The Price of Blood. Patricia Bracewell

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СКАЧАТЬ men whom Athelstan knew well, but when he probed their faces, they did not meet his eyes.

      His palms began to sweat. He had often been called to answer to his father for what the king considered misdeeds, but there had never been armed men at his back before. He looked a question at the king, but his father’s eyes were fixed on Ælfhelm’s sons. Following that glance he saw a fine sheen of sweat on Ufegeat’s forehead, and next to him Wulf’s face was so pale that it looked to be carved from wax.

      A thin shaft of fear sliced through him, and he cursed under his breath. There was some undercurrent here that he could not read, something to do with the sons of Ælfhelm and, likely, their father. He recalled now what Edmund had told him in London about trouble in the north, and recalled as well the many rumours that had sifted through the hall like smoke today – rumours about Ælfhelm’s absence from this gathering that, like a fool, he had not heeded.

      It would not surprise him to learn of some treachery that the ealdorman was planning. For a long time now he’d had his own doubts about where the man’s true loyalties lay, although he had never been able to prove anything. If the king had discovered that Ælfhelm and his sons were plotting some move against him, then he and Edmund might well be deemed guilty by association.

      Anxiously he watched his father, who rested an elbow on the arm of his chair, fingered his beard thoughtfully, and addressed Ufegeat.

      ‘I would know,’ the king said slowly, ‘what it was that you and my sons were discussing in the hall.’

      His tone was not threatening, but Athelstan knew his father, knew that it was a ploy – a swordsman’s feint to disguise a second, far more lethal, thrust. He stepped forward to give his own explanation, but the king raised a hand to stop him.

      ‘I wish to hear it from the son of Ælfhelm,’ he said.

      Ufegeat cleared his throat, and the noise of it was loud in the chamber’s tense silence.

      ‘The æthelings,’ he said, ‘broached the subject of a marriage alliance with my sister. They wished to know if we would support it.’

      ‘My lord,’ Athelstan began, but his father’s quelling hand silenced him yet again. He cast a nervous glance at Ufegeat.

      ‘And what was your response to my sons’ proposal?’

      ‘My first question, my lord,’ Ufegeat said, ‘was whether you would agree to any such betrothal. I reminded your sons that it breaks with custom for an ætheling to wed while his father still lives.’

      There was censure in his voice – disapproval of anything that might defy the king. Athelstan glared at him, but Ufegeat ignored him.

      ‘Indeed, it does break with custom,’ the king said. ‘But you have another reason, do you not, for rejecting such a proposal? Is not your sister already pledged?’

      And there was the second sword thrust. Stunned, Athelstan gaped first at his father, then at Ælfhelm’s sons to see their response. Ufegeat’s face had become a blank wall. Wulf, though, looked like he was going to be sick. Was it true, then? And if it was, who had bargained for Elgiva’s hand?

      ‘My lord,’ Ufegeat said stiffly, ‘I cannot say what arrangements my father may have made regarding my sister. He does not apprise us of every plan that he undertakes.’

      ‘No,’ the king said, his face thoughtful. ‘Perhaps not. A wise father does not share all his secrets with his sons.’

      His eyes, hard and mocking, flicked towards Athelstan, who flinched as the barb struck home. His father had a great many secrets that he kept from his sons.

      The king turned to Ufegeat again. ‘Yet your sister appears to know something of your father’s intentions,’ Æthelred observed. ‘Surely you do not expect me to believe that Ælfhelm would confide in his daughter and not in his sons?’

      Ufegeat shrugged. ‘Elgiva is but a woman, with a woman’s desires and a meagre understanding of the affairs of men. She longs to wed, to be sure, but I cannot speak to what fantasies she may have spun from the whispers of servants and from her own feverish imagination. I certainly will not be held to account for it.’

      ‘Ah, but you will, my lord,’ the king said, his bland voice belying the threat in his words, ‘as will your father and this brother of yours.’ He raised his hand and the guards took hold of Ælfhelm’s sons.

      Ufegeat resisted, struggling against his captors until one of them cuffed him about the face.

      Staggering, his mouth bloody, Ufegeat cried out, ‘We are guilty of no crime, my lord. You cannot prove that we have done anything wrong.’

      ‘Yet I deem you guilty of treachery against my throne,’ and now the king’s voice was sharp as steel, ‘and in this I am your only judge.’ He gestured to his retainers. ‘Take them.’

      Athelstan watched, his gut churning, as the king’s men dragged Ælfhelm’s sons from the chamber. They were not gentle. Ufegeat and Wulf tried to protest and were silenced with vicious blows.

      When they had gone he turned to stare at his father, who was still flanked by two of the guards and who was eyeing him now, wolflike, as if taking the measure of a rival.

      Would he and Edmund be dragged off as well, locked away until his father decided on their punishment? And if so, for what? He still did not see what Ufegeat and Wulf had done that was so wrong.

      ‘What is their crime?’ he asked.

      The king reached for the wine cup at his side, drank deeply, then set the cup down so hard that the sound made Athelstan flinch.

      ‘Ælfhelm has betrothed his daughter to a Danish lord,’ his father said, ‘and they were privy to it. You saw their faces.’

      If it were true, it would explain the ealdorman’s absence from court as well as his sons’ terror at being hauled before the king.

      ‘Are you certain?’ he asked.

      ‘The lady herself sent me word, insisting that her brothers could not be trusted.’ His father’s voice was sardonic. ‘Is that good enough for you?’

      ‘My lord,’ Edmund said, ‘there must be a blood alliance between your line and that of Ælfhelm. It will garner you the support of all the Mercian nobles against any other—’

      ‘Support for me?’ the king cried. ‘And what guarantee can you give that they would not support whoever weds Ælfhelm’s bitch?’

      There it was again – that suspicion that always lay like a wide gulf between them.

      ‘We have sworn our allegiance – to you and to Emma’s son,’ Athelstan protested. ‘We are not traitors.’

      ‘Aye, so you say,’ his father scoffed. ‘But actions speak louder than any vow! You would have conspired against me with Ælfhelm’s sons had they not had schemes of their own in hand! If what you intended was in my interests, Athelstan, why did you not speak of it first to me?’

      ‘And what would you have said to such a plan?’ he demanded. ‘You would have humiliated me by saying it was foolish, then you would have accused me of disloyalty. What must I do, my lord, СКАЧАТЬ