The Forever Queen (10 page)

Emma took the hand with a pleased but embarrassed smile. She felt she had to say something significant. What?

“I had no more say in this marriage than did you or your brother. It was not my wish to be married to your father, nor that a son of mine might replace Athelstan’s position.”

Not wanting to offend, Edmund rubbed his hand across his mouth and chin, was wary with his reply. Finally, with a grin, he responded, “You might have courage, but you also have the empty brain of a barnyard hen! I can see, if I am going to make a half-decent Queen out of you, I will have to start teaching you some basic rules.”

At Emma’s puzzled frown he laughed, a belly-rumble of amusement. “You must learn to look to yourself before bothering with the fate of others!”

Emma frowned, considered, said, “Is that not somewhat selfish? Is it not my duty to care for the welfare of those who require the protection of their sovereign Lady?”

“Aye, it is selfish to ignore the need of the poor or the sick, the young, old, and those worse off. But it is not selfish to grab hold of all you can—and keep tight hold of it—among the fools who inhabit my father’s court.”

“You are going to be a Queen,” her mother had said. “All will look to you for guidance and instruction.” It had not occurred to Emma, then, to ask her mother from where she was to obtain the knowledge, inner energy, and emotional stability to do what was expected of her. If it were to come from God, then He had, thus far, been most lax in His instruction.

“And what of Athelstan?” she asked.

“Athelstan,” Edmund countered, “likes to think that I do as he bids. For the most part, I do not disillusion him.” He grinned. “For the rest of it, he can go boil his head. Like I said, to survive you have to do what you want, not what others have in mind for you.”

Godegifa was almost hysterical as she entered Emma’s chamber. She strode through the door, her hands gesturing wildly. “You could have been killed, and I would have been blamed. I have always said you are a thoughtless child.”

Emma would have been flattered had she thought the agitation was for her benefit. Sitting on the bed, she continued removing her outdoor shoes, replacing them with soft squirrel-fur slippers. The toe of one, she noticed, was slightly mauled. She smiled; Saffron’s contribution. The pup was at that annoying stage when she would chew anything left lying around. She had ravaged one of Æthelred’s boots the other night; Emma had been horrified, convinced her husband would take his anger out on her, but to her surprise he had merely laughed and tossed the other boot to the dog, declaring the animal might as well have both of them. It seemed odd that her husband was so kindly disposed towards the waywardness of animals and yet was so indifferent with her and his eldest son. She assumed he was disappointed with her. Was he also disappointed with Athelstan?

On Emma’s behalf, Gunnhilda answered Lady Godegifa’s bluster. “We are quite safe. My daughter is upset from the experience, but her nurse is taking care of her. We thank you for your concern, however.” As sarcasm went, it was blunt and to the point.

Indicating to one of the younger women that she would appreciate a goblet of wine, Emma accepted the drink and sipped at it. Her hands were shaking; if that swan had caught her with a backlash from one of those powerful wings…Emma composed herself. The child could have been most dreadfully injured.

“Edmund is spreading talk of it all over the place!” Godegifa retorted irritably, aware that Gunnhilda had reprimanded her discourtesy. “What will the King think when he hears? He will want to know why I was not with you.”

“There is nothing to be alarmed over,” Emma stated, wishing the subject could be dropped. “I expect he will realise that Edmund, in the way of boys, is exaggerating the incident into something it was not.”

The elder woman was not listening, her discomfort heightened by fears that had been swelling out of all proportion these last few weeks. Her husband’s position within Æthelred’s favour was becoming daily more precarious; there had been another disagreement between them yesterday evening, resulting in Alfhelm taking his temper out on his wife. Would he blame her for any harm that might come to the Queen? The girl’s well-being and education had been pressed into her care, although she had frequently stated she did not want the responsibility. Alfhelm had waved aside her protests: typical man, never stopping to consider the consequences if things went wrong.

Mindful of Gunnhilda’s sharp tongue, Godegifa expressed her relief for the girl, but added, “It is well no one was hurt, but where was your guard, madam? That fool, Leofstan Shortfist? He is slovenly and useless. I shall see he receives a flogging.”

Emma swung around, angry. “It was not Leofstan’s fault; he was too far away to help.”

