Читать книгу The Price of Blood - Patricia Bracewell - Страница 14

March 1006

Aldeborne Manor, Northamptonshire

When Elgiva learned that a messenger had arrived bearing missives from the king to her ealdorman father, she did not wait for a summons to the hall to hear the news. Such a summons, she knew, might never come. Her father liked to flaunt his power by being niggardly with information.

So, with a servant girl at her back bearing a cup and a flagon of mead strong enough to loosen even a giant’s tongue, she entered the great hall, where her father had been meeting men from his various estates. Reeves, grooms, armourers, huntsmen, and their underlings – perhaps a score of men all told – stood in groups about the chamber waiting for an interview with their lord.

Whenever her father was in residence the hall was peopled almost exclusively with such men, and he would not suffer her to stay among them for long. Since she had returned here from her cousin’s nuptials, he had kept her mewed up, out of the sight of these fellows in case someone should look at her with covetous glances.

In his zealous regard for her chastity her father seemed to have forgotten that once, hoping to gain greater influence over Æthelred, he had turned a blind eye while she had been the king’s leman for near a year. No doubt he had expected, as she had, that the king would set aside his Norman bride and wed her. But Emma and the bishops had persuaded the king that his queen could not be easily disposed of and, to Elgiva’s father’s fury and her frustration, the king’s ardour towards her had cooled and she had gained nothing from the dalliance but a few golden trinkets.

Since then Æthelred had shared his bed with an assortment of favourites whose kin were far less prominent than her own, while she was kept like a caged bird under the queen’s watchful eye. And now, even worse, she was spending her days and nights here, fettered by her father’s far too rigorous protection.

As she made her way through the crowded chamber she searched for her father and found him standing in a narrow beam of sunlight that spilled through one of the hall’s high, glazed windows. She tried to gauge his mood from the expression on his face, but it told her nothing. Like his temper, his countenance was ever cold, dangerous, stone-hard, and grim. He was a fearful man to look upon – his face seamed and roughhewn, as if it had been carved from rock that had been cracked and broken. His black hair, coarser than hers but just as thick and curly, was shot through with skeins of white, and the once-black beard was mottled with grey. He was not a gentle man, as likely to greet her with a cuff as with a kiss, although he would welcome the honey wine readily enough.

She took the brimming cup from the servant and, walking boldly forward, she offered it to him.

‘Good day, my lord,’ she said, casting a slantwise, inquisitive glance at the parchment in his hand that bore the king’s seal.

Her father took the cup, drank deeply, fixed her with a steady gaze, and said – nothing.

She waited, silently cursing him for this little show of power over her. He knew what she wanted, yet it amused him to make her wait upon his pleasure.

He drank again, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and waved the parchment at her.

‘I suppose, daughter,’ he said, ‘that you wish to learn what news the king has sent me, eh?’ He bent towards her with a sneer. ‘Trust me, lady, it is of no consequence to you.’ He tossed back the rest of the mead and held out the cup to the servant for more.

Elgiva winced. She had brought the mead to loosen his tongue, not addle his wits. Her father was difficult to deal with when he was sober. He was impossible when he was drunk.

‘Yet it is news,’ she said, careful to keep her voice mild despite the seething anger his bullying always sparked in her. ‘I would be glad to hear it.’ She smiled at him, but he responded with his usual scowl.

‘The king’s second son has died,’ he said, carelessly tossing the parchment to the floor.

She stared at him, willing his bald statement to be a lie even as it echoed in her head. She had thought to wed an ætheling – either Athelstan or Ecbert – for it had been foretold to her that she would one day be queen. How else could that come about if not by an alliance with either the king or one of his sons? But the king, tied as he was to his whey-faced queen and her half-Norman brat, had gone beyond her reach. And now, if her father spoke true, Ecbert, too, had been taken from her.

‘I don’t believe, it,’ she whispered. ‘He was well enough at Christmas. What happened to him?’

‘The missive does not say.’ He shrugged. ‘The king has sons enough. He’ll not miss this one overmuch.’

‘Even so, it will mean a dismal feasting at the Easter court.’ Still, Athelstan would be there and would perhaps need consolation in the wake of his brother’s death.

‘That, too, is of little consequence to you,’ her father replied, ‘for neither you nor I will be attending the feast at Cookham, although it seems the king desires our company. We must disappoint him, I fear, but I will send your brothers in my place.’

He had surprised her again. To ignore the king’s summons to the Easter council was likely to raise suspicions in Æthelred’s already suspicious mind. Why do such a thing?

‘My brothers can hardly take your place, my lord,’ she said smoothly, ‘as you are his most prominent ealdorman, and their counsel can hardly measure up to yours. Besides, why should we not attend the gathering? The queen will have been looking for me to return to her household for some weeks now, and by—’

‘Are you so eager to return to your royal keepers?’ he snapped. ‘Now that I’ve prised you from the court, I see no good reason to take you back there again. You are my property, Elgiva, not the king’s, and I’ll not have my plans for you disrupted because Æthelred decides to take you into his bed again or to marry you off behind my back.’

‘What plans?’ she demanded. This was what she had feared for some weeks – that he had kept her here because he intended to put her to some use that suited his purpose, without caring in the least what she might want.

‘You will learn that when the time is right,’ he said. ‘Until then I will keep you close by my side because I have learned that I cannot trust anyone else to watch over you.’

She glared at him, and he glared back at her, confident, she supposed, that he had kept her blind and deaf, as helpless as a newborn kitten. But he was wrong about that, for she knew more about his affairs than he imagined.

