The Price of Blood (41 page)

Tyra looked at her steadily—one of those narrow-eyed, penetrating looks that always made Elgiva uneasy. She kept her own gaze just as steady as Tyra’s, though. This woman could not read minds, she insisted to herself, only faces. Tyra could not know what thoughts were in her secret heart. Besides, Tyra was a slave. She had to do what she was told.

“I am Swein Forkbeard’s slave,” Tyra said, and Elgiva, startled, was forced to question whether the woman might, in fact, be able to read thoughts. “He ordered me to do your bidding, lady, and so I will do as you command me.”

The woman’s hard, narrow gaze continued to pin Elgiva, until finally she was the one who had to look away.

Two days later Elgiva walked beside Tyra across a waste field, some distance from the hedge that marked the boundary of her lands. It was a bright morning, although the ground was muddy and her skirt now wet and filthy from her passage through knee-high weeds that were not, she was learning, all weeds. Already Tyra carried a basket containing roots that would ease coughing and several stalks of a fern that would expel worms.

Jesu
, she hoped that she would never need that remedy.

Recognizing the shoots of healing plants in the spring and their flowers in summer was only part of what Tyra had promised to teach her. Preparing the leaves or seeds or roots in the proper manner would be the next step, but that, Tyra had said, would come later.

There was a great deal that she must learn. She wondered if a year would be long enough. Or two. Or even ten.

Just ahead of her she spied a familiar plant—delicate, fernlike leaves that she remembered from the meadows near her father’s manor. She bent to pluck a stem, but Tyra slapped her hand away before she touched it.

“What’s wrong?” Elgiva asked. “That is feldmore. My old nurse used the seeds to brew a remedy for my father’s head pain when he’d had too much wine.”

“Nay, lady. Feldmore grows only in dry soil. This plant loves the moist ground, and even this early in the season it is much taller than feldmore. This is hymlice. All of it is poisonous. If you give a man a drink brewed from even a few seeds, he will not live to drink anything again. Study it well so that you will recognize it, but do not touch it.”

Elgiva stared at the plant. Such a simple, weak-looking thing, yet it was deadly. She made note of the place where it was growing, memorized the shape of the leaves, compared them to her memory of feldmore, and she looked up only when Tyra touched her arm.

“There are men coming this way,” Tyra said.

Shielding her eyes from the sun Elgiva made out two figures on horseback moving along the narrow track that led from Thurbrand’s holding.

“Someone come to fetch you for Catla’s lying-in, perhaps,” she said.

“Nay, lady. That is your man come to you. And the other, Alric, is with him.”

She felt her heart give a little leap, although Tyra, she told herself, must be guessing.

“Even you cannot see so far, Tyra,” she said.

“They’ll be wanting food and drink, and most of your people are in the fields.” Even as she spoke, Tyra was cutting diagonally back across the meadow in the direction of the hall.

Elgiva glanced after her, then walked forward to intercept the horsemen, staring into the blinding sun, not yet certain that Tyra was right. When one of the riders dismounted and came toward her with a familiar, loping stride, she began to run. In a few quick heartbeats, Cnut was gathering her into his arms.

They passed the next hour or so—she did not bother to reckon the time—alone in her chamber. Before her husband had taken any food or drink, he had taken her twice, and it was only after all his needs had been met that she could sit at his side in the nearly empty hall and ask all the questions that only he could answer. Alric sat across the table from them, nursing a cup of ale.

“How long can you stay?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alric hunch his shoulders, like a man expecting a hailstorm. She guessed that she was not going to like what she was about to hear.

“One week only,” Cnut said. “The winds were against us, and it took us far longer to get here than we had hoped. We have a mission to complete in East Anglia, and only a little time to accomplish it.”

One week. During that time they would couple frantically, then part for months perhaps. Once again he had come when she was least likely to conceive. Perhaps she could convince him to take her along on this mission, whatever it was. Now, though, she sensed, was not the time to bring it up.

“What will you do in East Anglia?” she asked.

“Break Æthelred’s hold on England, I hope. Alric picked up some useful news during the time he spent in Lindsey. He was there at your bidding, I am told.”

His black eyes fixed on her, and she bridled beneath that hard gaze. He had warned her not to meddle in men’s affairs, despite the fact that they were her affairs as well.

“I sent him to gather information, nothing more,” she lied.

“And it was well done,” he said soberly, “I will give you that. Not like this other business—the journey you made to your cousin. In that, you disobeyed me, and worse, you put yourself and all our preparations in danger. If Thurbrand had taken it into his head to beat you senseless for it, he would have been within his rights.”

She had not tried to make a secret of where she had spent those weeks last winter. Too many people had been with her, and one of them was Tyra, the truth teller.

“I lost the child,” she said, her voice acid. “Do you not think that was punishment enough? Now, will you tell me of this plan of yours or not?”

