The Price of Blood (19 page)

His musings were interrupted when a man came through the screens passage and addressed Edmund, who, Athelstan suddenly realized, must have been watching for him. A moment later the newcomer made his way purposefully to Athelstan’s bench. It was Wulfnoth of Sussex, one of the king’s thegns. He had been traveling hard, for his boots and cloak were mud-spattered, and the face beneath his short thatch of gray hair was lined with weariness.

Athelstan nodded to him, noting that the hall had suddenly cleared until only his brothers and an ancient, trusted servant remained. Old Osric busied himself fetching stools and more ale, and Athelstan took another pull from his cup to fortify himself against whatever his brothers and Wulfnoth were about to spring on him. As he swallowed he glowered at Edmund.

What was he up to now? Surely this was not about Elgiva again; the girl had not been seen for two years, and if she had any sense at all she was tucked up in some safe haven in the lowlands across the sea. Wulfnoth could have nothing to do with
her
.

Could he? Was it possible that he had found her in Sussex somewhere, hiding under their very noses?

Muttering a curse under his breath he sat up a little straighter and wished he were with Edgar, happily whoring in Corfe village.

“It appears,” he observed ruefully, “that someone has called a council.”

“Stinking waste of time, councils,” Edwig slurred. He had propped himself against one of the hall’s columns, ale cup in hand.

Athelstan was impressed that Edwig could stand up at all. “Should we not wait for Edgar?” he asked.

“I have sent for him,” Edmund replied. “Wulfnoth, here, represents a number of the southern lords. He wishes to speak of Eadric.”

Not Ælfhelm’s daughter, then.
Thank God
.

“Ah, the infamous Eadric,” he said, raising his cup to Wulfnoth, who, everyone knew, detested Eadric.
Jesu
, they all detested Eadric, but Wulfnoth had more reason than most. “The man who was promoted to ealdorman above at least one other far more deserving candidate.” he said, nodding toward Wulfnoth, who scowled, “and whose influence with the king appears to be growing daily. My sister’s adored husband and my father’s darling. What more is there to say about Eadric?”

“That he is as vile a piece of murdering, thieving scum as ever fouled your father’s court.”

“Oh, that’s harsh,” Edwig sneered. “Surely there’s been someone at least as bad in, what, thirty years?”

“Not that I can recall, my lord,” Wulfnoth growled. “Eadric’s actions have convinced a great many men that your father’s rule has lasted well past its appointed time. There are prayers offered daily that God will gather the king to His bosom as soon as may be and thus rid us of Eadric.”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” Edwig said brightly. “Shall we all say amen?”

“Shut up, Edwig,” Athelstan said. He turned to Wulfnoth. “I have avoided my father’s councils all summer, since my opinion is rarely consulted and always ignored. What is Eadric up to now?”

“Your father has put him in charge of the fleet,” Wulfnoth answered. “He is taking ships.”

Athelstan leaned forward, suddenly more alert. This was a wrinkle he knew nothing about. The king had ordered all of his thegns to build ships—some lords having to build as many as ten, depending on how much land they owned. It was something that he had been urging his father to do for years as part of their defense against the Danes, but it was only when Eadric had raised the idea at this year’s Easter council that the king agreed to it. By then Eadric had brought in shipwrights from Normandy, offering their services to the English magnates at three times the normal rate. By next spring, England would have a massive new fleet, and Eadric would be very, very rich. Some might call it unscrupulous. Eadric merely called it good business.

“What do you mean, he’s taking ships? The vessels that the king ordered built cannot possibly be completed yet.”

“Not the new ships. Eadric has sent armed men into the ports of Kent and Sussex carrying writs demanding that all seaworthy ships be turned over to him, at sword point if necessary.”

“To what purpose?” Athelstan asked.

“To patrol the coast through the winter, they say, although everyone knows that the Danes would never risk sending an entire fleet across the sea during the winter gales. Our ships are all forfeit to the crown, which means, of course, to Eadric. If we want to replace them, we’ve got to build new ones.”

“Using Eadric’s shipwrights,” Athelstan said.