‘I am aware of your frequent dealings with northerners, my lord,’ she hissed, ‘and I’ve heard that even men from across the Danish sea have been in this—’

In an instant he had slammed down his cup and grasped her arm with all the strength of a man well used to wielding a sword. She found herself thrust into a corner out of sight and hearing of the men in the hall.

‘If you cannot watch your tongue, girl, I shall cut it out for you,’ he snarled. ‘And while you’re about it, keep that inquisitive little nose of yours out of my business. I promise you, I look forward to the day when I hand you off to your husband and you become someone else’s problem.’

‘And that day would be when?’ she spat at him. ‘Soon, I think, for I am twenty summers old and you must use me before I am too old to be considered a prize for any man!’

‘You are no prize now, sullied as you are by the king’s lust.’ He gave her a shake, and then, to her astonishment, he grinned. ‘But have no fear, daughter,’ he said jovially, his words slurred and indistinct. ‘Your betrothal is all but settled. In the end, you will thank me.’

He stumbled against her, and she realized that the drink had done its work and more. He would be less careful now about what he said.

‘Who is it then?’ she demanded. ‘Who am I to wed? I will go to him gladly, as long as you have not sold me to some brute of a Dane.’

The words were barely out of her mouth before he’d clamped a hand at her throat.

‘I told you to keep your mouth shut!’ he snarled. ‘Get you back to your chamber, now; I’ve no more to say to you.’

He thrust her away from him and, her mouth set in a grim line, she left the hall.

Her father had not revealed everything, but he had said enough.

He had done the unthinkable – betrothed her to some filthy Danish warlord, some savage with a great deal of gold who wanted to buy a noble wife and rich properties in England. What had been the bride price, she wondered, that her father had demanded for her? Whatever the settlement, it would prove worthless, for she would marry no Dane. She had watched them rape and murder her old nurse, and her father well knew how much she hated and feared them. If he tried to force her into a marriage with one of those brutes, she would murder him with her own hands.

But it would not come to that. The king’s messenger must still be here, for he would eat and rest while a fresh mount was readied. If she could just get to him, she could put a stop to this marriage herself.

She sent the maidservant – her father’s eyes and ears, she was certain – to the larder house with what remained of the mead. Inside her own chamber she went to the coffer that held her most precious belongings, unlocked it, and withdrew a handful of coins. It should be enough, she guessed, to enlist the services of the royal messenger and to purchase the silence of any of her father’s grooms who might be about.

Fearing that she may already be too late, she made her way swiftly to the stables.

The king’s man, she saw with relief, was still there, checking the girth of his mount while a young groom clutched the bridle and spoke soothingly to the gelding. There was no one else about.

She went up to the boy holding the horse, whispered, ‘You did not see me here,’ and pressed a coin into his palm. ‘Understand?’ He grinned and nodded, and she added, ‘There’s more of that for you if you make sure that no one enters the stable while I am here.’

He scurried to the door, and she left him to watch the entryway while she turned to the courier. The man did not even glance at her, clearly in a hurry to be off. She stepped to his side and whispered with some urgency, ‘I am Lord Ælfhelm’s daughter. I would have you carry a message to the king.’

‘Aye, lady,’ he said, his eyes still trained on his task. He continued to busy himself with the saddle straps, and she was tempted to snatch his hand and force him to attend to her. There was no need, though. A moment later, apparently satisfied at last with his mount, he finally turned to face her. ‘What is it then?’

Now she hesitated. What if she could not trust him? What if he simply strode into her father’s hall and repeated to him everything she said?

She studied his face. He was young, barely more than a gawky lad, fair-haired and smooth-faced. Now that he was looking at her, his eyes glimmered with interest and, she thought, admiration. Surely he would be sympathetic to the plight of a woman under the thumb of a cruel father. And even if he betrayed her, no punishment that her father could inflict on her would be worse than a Danish marriage.

‘You must tell him,’ she said, gazing at him earnestly and willing her eyes to fill with tears, ‘that my father has betrothed me against my will to a Danish lord, and that I beg the king to help me, for only he can stop the alliance. Tell him too that my brothers are in my father’s confidence, and the king must not trust them.’ She took the man’s hand and placed four bright silver pennies there. ‘Can you do that for me?’

His eyes widened when he looked at the coins in his hand. She had probably given him too much, but she did not care. If he did as she asked, it was silver well spent.

‘I will give him the message, my lady,’ he said, quickly slipping the coins into the purse at his belt, as if he feared she might ask for some of them back.

‘Can you remember all of it?’ she asked.

‘I have it here,’ he said, tapping a finger to his forehead. ‘The king will have it in three days’ time; I give you my word.’

He nodded to her, and she stepped back as he mounted his horse. Keeping to the shadows of the stable, she held her breath as she watched him ride towards the manor gate. If the gate wards should stop and question him, he might give her away, however unwittingly. But they waved him through, and she expelled a little sigh of relief. She pressed another coin into the filthy hand of the stable lad and, satisfied that she had disrupted her father’s wretched scheme, she returned swiftly to her chamber.

The matter was in the king’s hands now. He would be furious when he learned what her father was planning, of course – would likely impose a fine or confiscate some of his properties just for considering such a move.

Her brothers would likely suffer the same fate. In truth, she wasn’t certain that her brothers were aware of her father’s plans. But if she had accused them falsely, what did it matter? They had treated her badly for years upon years, and now she would have her revenge.

She wanted all of them punished, but especially her father. For far too long he had kept her from his counsels, had plotted her future with never a thought for her interests and desires. He had treated her like a fool instead of recognizing that she could be of far more use to him if he would but confide in her. She would make him see that she was not without resources, make him regret that he had so badly misjudged both her wit and her willingness to bend to his will.