The Price of Blood. Patricia Bracewell
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Название: The Price of Blood
Автор: Patricia Bracewell
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780008104597
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‘If our father had taken Ælfhelm’s daughter to wife instead of Emma,’ Edmund growled, ‘there would be no trouble in the north. We need a more binding alliance with Ælfhelm or with one of the other northern lords to keep them loyal to us rather than to their Danish brethren across the sea. It should have been forged long ago.’
‘A marriage, you mean.’
‘Your marriage,’ Edmund said, ‘to Ælfhelm’s scheming daughter, yes. It’s what the girl and her father have wanted since before you could grow a beard and not, as you know, because of your comely face and bright blue eyes.’
Edmund was right about that. Elgiva, she-wolf that she was, had tried to worm her way into his bed for political gain – drawn to his status as heir to the throne. When that had failed she had opened her legs for the king instead, who used her as any king would. Despite that, he would take her to wife if it would ease the situation in the north – and if there was a chance that the king would approve. Which there was not.
‘The king,’ he said, ‘will never allow it.’
‘Then you must do it without his permission.’
‘Sweet Christ,’ he muttered. ‘You know how the king would regard that. He would think that I was making a bid for his crown. I might gain the allegiance of the northern lords, but the king would see it as the blackest treachery. It would rip the kingdom in two.’
‘Then you must reason with him. Convince him of the necessity of a marriage alliance with Ælfhelm’s daughter!’
‘And you think he would listen to me?’ Athelstan barked a bitter laugh. ‘When has he ever heeded any counsel that I have offered? For twenty years he has followed no one’s counsel but his own, and I have not the art to frame my words in a way that would convince him that they sprang from his own mind.’
‘You have to try, Athelstan,’ Edmund insisted. ‘We have to try, and we won’t be without support, I promise you. Ælfmær in the west and Wulfnoth in Sussex would welcome it. Most of the southern nobles would understand the necessity of such a move. At the very least, let us broach to Ælfhelm’s sons the idea of a marriage, and see what kind of response we get. We will have wagered nothing.’
He could guess the likely outcome of that. If his father heard of it, he would deem it a conspiracy led by his two eldest sons. The king already mistrusted him; this could only add to his suspicions.
Yet Edmund was right. Something must be done to prevent Ælfhelm from stirring up trouble in the north. Despite the king’s wrath, for the sake of the kingdom he and Edmund would have to take the risk and raise the possibility of a marriage. He did not see that they had a choice.
March 1006
Calne, Wiltshire
The springtime sun was westering when Æthelred, satisfied with the day’s sport, beckoned his falconer. Before transferring his prize gyrfalcon from his own leather-clad arm to the keeper’s, he spoke a few soft words to the bird. The hawking season was nearly done, and this one had earned his summer’s rest.
All his raptors had done well today – seven cranes brought down. Clean kills, every one.
As he mounted his horse, one of his retainers gave a shout and pointed to a rider who had just topped a nearby ridge and was moving slowly towards them.
‘Someone from Calne,’ Æthelred said, ‘although whatever news he brings does not look to be urgent.’
Soon enough he saw who it was – Eadric of Shrewsbury – another kind of raptor that he had loosed months ago and who was now come back to the lure. What prey, he wondered, had Eadric brought to ground? He had set the young thegn a delicate task, and now he was about to find out if he had been successful.
He gestured to his men to follow at a distance while he spurred his horse towards Eadric. The journey back to the manor would take the better part of an hour, and he and Eadric had much to discuss.
As he drew near to the younger man, he studied Eadric’s handsome, bearded face with its thin, sharp nose and high brow. He’d chosen wisely with this one. Eadric’s dark good looks inspired trust, and he radiated a pleasing charm that worked on women and men alike.
At a glance, no one would guess how very dangerous he was. Eadric, he’d found, was the perfect tool – efficient, reserved, thorough, and, when necessary, casually ruthless.
‘I hope you met with success,’ he said as Eadric fell in beside him. ‘Word has reached me recently that Ælfhelm is planning to bestow his daughter upon a Danish warlord. Can you confirm it?’
‘Indeed, my lord,’ Eadric replied. His eyes, black as a raven’s wing, met Æthelred’s with brutal frankness.
‘You’re certain?’
‘Aye. For some time now, a man who serves Lord Ælfhelm has been carrying messages back and forth across the Danish sea. It is always the same man and he always takes ship from Gainesborough. That was where I spoke with him but seven days ago.’
‘And he told you who is to claim Elgiva and all her lands?’
‘He told me what he knew – that she is to wed someone very close to the Danish king.’
Æthelred gnawed on his lower lip. For the right price, a man might admit such a thing even if it were not true. He wanted assurance, beyond any doubt, that Ælfhelm was planning such an alliance. The man’s vague excuse for missing the Easter court because of pressing matters in Mercia rang as false as a whore’s promises of love. Still, he wanted to be sure.
‘How can you be certain that he told you the truth?’
‘I bartered the life of his wife and her two whelps for the information,’ Eadric said. ‘It took a little bloodletting to get him to speak, but he cooperated eventually. And when, after the first babe was dead and I could get no more out of the vermin but howls, I felt certain that he had told me everything he knew. I had to kill them all, of course, in the end.’
Æthelred grunted. Treachery carried a high price.
‘How long, think you, before Ælfhelm’s suspicion is aroused?’
Eadric shrugged. ‘Some weeks, at least. Anyone who asks after them will be told that they took ship for Denmark and have not returned.’
‘Good,’ he said. It gave him time to strike before his prey grew wary. ‘This marriage must not go forward.’
His greatest fear was that, with a Danish warlord at his side and with the support of King Swein, Ælfhelm would grow bold enough to attempt to wrest all the land north of the Humber from English rule. It had happened before. Fifty years ago Eric Bloodaxe had styled himself King of Jorvik, and although the upstart Viking had been driven from his makeshift throne, the memory of that Norse СКАЧАТЬ