“Exactly. He’s bleeding us dry and growing fat at our expense. If a man does not have the silver to pay for building more ships, Eadric will gladly take land instead. The bastard will own properties all over Kent and Sussex before he is done.”

“He sounds brilliant,” Edwig blurted. “Here’s what we do. We take all the silver and gold in the kingdom, give it to Eadric, and when next the Danes come raiding, we tell them to plunder
him
. Problem solved.”

“This is no subject for jest, lord,” Wulfnoth snapped. He turned to Athelstan. “The king has placed Eadric in charge of our coastal defenses. Aside from the fact that he is getting rich off the appointment, he knows as much about ships as a swineherd. None of the men in the southern counties want to trust their defense to Eadric, and they are questioning their oaths of loyalty to the king. They fear that his dependence on Eadric is the result of a mind weakened by age. I’ve heard men say that if someone else does not seize the reins of power, the king will place them in Eadric’s hands, and then we are surely lost.”

Wulfnoth locked his eyes on Athelstan’s, and the message in them was easy to read. The men he spoke for wanted a new king.

But to unseat a king, one must have an army.

Athelstan felt all their eyes on him now. They had thrown him a challenge as if it were a banner, and they were willing him to pick it up and run with it. But where did they expect him to go? How many of them would follow him toward what was certain to be the edge of a cliff?

Years ago he had thought to raise an army against his father—a wild, desperate desire borne of youth, frustration, and rage. He had learned caution since then.
Jesu!
Just having this conversation imperiled them all.

“So you wish to persuade the king to abandon his reliance upon Eadric,” he said. “Urge him to trust in someone more to your liking. Compel him by force, if necessary. Let us consider that option.” He set down his cup and addressed himself to Wulfnoth. “According to you, Eadric controls the fleet and all of Mercia. Ealdorman Uhtred controls Northumbria, and Ealdorman Ælfric most of Wessex. They owe their lands and titles to the king, and they will do whatever he commands. Therefore, any man who thinks to defy the king, perhaps even lay claim to the throne, will have more than two-thirds of the fighting men in the realm pitted against him. How is he to win? Or perhaps you are come to me because you think that if I ask politely, my father will just shrug and hand over the crown?”

“He’ll never do it,” Edwig said. “Have to fight him for it. Scary prospect.”

Athelstan ignored him. “Wulfnoth, I understand your fears, but the situation is not as dire as you seem to think. When the shipbuilding is completed we will have nearly two hundred vessels to patrol our shores. That alone may be enough to deter any enemies who think to attack us, no matter who is in command of the fleet. Even Eadric. God willing, we won’t have to fight at all.”

“I told you he wouldn’t like it,” Edwig said.

“Edwig, shut up!” Edmund barked. “Athelstan, you have not heard—”

“My lord,” Wulfnoth interjected angrily, “I have taken the temper of men all over England, not just in the south. They are afraid to trust a king who listens to the poison that Eadric whispers in his ear. They fear for their titles and their lands. They have not forgotten the murder of Ælfhelm and his sons.”

Athelstan raised a quelling hand.

“Ælfhelm was a traitor,” he said. It galled him to have to defend his father’s action against Ælfhelm, but the past could not be undone. And to encourage these men in any move against the king was unconscionable.

“That may be so,” Wulfnoth admitted, “but Ælfhelm was killed before he was given the chance to answer his accusers.”

“His accuser was the king and his crime was treachery,” Athelstan snapped. “My father’s method of dealing with Ælfhelm was unwise; nevertheless I am convinced of the man’s guilt.” He glared at Edmund, who knew as well as he did that Ælfhelm had been conspiring with the Danes. Edmund had even regarded their father’s brutal response with guarded approval. To Wulfnoth he said angrily, “Have a care what you say now, my lord, for we are perilously close to treason ourselves. Do you trust the king so little that you would break your oaths to him and raise your sword against him? For that is what this must come to.”

Edmund raised his hands in a calming gesture. “It need not lead to a battle,” Edmund said. “The nobles and their ships are to meet at Sandwich in the spring. If we can gather enough men to our cause we will be in a position to challenge Eadric, wrest control of the ships from him, and strike a bargain with the king.”

