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

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СКАЧАТЬ if the church should agree to his setting her aside, Richard would never stand for it. He would use such an act as an excuse to ally with the Danish king. They would carve England to pieces between them, something that his own weaker levies and fewer numbers would not be able to prevent. The great kingdom that he had inherited would disappear, devoured by a Norman-Danish tide, and his dead brother would have his revenge.

      His own sense of helplessness infuriated him, and he eased it in the only way open to him.

      ‘This seems a miraculous conception,’ he snarled. ‘Is it mine?’

      When she flew at him he was forced to drop the wine cup in order to grab her wrists and prevent her from scratching his face. The glass vessel hit the stone floor and shattered.

      ‘Of course it is yours,’ she hissed at him. ‘You planted this child inside me the night you used me like a heathen thrall. That deed has stolen from me any joy I might have had in this babe, and for that I will forever despise you!’

      She pulled away, glaring at him with such a terrible fury that he almost pitied her. But unlike the wine cup, Emma did not shatter. There was a strength in her that even he had to admire, but Christ, she wearied him. They were wed – bound by a contract that neither one of them could break in this life. It made him feel older than his years to have to bear the burden of responsibility for the well-being of this girl queen, in addition to all his other burdens.

      ‘You came to England as a peaceweaver, lady,’ he said wearily, ‘to bind the interests of our two lands. And when you took your wifely vows you agreed to be ruled by me in all things, for I am not only your lord, I am also your king. If you would but remember that, you would find the burden of this marriage easier to bear.’

      She made a noise like a strangled laugh.

      ‘Think you so?’ she asked. ‘I expect that it would make your marriage burden lighter, my lord, but it would hardly ease mine. Only death will do that.’ She placed a hand across her middle and lifted her chin. ‘But I am of good cheer. Childbirth often releases a woman from the travails of this life, does it not?’

      Indeed it did. It was how his first marriage had ended, and a similar resolution to this one would not be unwelcome.

      ‘If that is what you long for, lady, perhaps God will gather you to His bosom,’ he sneered. ‘In the meantime, we will leave for Winchester at daybreak. See that you and your attendants are ready.’

      When Æthelred was gone, Emma sank to the floor, resting her head on the seat of the chair beside her and allowing the tears of rage and disappointment to come, now that she was alone. She recalled her mother’s warning – that she would face many trials in her role as queen. She had accepted that truth, yet she had not truly comprehended what would be demanded of her. She had not known then that she could ever feel this wretched. Yet she must endure it, for the sake of this child she bore if not for herself.

      She lifted her head, wiping her face with the heels of her hands and gulping in air to force back her tears.

      She would not just endure it, though. She would not pray for humble acceptance of her lot, nor curl herself into a ball and die, as the king must surely wish. Tomorrow she would return to Winchester, and there she would take her rightful place beside Æthelred. She would no longer relinquish that role to another.

      It would not be easy. Æthelred’s final words implied that he was determined to maintain firm control over her. She must proceed slowly, one tiny step at a time.

      She would begin with her own household – and with the Lady Elgiva. She could understand why Æthelred, or any man for that matter, would be drawn to the woman. She had the kind of allure that tugged at a man’s loins if not at his heart. She had a pouting, rosebud mouth, milky skin, and breasts that strained at the bodice of her gown – bodices purposely cut small to make her breasts more pronounced. It was a seamstress’s trick, and that was what Elgiva was all about – trickery and illusion and deceit. There was nothing honest about her, and Emma wondered if that, too, added to her charm.

      What, she wondered, did Elgiva get from the king, other than his attention? He was free with his gifts, surely, but was that all that Elgiva wanted? Emma did not envy her any golden treasures, for she herself had no desire for presents from the king. What she wanted from him was recognition of her true status as queen, something much more valuable to her than gold or silver.

      She had no particular wish to keep Elgiva from the king’s bed either, now that she was with child. She was determined, however, to keep the woman from the king’s side, for that was the place that she intended always to fill, in public if not in private. She would have to make certain that Elgiva knew her place – and kept to it.

      Elgiva slept fitfully on her cold, uncomfortable convent pallet, waking in a foul mood to the steady patter of rain on the thatch above her head. Her rest had been interrupted ever and again by the snufflings and snortings of the other women housed around her, and by the bells that called the sisters to prayer in the dark watches of the night. Groggy and heavy-headed, she shivered as Groa dressed her hair by the light of a sputtering candle in the pre-dawn dark.

      ‘By the rood,’ Elgiva moaned, ‘we shall have another day of riding in the wet and the mud and the cold. Why did the king not stay in Bath for Easter?’

      ‘You could linger here at the abbey, my lady,’ Groa suggested smoothly, ‘until the weather turns. The rain cannot last for ever.’

      Elgiva shivered again and turned to scowl at the old woman.

      ‘Because the queen goes to Winchester today,’ Elgiva snapped, ‘I cannot very well beg leave to remain here, even if I could abide convent life for another day – which I cannot, as you well know.’

      She despised the strict regimen that governed life within a convent, hated being told what to do and when to do it – all of which Groa knew perfectly well. Besides, she did not dare stray far from the king’s side. There were any number of pretty women at court to catch his eye and take her place if she were not there to keep them at bay.

      Within the hour, after a silent convent breakfast of bread and small ale, the royal company made final preparations for the day’s journey to Winchester. Elgiva had wrapped herself as well as she could in the cloak that was still damp from yesterday’s ride. As she stood amidst the other women in the abbey’s narrow entryway, one of the sisters drew her aside.

      ‘The queen,’ she said, ‘bids you to attend her in the royal wain.’

      She was given no time to reply, and a few moments later she was seated alone in Emma’s cumbersome wagon, awaiting the arrival of the queen and the other women who would attend her. She saw with relief that despite the wet weather the curtains had been tied back to allow light and air – as well as spatterings of rain – into the compartment. She would not mind the damp so long as she did not feel boxed in.

      She wondered if she had the king to thank for this mark of esteem. Grateful as she was for the luxury of cushions and shelter, she would have preferred riding at the king’s side in the rain to spending long hours conversing with her lover’s wife. Thankfully there would be others present, and she would be spared any private conversation with Emma that might prove awkward. Besides, unless Æthelred had succumbed to Lenten remorse and confessed all to his wife, Emma could not be certain either of Elgiva’s relationship with him or her motives in pursuing it.

      Nevertheless, she felt nervous when a figure cloaked in Emma’s familiar, fur-lined blue mantle, its СКАЧАТЬ