was to record what was said here, and what would be decided.

      ‘We are here,’ he said solemnly, fingering his beard, ‘to resolve the issue of the Danes who dwell within our borders. First I wish to discover the magnitude of the problem. What can you tell me?’

      They needed little encouragement, for he had chosen these men with care. Each one had numerous tales of outrage to relate – incidents of stolen cattle, plundered churches, raped women, and all of it the work of renegade Danes. As the stories were told and the wine drunk, the anger around the table rose until it spilled out in curses and calls for revenge.

      Æthelred let them vent their outrage unhindered. He had already made up his mind about what must be done. The creature that had accosted him in the minster square was merely a symptom of a much larger disease. England was littered with bands of restless Viking mercenaries, seasoned warriors with no allegiance to anyone but their own leaders and the gold that was paid them. They had been of use to him once. Now, having proved that they could not be trusted, they remained in the land like a contagion. Men like Pallig, with too little to occupy them and no ties of loyalty to control them, were cankers that sickened his realm. He had no choice but to cut them out before they formed an army and destroyed him.

      At the far end of the table, Eadric of Shrewsbury described the theft of a herd of horses and the torching of a barn, and then slammed his fist against the board.

      ‘My lord, these men live among us, but they remain outside the law,’ he said. ‘They answer to no one. We fear, and rightly, the men of the dragon ships who steal our food, our goods, and our women. But we should fear even more the like-minded devils that dwell among us who do not have to cross the Danish sea to murder us.’

      Æthelred nodded as cries of assent rumbled around the table. It was time for the final act. He signalled to the door ward, and then he said, above the din, ‘My lords, I have myself been the victim of these godless men. They have gone so far as to raise their hands against your king.’ There were shouts of shock and outrage, and before they could die down he cried, ‘The foreign devil that would have slain me stands there!’

      He pointed to the ragged, black-clothed figure that stood in the doorway between two guards. The creature’s reddened, malevolent eyes searched the room, and when they found Æthelred the monster howled like an animal that scents his prey. Straining against his bonds, hands outstretched as he tried in vain to hurl himself at the king, he shouted the Danish curses that had been the only words to escape his lips from the moment he was taken.

      The men seated around the table were struck dumb. The abbot made the sign of the cross.

      Æthelred, assured that his prisoner had had the desired impact, gestured to the guards to remove him.

      ‘You see the kind of vermin that we face,’ he said. ‘His words touch all of us, I warn you, for he threatens death to me and to my council and promises that the Danes will take England for themselves.’

      More shouts of protest and anger greeted this announcement, and Abbot Kenulf, seated next to Eadric, rose to his feet.

      ‘These are not Christian men,’ he said, in a voice that resonated with spiritual authority. ‘Men such as this worship pagan gods and practise pagan ways. They have sprouted among us like cockles among the wheat, and we must rid ourselves of their foul contagion before it grows too strong.’

      The shouting began again, and Æthelred raised a hand to quell it.

      ‘What you say is true, abbot, but the task must be carried out with care and with secrecy. If they suspect that we are preparing to move against them, they will meet us with force.’ And it was all too likely, he thought, that the Danes would win such a fight. ‘It is why I have called you together tonight in such secrecy. I propose to send messengers to my reeves in every town and village where such men dwell. My men will bear writs branding this man and all men like him as traitors to the crown. On a day that I shall name, all across this land they will be arrested and put to the sword. Are we agreed?’

      Eadric slammed the table again and shouted, ‘Aye, my lord! You have my support!’

      In a moment, the rest had followed suit, and Æthelred nodded, satisfied. His prisoner, mad though he clearly was, had played his part well.

      Æthelred turned to the clerk nearest him.

      ‘How soon can this thing be done?’ he asked.

      The clerk pursed his lips, considering.

      ‘We will need at least fourteen days to prepare the writs, my lord,’ he said, ‘and several days after that to deliver them.’ He ran his finger down the page of one of the books that lay open before him on the table, then looked up at Æthelred. ‘Friday 13th November,’ he said. ‘St Brice’s Day.’

      Æthelred nodded his approval. On St Brice’s Day he would be rid of the enemies who troubled his days and tortured his nights.

      He dismissed the councillors and went to his bed – and to the embraces of the Lady Elgiva – well pleased with the night’s work.

      A.D. 1002 The king gave an order to slay all the Danes that were in England. This was accordingly done on the Mass-day of St Brice, because it was told the king that they would beshrew him of his life, and afterwards all his council, and then have his kingdom without any resistance.

       – The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

      

       November 1002

       Winchester, Hampshire

      November was the blood month, the slaughter time, when stock were culled, butchered, and dressed in preparation for the lean days of the winter to come. In Winchester the short days turned cold and wet, but Emma took little note of the weather. She left the palace only to attend services in one of the two great churches nearby, always escorted by members of the king’s hearth guards, for her Norman people had been sent away, scattered to her various properties across Wessex and Mercia. Hugh was gone to Exeter, and Emma missed him most of all, for he had given her good counsel about the management of her estates. Wymarc, she guessed, missed him even more, although she did her best to hide it.

      ‘I could send you to Exeter as well, if you wish it,’ Emma had offered several days before Hugh and his men had departed. She had seen the affection that had grown between Wymarc and Hugh, and although her heart was heavy at the thought of losing her friend, she had no wish to deny her the happiness that her queen would never have.

      ‘Of what use would I be to you in Exeter?’ Wymarc had demanded. ‘My place is at your side, my lady, not in some fortress at the kingdom’s edge. And if you are thinking I’ve a mind to follow Hugh, well, it will do him no harm to discover how dismal the world can be with only English women in it.’

      Yet when Hugh took his leave of Emma, Wymarc had followed him from the chamber, and when she returned her eyes were bright with tears, and she had the rumpled look of a woman who had just been well and thoroughly kissed.

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