The Price of Blood (34 page)

“You and your—your
sister
—are welcome, Alric,” Aldyth said, although there was no note of welcome in her voice. “I am eager to hear what errand brings you so far south.”

She gestured for them to follow her, and she led them into a small, private space behind the embroidered draperies. Two intricately carved chairs faced each other there, illuminated by an oil lamp suspended from an iron chain. The moment that the draperies closed behind them, Elgiva felt her cousin’s fingers grip her wrist like the talons of a hawk.

“Who knows that you have come to me?” Aldyth hissed.

Taken aback, Elgiva wrenched herself free from her cousin’s long, agile fingers.

“No one knows,” she snapped. “I traveled here in secret. Until today I did not even wear a woman’s gown. I am not a fool, cousin. You have nothing to fear.”

“Only someone with nothing to lose has nothing to fear.” There was just the hint of hysteria in Aldyth’s voice. “I have been afraid ever since your father was killed. Even my husband is afraid.”

Elgiva looked from her cousin’s white, angry face to the two chairs. She chose the larger one, sat down, and shrugged off her cloak. She flicked a hand at Alric, who placed himself where he could watch the hall lest someone come close enough to overhear their conversation. Raising an eyebrow at her cousin she asked, “Is that why Siferth trails after the king like a whipped dog? Because he is afraid?”

Aldyth stiffened. “The king commands his presence. Siferth has no choice.”

“There are always choices,” Elgiva said. “Sit down.”

Her cousin hesitated, clearly resentful at being given an order in her own hall. Then she drew the second chair forward so that it angled toward Elgiva.

“You are mad to come here,” Aldyth said. “They are still searching for you. What is it that you want?” Her brown eyes glinted with anger.

Cow eyes, Elgiva had always thought them—large and liquid and warm. But now they were hostile and a little wild. This was not the cousin she remembered. Aldyth, six years her junior, had ever been mild and sweet-natured, biddable and eager to please. There was nothing sweet in her expression now. Or mild. Something had hardened her. Was it marriage or was it fear that had done it? Fear, she guessed. Most likely fear of Eadric, the king’s butcher.

Well, that made common cause between them. And now she must find some way to use her cousin’s fear to her own advantage. She leaned forward and placed a firm hand on her cousin’s knee.

“It is Eadric who frightens you, is it not?” she asked in a low voice. “Aldyth, he murdered my father. He drove me into hiding, and yes, I know that we are not safe. But I am not your enemy. What has he done to you that you are so afraid?”

Her cousin’s face went pale, and her lips narrowed into a thin, straight line. She turned away from Elgiva for a long moment, and when she turned back there was anguish in her eyes. She clasped her hands in front of her and began to rock back and forth, staring into the middle distance, breathing hard as if she could not get enough air.

Elgiva wondered if perhaps it was Aldyth who was a little mad.

After a few moments, though, her cousin seemed to recover her wits and her breath, and she began to tell her story.

“Eadric was here, only a month ago,” she said. “Siferth was away, and Eadric had far more men with him than my husband had left behind to protect me. At first I made them welcome. I had nothing to hide, and I thought that when they found no trace of you, they would leave us in peace.”

She paused, took another gulp of air, and went on.

“They did not leave. Eadric made himself master of my hall, and his followers searched every farm and village within a day’s ride from here. Men were tortured and women beaten, all of it pointless because there was nothing to find. On the last morning that he was here Eadric came to my quarters with his bullies and ordered the girl tending my son to go out of doors and to take the child with her. His men would see to them, he told me, while I answered his questions. And I did what he wanted. I answered everything he asked me—so many questions—and all the while I heard my babe crying and the girl screaming and screaming and it would not stop.” She shut her eyes, putting her hands over her ears as if she could hear the sounds again.

Elgiva remained silent, waiting. There was more to the story, and Aldyth needed to rid herself of it.

Her cousin drew another long, desperate breath.

“They raped Jenna. That was her name, Jenna. They stripped her and savaged her like wild dogs. I do not know how many there were. Ten? Fifteen?” She spoke in a rough, husky whisper now. “She was only twelve summers old, little more than a child. She could not speak when they were through with her, and she was so badly hurt that we could do little for her. She died during the night.” Aldyth raised her eyes to Elgiva’s. “I do not know what they did to my son. I will never know. There were no marks on him but—”

Her voice trailed off. Elgiva recalled the wailing child she had seen when she entered the hall, then she pushed the memory away. The only child that mattered was the one that she would bear.

“Did you tell Siferth what happened?”

Aldyth shook her head.

“Eadric warned that it would be unfortunate for Siferth to hear news that might distress him. He might even come to harm.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “He smiled when he said that. Eadric can smile even while he does his filthy work. I think he is the devil come to life.”

No, not a devil, Elgiva thought. Just a man drunk with power. She stood up and studied her cousin, who looked more sick and weary, even, than Elgiva felt.

“A time is coming, Aldyth, when Eadric and the king will pay for their crimes against our family. I will have my vengeance on them for the murder of my father and brothers, and you and Siferth will help me get it.”

Aldyth gazed at her with dark, suspicious eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Elgiva placed her hands on the arms of Aldyth’s chair, and their faces were only inches apart.

“Three years ago my father betrothed me to an enemy of the king. Because of that act he was murdered and my brothers killed, but there were other men in the north who knew and approved of their intentions, although they escaped the king’s vengeance. I believe that your husband was one of them. What Siferth does not yet know is that the marriage took place. I am the wife of Cnut Sweinson,” she said in a fierce whisper, “and even now I am carrying his child.” She saw the understanding blossom on her cousin’s face. “Soon the Danish king and his son will claim my properties and the allegiance of my kin, and when that time comes, Æthelred had best look to his throne.”

