The Price of Blood. Patricia Bracewell

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      He did not mention Ælfhelm, but Emma guessed that the name was echoing in all their minds. She did not doubt that the new archbishop had dispensed more than a few blistering words of condemnation into the king’s ear over Ælfhelm’s slaying at Shrewsbury. And when the council session began this morning Ælfheah had made no secret of his conviction that the arrival of the Danes was God’s punishment for the king’s treachery towards his ealdorman.

      Now she called down a silent benediction upon Ælfheah and held her breath as she waited for the king’s decision. At last he waved an impatient hand at her.

      ‘Whether you go to Windsor or Winchester makes little difference to me, but I will ride at dawn. If you wish to attend me to the war council, then make certain that you do not delay my departure, for I will not wait for you.’

      ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said. ‘I shall be ready.’

      She rose to her feet and left the chamber, leaving Father Martin to finish the correspondence they had begun together.

      As she strode through the great hall she heard someone call her name, and when she paused and turned, she saw that Archbishop Ælfheah had followed her from the king’s chamber.

      ‘I would speak with you, my lady, if you can spare me a moment.’

      ‘Of course,’ she answered as they left the hall and entered the shade of the covered walkway that ran the length of the building. She paused there and touched his arm. ‘Thank you, Archbishop, for convincing the king to grant my request. It means a great deal to me.’

      Ælfheah had ever been a friend to her, as well as to the king and to his sons. As they stood face-to-face, his wise grey eyes kind, she could see the worry in the frown that creased his forehead. Of course he was worried. The Danish raiders were heading west from Sandwich, and Canterbury was directly in their path.

      ‘Your request was a shrewd one, my lady,’ he replied, ‘and courageous. Your mother, I think, would have done the same were she in your place.’ He placed his hand upon hers and smiled. ‘Indeed, she is the reason I wish to speak with you, for as you know I am recently come from your brother’s court.’

      ‘My mother is well, I hope,’ Emma said quickly. Ælfheah had brought her several letters from her family, and she had read nothing in them to alarm her.

      ‘She is well, yes,’ he assured her. ‘I think she may outlive us all. She is a formidable woman, and in the short time that I spent in her household I developed a great admiration for her. Your brother is wise to look to her for advice and assistance.’

      ‘He places great trust in her,’ Emma said. Once, she had thought to play the same role, of adviser and confidante, to her husband, the king. Æthelred had quickly disabused her of that idea.

      ‘She has skills that make her particularly valuable to Richard. I happened to observe an audience that your brother held with an envoy from the Danish king.’ Her alarm at hearing this must have shown on her face, for he added quickly, ‘Normandy’s cordial relations with Denmark are, in some ways, to our advantage; nevertheless, the king will hear no word of the envoy from me. What I found of most interest in the exchange, though, was that your mother acted as interpreter. She can speak to the Northmen in their language, and as I listened I wondered if that gift had been passed to her daughter.’

      She looked away from him, not knowing how to answer, not wanting to lie to a man she trusted and admired. But she had kept her knowledge of Danish as secret as she could. Margot and Wymarc knew; and Athelstan, who had guessed her secret years ago. There were two others: Swein Forkbeard and his son, who had held her captive one wretched summer’s day that had seemed to last an eternity. She had not been able to stop herself from cursing them in their own tongue.

      She looked into Ælfheah’s face again, and knew that in hesitating she had already given him an answer.

      ‘I see,’ he said. ‘The king does not know, I take it. But my lady, this skill of yours may be of use to him should he need to negotiate with our enemy! It could earn you a place at his side if—’

      ‘It could also earn me the enmity of those who would accuse me – and my brother – of sympathizing with the Danes.’ It was what Edmund would believe of her, if he knew. It would be like handing him a weapon to use against her and against her son. ‘Although you might not speak to the king of my brother’s dealings with that Danish envoy, Archbishop, others will.’

      His eyes now were grave and she did not wish to hear whatever he was about to say. She did not want this man to think badly of her.

      ‘I recognize the risks,’ he said, ‘but I beg you to give me your trust in this matter. Give me leave to reveal your secret if I see the need to do so. It will not be done lightly, I promise you.’

      She hesitated again.

      She trusted the archbishop, of course, but in the world of the court, knowledge was power. Whoever learned her secret from him would hold mastery of a kind over her, just as Ælfheah did now. Nevertheless, this man was one of the wisest at court, numbered among the king’s oldest friends and most trusted counsellors. It would be wrong to hinder him from using all the tools at his disposal for England’s benefit, should he have need of them.

      ‘I give you my leave,’ she said. Perhaps the situation might never arise. And if it did, she must hope that she could find a way to use it to her advantage.

      ‘I will guard your secret with my life,’ he said, taking her hand and clasping it between his own. ‘I give you my oath on that.’ For a long moment he searched her face, then he smiled. ‘You are very like your mother, Emma, and you are wise, I think, beyond your years. Should you ever again need me to intercede with the king on your behalf, you have but to ask.’ He made the sign of the cross on her forehead, whispered a blessing in Latin, then squeezed her hand. ‘Now I will take leave of you, for both of us, I believe, have much to do.’

      She parted from him to hurry towards her quarters, for he was right – she had a great deal to do if she was to leave with the king at first light. As she walked she pondered all that Ælfheah had said to her.

      She believed that her mother would have approved of her request to accompany the king to his battle council. But if Gunnora had ever done such a thing – and Emma suspected that she had – it would have stemmed from her desire to support her husband and to stand beside the man she loved. In that, she and her mother differed.

      Her own decision was more a matter of expedience. She was the mother of the heir, and so she must, perforce, be the king’s ally. But it was a bitter alliance, for there was no affection and little respect between them.

      He used her body at his whim, but in the four years that she had been wed to him he sought neither her company nor her advice. Her presence at his council table would not change that. Nevertheless, she would learn a great deal and, most important, Edward would be with her, and far out of the reach of his half-brother Edmund.

      Sweet Virgin. She wished that she could trust Edmund as Athelstan did. Certainly she admired the loyalty he showed his eldest brother and she even respected Edmund’s determination to see Athelstan inherit the throne. But he was far too much like his father, and that was the cause of her mistrust.

      She could not dismiss the fear that, like Æthelred, Edmund would not baulk at murder to accomplish his ends.

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