The Price of Blood (16 page)

“Celebrate their victory, I should imagine,” Ælfheah said. “But this storm is a blessing for us. It will drive them back to their ships by the swiftest route, for their first concern now will be shelter, not plunder. And,” he continued heavily, “they will send an emissary to the king to demand tribute—a bribe to encourage them to depart in the spring. However much they demand, after this the king will have no choice but to pay it.”

So, she thought, in the spring the shipmen would return to their homeland, where King Swein Forkbeard was building another army, or so her brother claimed. One day it too would cross the sea to wreak vengeance on England, and all of this would be repeated yet again.

She stared down at the battlefield, where folk were moving among the English bodies: women who searched for sons or husbands, men who would carry the injured to the church at Kennet. And she swallowed the bile in her throat and turned to descend the ramparts. There were wounded men to be tended, and there would be work for many hands, even the hands of a queen.

A.D. 1007
In this year was the tribute paid to the hostile army; that was, 30,000 pounds. In this year also was Eadric appointed ealdorman over all the kingdom of the Mercians.

—The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

Chapter Thirteen

June 1007

Ringbrough, Holderness

E
lgiva, seated at the table beside Cnut, pushed away a plate of fresh cheese that had been placed in front of her. The slimy look of the stuff disgusted her, and the smell was even worse.
Jesu!
She hated the babe in her belly for sickening her like this, although the midwife had said it was a sure sign that she carried a boy.

And her child must be a boy. She had done everything she could to guarantee it—from arousing Cnut first thing in the morning when, everyone knew, men were most virile, to clenching her fists tight when he entered her—a practice that one of the women in Thurbrand’s household swore had resulted in her six sons.

She frowned, recalling several times over the winter and spring when she had lain with Cnut and she had so lost herself in the pleasure of their coupling that she forgot to tighten her fists. And there had been the days when he had taken her not just in the morning but at night, and even at midday. What if the babe had taken root at the wrong time? What if it was not a boy?

She would not know the answer to that for months yet, not until Yuletide if she could believe her slave woman, Tyra, who claimed to have knowledge of such things. Now Elgiva knew only that she was sick, already eager to be quit of this burden, and that the long months until she was released from it seemed to stretch into eternity.

A servant appeared at her side and placed a plate of boiled eels next to the cheese, and she put a hand over her nose and mouth, willing back the nausea. Cnut, after a quick glance at her, picked up the eels, thrust them at the servant, and demanded a loaf of bread and a bowl of wild strawberries. Elgiva doubted that she would be able to eat those, either, but at least they would have no stench to make her gag.

She supposed that she should thank her husband for his thoughtful gesture, but she did not. She was too furious even to speak to him. Now that he’d gotten her with child he was about to desert her, would leave for Denmark on the morrow’s tide. His father had summoned him, and Cnut was eager to go. The only reason he was still here was because he had been so determined to see her well and truly pregnant before he left. That was the duty his father had set him, and Cnut, she had discovered, set great store by doing his duty.

Granted, it was a duty that they both relished. Her young husband was an exuberant lover who, to her surprise, could make her desire him even when she was tired and ill tempered. Unlike King Æthelred, who had bedded her solely for his own gratification, Cnut was not content unless he had aroused her. Or perhaps it was just Cnut doing his duty. For although their bedding gave them both pleasure, it was, at its core, a duty. Now she would be pent up here in Holderness like a brood mare while Cnut pursued other duties elsewhere. And because he was a man she had no doubt that he would fill the vacant place in his bed with whomever came to hand.

Irritated by that unpleasant thought and defeated by the sight and smell of food, she was about to quit the table when she saw Alric striding toward the dais, and her heart gave a surprising little leap. He had been away for months, and she realized suddenly how much she’d missed him—how dull the hall had seemed without him.

“Alric,” Cnut greeted him with pleasure, “come sit, and tell us your news.”

Elgiva called for more food as Alric took the bench across the table from them and helped himself to bread and strawberries. She watched his face, so pleasing with its even features and with that shock of brown hair that fell just above his right brow. He must have felt her eyes on him, for he flicked a glance at her and in that instant something flashed between them that set her skin tingling. It was still there, then, she thought—that attraction that had always shimmered between them, a banked fire, all the more beguiling because it had never been allowed to blaze.

Cnut was oblivious to it. His mind was fixed on Æthelred and Wessex, and he pelted Alric with a hail of questions. Reliable accounts of events occurring beyond Holderness were all too infrequent and Alric, who had pledged his allegiance to Cnut on her wedding day, had been sent south to gather news. She wondered if, once Cnut was gone, Alric would transfer his allegiance back to her again. She would have to make sure that he did, for she would have need of men about her whom she could trust.

She listened to his report, concentrating hard because the Danish did not yet come easily to her. As Alric unfolded his tale of the English geld payments to Tostig and of the political appointments that Æthelred had made in the spring, she glanced at Cnut, who was frowning. What must he be thinking? Surely he must see that he should follow Tostig’s example. Rather than take ship for Denmark on the morrow he should urge his father, King Swein, to bring his armies to Holderness. Æthelred was weak! Now was the time to attack.

She said as much to him when they were alone in their chamber, but he dismissed her arguments.

“I will leave in the morning, Elgiva, as I intended from the first.”

He pulled on a heavy wool tunic, preparing to go to the dock, where he would oversee the final provisioning of his ship. His calm determination infuriated her, but she forced herself to rein in her anger. It was easier to bend Cnut to her will with pleas rather than demands.

