Patricia Bracewell - The Price of Blood

‘Thirty men, my lord, all well armed and mounted,’ the ealdorman replied.

‘Good. You will lead them to Rochester and summon the fyrd of Kent to you there. You will have to scour the countryside for whatever provisions you need.’

Ælfric nodded, and the king turned to Eadric. ‘You will go north into Mercia, muster whatever force you can there, and come to me at Windsor as soon as you may. Athelstan, you will ride with the queen’s Norman retainers to Lewes and summon the men of Sussex. Provision them however you can. Take Edrid and Edwig with you. Edmund, you and Edgar and your men will escort your sisters and the queen to Winchester and take charge of the fyrd there. Do not attempt to meet the shipmen in a pitched battle.’

That last order was directed to all of them, but Athelstan found the king’s faded blue eyes looking intently into his own and he knew that it was meant for him more than anyone else. His father judged him too eager for battle. In this instance, his father was probably right.

‘If the Danes approach,’ the king continued, ‘you should have plenty of warning. Gather the villagers and their livestock into the burhs and defend them there. For now we can do little more than try to minimize the damage.’

Minimize the damage . Athelstan had to swallow a curse, for this was not the time to question a policy that his father had followed for twenty years. Jesu! It near maddened him that once again the best outcome that they could hope for was to confine their enemy to the coast. Three years ago that tactic had failed utterly, and the Danish army had thrust its way into Wiltshire. Two years ago the shipmen had pillaged and burned fifty miles into East Anglia. How far would their enemy strike this time? How many towns would be ravaged?

Dear God . If they could do no more than minimize the damage, then they were defeated before they’d even begun to fight.

Emma had listened to the king’s commands with growing dismay. His decision to entrust her son into Edmund’s care without the benefit of her Norman house guards to protect him filled her with foreboding, and now she rose swiftly and approached the king.

‘My lord, I would speak,’ she said, and the men around him gave way so that she could kneel beside his chair.

She was risking his displeasure by daring to appeal to him in front of his council, but she had no choice. To trust her son to Edmund’s care would be to take a far greater risk.

‘What is it?’ he snapped.

‘I would go with you to Windsor, my lord,’ she said. ‘I cannot be seen to cower in Winchester like a nun behind cloistered walls while the king and his sons face this threat. My place, and that of our son, is at your side. I beg you, husband; do not send us away from you.’

She saw the surprise on his face, and then the frown as he considered her words. He would not imagine the real reason behind her request – that she feared what Edmund might do if she and her son were in his power. Only Athelstan would know what was in her mind, and she risked a quick glance in his direction and saw him scowling at her. He would think her fears were groundless; but Athelstan trusted Edmund, and she did not.

‘A war council is no place for a woman,’ Æthelred objected.

‘My lord king.’ Archbishop Ælfheah was standing beside her, and now she felt the gentle pressure of his hand upon her shoulder. ‘The queen’s request bears some merit. At Windsor you will meet many nobles whose lands will be under no immediate threat from the Danes, and they will not be eager to take up arms. Some of them may even bear you ill will. If your nobles see that your sons have taken the field and that the queen herself stands firmly by your side during this time of trial, it can only help your cause.’

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—’