She studied Aldyth’s face to read her response, but to her surprise her cousin pushed her away.

“You are a liar!” Aldyth cried. “My husband would never betray his oath to the king.”

“Don’t be stupid!” she snapped. “Any man would if he thought he could gain lands and influence as a result. And even if Siferth is innocent as a newborn lamb, your close kinship to me will make him suspect in Æthelred’s eyes. It already has, or he would not keep Siferth so closely at his side, nor would Eadric have dealt so harshly with your people. You have no choice except to help me!”

Aldyth covered her mouth with her hands, and Elgiva wondered if she would weep. But her cousin lowered her hands and glared at her.

“A moment ago,” Aldyth said, “you told me that there are always choices. Were you given a choice, Elgiva, when you wed this Danish prince?”

Elgiva scowled. Aldyth knew as well as she did that women were rarely consulted when it came to marriage.

“My choice,” she hissed, “lay in what I would do next. I could either crawl into a hole and die, or I could one day become a queen.” She sat down again, clutching the arms of the thronelike chair, steeling herself against the griping in her stomach that seemed to worsen under her cousin’s cold gaze. “I have chosen the latter course.”

Aldyth’s mouth twisted, as if she’d tasted something sour. “And what is it that you want of me?”

“Refuge—until my child is born next summer. You are my closest kin, Aldyth. I would have my child born here in your hall, not among strangers.”

“Here!” Aldyth bolted upright, panic flaring in her eyes again. “But what if the king discovers that you are here—”

“How will he discover it? Eadric was here only a month ago and found nothing. He is not likely to come back, and nor will anyone know that it is your cousin who bides with you over the winter. They will know me only as Ealhwyn, from Jorvik. At the very least allow me to stay until Siferth returns. If your husband commands me to leave, I will go.” And that, she was certain, he would not do.

She watched Aldyth, and could almost see her weighing the risks in her mind. Both the English king and the Danish king would be ruthless in their vengeance. Which one was most likely to win?

Finally Aldyth said, “Swein’s path to the throne will not be an easy one. Æthelred will resist. His sons and many of his nobles will fight for him out of kinship or out of fear.” She leaned forward. “You seek my help. Tell me: Do you expect me to give it out of kinship with you or out of fear of the Danish king?”

Elgiva shrugged. “I desire only that you help me, Aldyth,” she said. “I do not in the least care why.”

When the household gathered to eat, Aldyth led them in prayer, petitioning God’s blessings on the food and on a tedious and lengthy list of folk that included a guest who had apparently died the night before.

“I hope that not all of my cousin’s guests go from her hall straight to God,” Elgiva murmured to Alric as they took their places at the board.

“You need not worry. One of the grooms told me that the dead man was with a group of monks from Peterborough who sought a night’s shelter here. He was already sick when he arrived, and his brothers were forced to leave him behind. Unless you are sick, you have nothing to fear.”

He nodded to the servant, who was offering to ladle fish soup, the standard Advent fare, into his bowl. Elgiva clenched her mouth tight and waved the servant away. Of course she was sick. She was pregnant.

She broke a piece from the small, brown loaf in front of her and ate it in tiny bites, for the pain in her stomach had worsened during her conversation with her cousin. It was not illness that plagued her, she knew, but misgiving. Aldyth, who had shown little enough enthusiasm upon learning the purpose of this cousinly visit, had shared news that only added to her anxiety.

Thorkell’s army, which had ravaged for weeks unchallenged by Æthelred’s fyrd, had come to grief when it mounted an attack on London. The Londoners had defended their city from behind its great walls, and the Danes had lost good men and gained nothing for their efforts.

She took a sip from her cup, but the fear that she had carried with her from Holderness turned the wine to gall in her mouth. For all she knew, Cnut might be one of the Danish dead.

“Tomorrow,” she murmured to Alric, “you will set out for the Danish camp. I would know if I still have a husband living. If you find him, give him my greetings, tell him that I am with child, but make no mention of where I am.” She had no wish to give Cnut an excuse to berate her.

Alric slanted a speculative glance at her.

“And if he is not living?” he asked.

She toyed thoughtfully with the bits of bread in front of her, worrying them to broken fragments. Then she gave a careless shrug, for she would not have Alric see how much that thought frightened her.

“Swein Forkbeard,” she said, “has another son, has he not? One Danish prince, I think, is as good as another.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

December 1009

London

A
thelstan arrived at the London palace in response to an urgent, early morning summons from the queen. He paused at the entrance to Emma’s chamber and waited for the steward to announce him. The scene before him, like the one that had greeted him belowstairs, was one of frenzied activity—the men and women of the queen’s household going swiftly about the task of packing up her belongings. Bedding, gowns, caskets of jewels, reliquaries, shoes, piles of embroidered hangings, blankets and small clothes for the child—all the armaments of a queen were being sorted into bundles and coffers.

Where did she think to go? Had the king relented and bid Emma join him at Worcester for Christmastide? His brother Edrid, recovered from his injury at the wall, had left for the king’s court at Worcester more than a week ago, and he had been unencumbered by an infant and a large household. Emma might arrive there by Christmas, but it would be an arduous journey over muddy roads into Wessex and into Mercia, even if the weather held fair.

He frowned, acknowledging to himself the real truth of the matter. Whether the journey she intended was easy or difficult, he did not want Emma to leave London. Yes, her presence here kept him on a sword’s edge between desire and despair. But maddening as it was to see her every day, unable to touch her or even to speak to her as freely as he wished—that torment was better than to see her not at all.