Godegifa seized on the excuse she needed to shift blame from herself. “Then he should not have been! What if you had been attacked, not by a swan but by a man?”

Emma’s impatience was rapidly expanding into fury. She felt the wrath building inside her, ready to spew out like a poorly sealed jar of over-fermented beer. If this insufferable woman said one more word…

“The swan will have to be dealt with; we cannot have a rogue bird on the river. Have you thought to order its destruction? Oh, leave it to me. I will see to it.” Unaware of Emma’s building hostility, Godegifa headed for the door, was stopped short as her friend Ethelflad hurried in, her appearance disheveled, her manner as agitated as her own had been.

“There, you see.” Godegifa turned to face Emma, her arm flourishing a dramatic gesture. “Here is another in distress over your narrow escape from mortal injury.” To Ethelflad announced, “The Lady is unharmed, although she does not seem to appreciate the danger she had placed herself in.”

Ethelflad faltered, puzzled. “What in God’s name are you prattling about? It is my brother’s position that is in danger! Æthelred is threatening to banish him into exile. Go, please, to beg your husband to support Leofsige’s innocence. He has been unjustly accused.”

Gathering her gown as if avoiding contagion Godegifa stepped back a pace. “And taint ourselves with your misfortune? I think not! Alfhelm warned Leofsige to be wary of overstepping the boundary, but your brother never was one to listen to sense. He is as foolish as you are.”

For a moment Ethelflad stared at the woman she had thought was a friend, then swept past and sank to her knees before Emma. “My Lady, I plead with you to intercede, to petition your husband into rethinking this madness! My brother was but doing his duty as an Ealdorman.”

From across the room Gunnhilda said scornfully, “By hanging a royal appointed reeve in front of his wife and children? Without the legality of a trial?”

Ethalflade turned her head quickly towards the Danish woman, retorted with as much scorn, “The man refused to obey my brother’s orders and evict a family who had not paid their rent. He was insubordinate.”

Emma withdrew her hands from Ethelflad’s and wiped the intrusive feel of sweat from her palms onto her gown. How dare they? How dare these two conceited, assuming women attempt to use her so blatantly?

“I have heard what happened,” she stated. “I have learnt enough English to comprehend the whispered conversations and aggrieved protests rustling through my husband’s court. Is it not equally as insubordinate for your brother to presume the duties of an anointed King?” She looked across at Gunnhilda. Announced, “Word appears to be spreading of our afternoon’s excitement, Gunnhilda. Your husband will most assuredly hear of it and grasp the wrong end of the spear.”

Ignoring the woman kneeling on the floor, she stood, went to her friend, said, “You look exhausted. Until my physician arrives, rest on my bed. I shall personally seek Pallig and send him to you.”

Walking to the door, Emma smiled at the apprehensive Leofstan, hovering on the threshold, his hands clenched, hopping from foot to foot. He was eight and ten years old, anxious to please, scared to offend, and mortified to have failed. His worry turning to a radiant grin as Emma laid her hand on his arm, her words leaving him uncompromisingly devoted to her service.

“I am more than satisfied with your ability, Leofstan, and I am full aware that neither you nor any of my men would knowingly allow harm to come to me. You shall escort me to find Pallig.”

Appalled at being ignored, Ethelflad scrabbled to her feet. “But you cannot…”

Swivelling on her heel, Emma interrupted, furious, “What can I not do, madam? Your brother took it upon himself to hang a King’s man. The King’s reeve, not your brother’s. He hanged a man who had the right to a trial of judgement. Aside from that, why come to me for aid? You and Godegifa have often expressed the opinion that I am a child with no sense or intelligence, and that Godegifa’s daughter would have made a better Queen than I. I suggest, therefore, you seek her aid, not mine.”

Darkness had fallen an hour ago. The shutters had been closed at dusk, candles and lamps lit. Emma sat before her table, dressed only in her under-shift, with a soft lamb’s-wool mantle draped across her shoulders, her hair hanging unbraided. She had been combing it, but her hand had paused at the sound of the door-latch lifting, the tread of boots coming into the room. Æthelred. What would he say about her afternoon’s escapade? Despite the bravado she had shown to Godegifa, she had been aware of the probable disapproval by her husband. She smiled at the only serving maid, a girl of no more than her own age.