“But do you not see that this news changes everything?” she asked. “Æthelred has rewarded Eadric—the man who murdered my father—by making him ealdorman of Mercia. Will you stand by and let that butcher’s advancement go unanswered?” She looked into his face for a sign that she had moved him, but he only looked irritated.

Of course he would do nothing about Eadric, she realized. Not yet. Not until a Danish king sat on England’s throne, for it was kings who dispensed reward and punishment. If what she really wanted was to keep Cnut at her side, then she must find a better argument.

“What if Eadric and the king discover where I am?” She allowed tears to well in her eyes, placing herself in front of him so he could see her distress. “What do you think they will do if they learn that I am carrying your child—the grandson of the Danish king? Will you not stay here to protect your wife and son?”

“We have been over this road before,” he said. “You will be in Thurbrand’s care, guarded in his stronghold by his retainers. My presence would make no difference either way. I have done all that I can to ensure your safety. If you are afraid, then come with me to Denmark.”

But she would not leave England. This was where her destiny lay. This was where she must one day be queen. If she left, she might never return. Indeed, she feared that Cnut might never return.

“What if you do not come back?” she asked. “If some mishap befalls you, how will I even—”

“Do not beckon misfortune,” he snapped at her. “I have promised that I will return, and I will do so.”

“But why must you go at all when there is such opportunity here?” she demanded. “You heard Alric. Æthelred has paid Tostig and his shipmen thousands of pounds of silver to leave his realm in peace! He is not prepared for battle.”

“Nor are we! The ships are not ready, our alliances have not been forged, and my father is loath to leave Denmark in my brother’s hands. You do not understand the complexity—”

“I understand that Eadric is ealdorman of Mercia! I understand that Uhtred, who is the mortal foe of your ally, Thurbrand, has been made ealdorman of Northumbria! I understand that if you do not strike soon, all England will be allied against you, because Æthelred is weaving a net of noble warriors to keep you out!”

“Æthelred will not succeed.” He crossed the room to snatch up his cloak from the bed. “My father has been laying plans to conquer England for years. Nothing will prevent him from doing that. But he will not strike before he is ready.”

“Yet he risks all by waiting.” And why, she thought, must Swein be the one to grasp the crown of England? Why should it not be Cnut?

“The greater the risk, the greater the reward,” he said, throwing the cloak over his shoulders and pinning her with a hard look. “What you need, lady, is patience.”

“I have no patience,” she replied, “and I did not wed your father, I wed you.” He was fumbling with the clasp at his throat—a sign, she hoped, that she had reached him at last, that her words had unsettled him. She placed herself directly in front of him again, pushing his hands away and swiftly fastening the golden ring herself. Then she clutched the fine wool with both hands, and concentrating hard to get the words right, to make sure that he understood her meaning, she whispered, “Why should you wait for your father? Summon your shipmen, and I will summon my kinsmen. Together we will take Northumbria before Æthelred can gather an army against us. You will be the king of the north and I will rule at your side. After that, we will bring Mercia to its knees, then Wessex.
We
will do it. Not Swein.”

She looked into his face, eager and expectant. He was comely, this youthful husband of hers—and she could not say that about many men in Holderness. His muscular shoulders graced a wiry frame that towered over her, for he was so tall that his chin and coppery beard touched the top of her head. She willed him to bend and kiss her, to forget everything but his desire to please her. She wanted him to conquer England for her and lay it at her feet.

But the look he turned on her was cold. “I owe all that I have to my father. My allegiance and obedience go to him first, above all others. Even above you, Elgiva.”

He grabbed her wrists, thrust her hands away from him as if he could not bear to touch her, and then he left her without even a farewell.

She considered calling out to him, or going after him to try to mend the breach between them, but she could not bring herself to bend to him in that way and, besides, it would do no good. She would never be first with Cnut; he had made that plain enough. He may be her husband, but before that he was Swein’s son.

Defeated, she went to her bed and lay down, curling her body around the child in her belly. She had been unwise to try to turn him against his father. He would never forget it, and he would never forgive her for it. In trying to bind him to her, she had merely succeeded in pushing him further away.

She closed her eyes, feeling wretched and sick and stupid. After a little while, though, she sat up and, settling her chin against her knees, she tried to think. All was not lost, she decided. Cnut would do his duty by her, of that much she was certain, and their son would be a bond between them. The child’s birth would bring his father back to her, and then everything would change. Swein’s hold on his son must weaken when Cnut had a son of his own, and her own influence would be that much stronger.

It was true that she would have to be patient, but she need not wait for Swein to die to get all that she wanted. She need only wait for the birth of her son.

October 1007

Winchester, Hampshire

“Ange will want a carrot, Edward,” Emma said. “I hope you brought one with you.”

It was late afternoon, and she and Hilde were walking briskly toward the stables, each with a firm grip on one of Edward’s small hands. He was nearly three winters old now, and they were playing one of his favorite games, lifting him over the puddles on the path so that he crowed with delight.

As she breathed in the scent of ripe fruit that wafted from the nearby orchard, Emma whispered a brief prayer of thanksgiving. England had been at peace this summer, and after three years of dearth, the harvest had been plentiful. The Viking army that had wreaked such havoc the year before had abandoned Wight Isle to its fishermen and seabirds—the war leaders content with the huge tribute paid by the king. This past summer they had not returned, so perhaps God had finally heard the pleas of the English. Perhaps, too, her brother’s warnings of planned invasions by the Danish king were groundless.