Athelstan shook his head. “It sounds very neat, Edmund. Very civilized. But you have forgotten one significant detail: The king is not one to bargain with his nobles.”

What was it the seeress had said to him when last he saw her?
Strive to grasp what you would have.
What he would have was a kingdom entire, but it would likely break into pieces if these men were allowed to follow through with their plan.

“My lord, we are desperate,” Wulfnoth insisted.

“Well, I am not.” He stood up abruptly. The others rose as well and the dogs at their feet, alarmed, scattered. “Until I am desperate, I will not take up arms against my father. Nothing that you say, my lord, will shame, goad, or coerce me into doing so. There’s an end to it.”

Edwig laughed. “You fools. You have not bribed him yet. Offer him the queen, and he might reconsider.
Christ
, offer
me
the queen, and I will challenge the king myself.”

Athelstan had had enough. He turned and smashed his fist into Edwig’s sneering face, watching with satisfaction as his brother spun to the floor, senseless. Then he turned to Edmund.

“We are finished here,” he said. “And I find that this hall is no longer to my liking.”

As he stalked toward the door he rubbed his bruised fist. He did not regret the blow, although Edwig’s taunt had been very close to the truth. He would, indeed, try to take his father’s crown if he thought that, by doing so, he could win the queen as well. But he had once laid such a plan at her feet, and she had forced him to see what madness it was. England—all of it—would be his one day, but he must bide his time until the crown fell into his hands. He would not steal it.

In the yard he found that Edgar, accompanied by the two men sent to fetch him, had just dismounted. Snatching the reins of Edgar’s horse he hoisted himself into the saddle.

His brother looked up at him in surprise. “What is amiss?”

“Ask Edmund.” He pointed to the two hearth guards. “You men are with me,” he said, and swung the horse toward the gate.

He would go to Wareham, he decided. There he would get very, very drunk and wipe from his mind all thought of his brothers, of Eadric, and of the king. Emma, he knew, would remain, for he had found no elixir that would wipe
her
from his thoughts.
Jesu!
Had he not tried? In mead halls, on the practice field, in the arms of other women? And still she haunted him.

One time only they had yielded to passion, and it had left them shattered and despairing; for Emma was bound by oath to his father and not to him, and she would not break her pledge.

He had let her go, as she had asked him to. Yet she was with him still; would be with him always.

And he could not say if it was a blessing or a curse.

He led his companions away from the lodge, down a track that meandered back and forth across the face of the hill. They had reached the lane at its foot and had nearly left Corfe behind when one of the men called out and pointed back up toward the top of the steep, turf-covered slope.

Edgar was riding down the side of Corfe Hill, clearly intending to cut them off.

“Hold,” he said. “It appears that my brother wants a word.”

He suspected that Edgar, ever the peacemaker, would try to persuade him to return to the hall. But he would go to hell before he would give Edmund and Wulfnoth another shot at him.

He scowled as he watched his fool of a brother navigate the steep slope—without a saddle and far too fast—grinning with delight at his own daring. Edgar would not be grinning if his mount stumbled, Athelstan thought.

And then, to his horror, the horse did stumble. One leg buckled and the great head went up as the steed lost its struggle for balance and took a hideous fall. Athelstan, cursing, leapt from his mount and ran. He dropped to his knees beside Edgar, who lay chest-down with his head twisted at an impossible angle amid stones spattered with blood.

A few steps away the horse lay screaming and thrashing, and only when the terrible shrieks ceased did some part of his mind register that one of the men must have slit the poor creature’s throat. He was too stunned even to weep, and could only stare in misery at Edgar’s face and its expression of mild surprise.

Unbidden, the words of prophecy rang like a knell inside his head:
A bitter road lies before the sons of Æthelred, all but one.

“You fool,” he whispered. “Edgar, you God damned stupid young fool!”

And then he wept, paying no heed to the two men who stood beside him, silent and helpless. At last he reached out and closed Edgar’s eyes, then ordered the men back to the hall for help. He waited alone beside his brother’s body, murmuring prayers that were as much for himself as for Edgar; for how, in God’s name, was he to tell his father that another prince of England had met his death at Corfe?

October 1008

Elmsett, Suffolk