“Merci bien, you may leave me now the King has come.”

The girl, with a wary glance at Æthelred, bobbed a curtsy and withdrew.

Æthelred helped himself to wine, sat on the edge of the bed to drink it. There was something different about him tonight, something less intense. He bent down to fondle Saffron’s ears, then rub at her belly as the dog rolled onto her back, her absurdly large paws waving in the air.

“Dog’s as daft as a mooncalf,” he said. “She’ll have no sense for hunting.”

“But I do not intend to use her for hunting,” Emma answered, surprised at her audacity. “You have better dogs for that task.”

Draining the goblet, Æthelred agreed affably. “You are right there, plenty far better than this runt.” He glanced up at Emma, looked away. “Would you like to come hunting with me? I’ve not had a chance to show you much sport yet, but now it is unlikely that bastard pain in the backside, Forkbeard, will be troubling us, I can devote some of my time to you.” He set the goblet down, started to unlace his tunic. “I heard of your exploits today,” he remarked casually, without raising his eyes. “There has been talk of nothing else. You are quite the heroine.”

His fingers stopped their fumbling; he looked at her from across the room, his eyes meeting hers, aware he had treated her poorly these short months of marriage. He had not meant to; it had been the pressure of that damned Danishman nagging at him, the knowing it would be impossible to gather an army together and see him off, once and for all. He felt inadequate and useless when those Viking longships were prowling the coast, and had a desperate need to prove his power and importance. He had never been permitted the initiative before, not while his mother had lived. Power? Importance? What did he know of either? She had held the reins of both in her talons, tossing him a chewed bone occasionally as compensation. Him? King? The only thing of kingship he had held were the symbols, the sceptre and the crown. Ælfthryth had taken everything else from him and used it for her own gain. From childhood she had controlled and commanded him, down to choosing which women should share his bed and bear his children. And when the first son came, had taken him too. Oh, he knew they whispered and sneered behind his back, mocked him, insulted him because of it. As a counter, he blustered and shouted, ruled his kingdom by pretence of wrath. Then he got drunk and took his impotence out on those who could not answer him back. Proved his manhood where he could, in bed.

He attempted a weak, apologetic smile at Emma. She was a child; it was not her fault he had no idea how to govern a country or plan a successful counter-attack on Viking raiders, that he had to rely on the judgement of others. Others who were too busy lining their own money chests or working their way, rung by rung, up the ladder of power.

He stepped behind her, took the comb, and lifted a strand of her hair. He stroked the comb through the softness, enjoying the silk feel on his fingers, the smell of scented herbs. He had made a mistake by wedding with this mouse who did not ignite a flame within him. Was that why he had agreed to the marriage? A timid creature who would not dare attempt to go against him? Who would bow her head and think of him as God Almighty? Stark contrast to his damned mother!

“I expelled Ealdorman Leofsige from England today,” he said, selecting another strand of hair. “He hanged a man and exceeded his authority and had the audacity to challenge my judgement. For the first time in my life, I did something I wanted to do and would not listen to anyone who would sway me.”

“It was a correct decision,” Emma answered, boldly adding, “I did not much like Ealdorman Leofsige, nor his sister.”

“He was my mother’s man. Some of them, I think, hope to continue as if she were alive, running things to their own whim and fancy.” He paused, set down the comb, ran his hand over Emma’s hair. “And you had your own achievements this day. You bettered a vicious swan and Lady Ethelflad together?”

Emma dipped her head, chewed her lip, unsure whether he was about to reprimand her. She had learnt already that his moods were capable of savage and unexpected swings.

“Which was the more daunting? I would wager the lady. Dreadful woman,” Æthelred said, laughing. “I always thought of her as a coracle being towed behind a merchant ship, bobbing and juddering in its wake.” He placed a light kiss on her cheek. “You did well, my dear.”

Only then did Emma realise the difference in him; he was not drunk or foul-tempered and, even if it was somewhat mumbled, he was talking to her in Danish.

“Would you,” he said, offering in his own embarrassed way a truce, “like to see more of England? Shall I take you to London?”