Her husband met her gaze for a long moment, then reached for his ale cup and gestured to Alric to speak.

“I was able to learn that the king’s thegn Ulfkytel has been ordered to gather an army to bring against our force that is camped at Benfleet. He will be drawing his men from East Anglia, but that lot are sheepherders first and warriors second. They’ll not be lured into any shield wall until after they’ve finished shearing their flocks.”

“Ulfkytel will not have his full force until late in May,” Cnut said with a slow smile, “which means that we can strike first, and with a much larger force.”

She thought about that. A pitched battle, she had once overheard her father say, should be avoided whenever possible unless your own men far outnumber the foe. In this case the Danes would have the numbers on their side. Even so, the English would be led by Ulfkytel. She had never met him, but she knew of him.

“Ulfkytel is someone to be feared, my lord. He led his East Anglians against the Danes once before and nearly won.”

“Nearly will not be good enough,” Cnut said, “and we will have the advantage of surprise as well as numbers. Until now, Thorkell has taken pains to avoid a direct confrontation with the English, so Ulfkytel will not be looking for us to strike at all. The timing, though, is the key. We want them reeling at the first blow. A few frightened men who break and run can determine the course of a battle.”

“But they will be fighting to protect their own lands,” she said. “Even if they are afraid, they might hold their ground.”

“Some may,” Cnut said, “but there will be some among them whose kin live across the Danish sea, and others who escaped the butchery on the Feast of St. Brice some years back and who still dream of vengeance. We have sent our men among them—traders mostly, men like Alric here who listen well but say little. We will approach them again in the next few weeks, and we will not go empty-handed.”

She saw how the plan would work. He would give them silver, and plant them among Ulfkytel’s force. They would turn and flee, drawing others with them so that a force that was already outnumbered could be cut down to near nothing.

“Seek out Thurkytel,” she advised him. “He has lands near Ipswich. His father and brother were with my father at Shrewsbury and died there with him. He will have no love for Eadric or the king. Alric knows the man.”

She did not say that she had sent Alric to Thurkytel three times in as many years to nurture his hatred of Æthelred. She was a woman, and she was not supposed to meddle, yet it was her meddling that had laid the foundations for this plan of Cnut’s, even though he did not know it and would likely not thank her if she told him. Yet by her reckoning, he owed her a boon, and she saw no reason why she should not ask for it.

She waited until the next night, when they were both breathless from bed play and she was cupped within the shelter of his arm. The chamber was lit only by the flickering light of a dying fire, but she could see his face clearly, the high brow and the long, straight nose—so sharp it looked as though it had been sculpted. He was staring into the darkness above them, and she knew she must speak now, while he was languid with pleasure and most likely to grant her request.

She ran her tongue against his ear then whispered, “Take me with you tomorrow. I will make certain that you do not regret it. “

He combed his fingers through her hair, tugging playfully at a thick curl.

“I cannot,” he said. “You would distract me, and that might be dangerous. I want no distractions.”

“There will be women enough there to distract you, I think.” She turned her face against his hand and nipped the flesh below his thumb. “That is why I wish to attend you. Will you make me beg?”

“Beg all you like,” he said, grinning, “but you will remain in Holderness. You are safe here.”

“Safe!” She snorted. “And bored as well. I hate it here. It is cold and damp and ugly.” And then another thought struck her. “May I not go to Jorvik, then? I could be your eyes and ears there.”

“Jorvik is no less damp and ugly, and I will not be able to visit you as easily there. And do not imagine that you will slip away from my men again. That is a trick that only works once.”

Visit her as easily! She hardly saw him at all.

“You are just like my father!” She threw herself back on her pillows. “You would keep me mewed up for your own purposes, like an eyas. Why not just seel my eyes and put jesses round my ankles?”

“Your eyes are too fine to be seeled,” he said. “But I will give thought to the jesses. Would silver chains suit you? Or perhaps you would prefer gold.”

She gave him a clout on his shoulder, but he laughed and covered her body with his, and although at first she struggled against him, he had the measure of her. His mouth and hands against her skin made her forget everything but the pleasure he aroused in her.

At least, for a time. When he lay asleep beside her she reckoned the number of days and nights that they would spend together, and the number vexed her. Cnut was young and virile, and he gave no heed to the passing of years. But she was older than her husband by five winters, and every year mattered to her.

How many winters were left to her, until she was too old to breed and would no longer be of use to him?

Two sons, Tyra had said she would have, but in five days her husband would set sail, taking Alric with him, and leaving her again with her womb empty. She would be surrounded by women and guarded by Danish shipmen whom she dared not trust, and so would have no man at her side. No man in her bed. She might as well be locked up in an abbey.

She turned to gaze at Cnut. His face was a mere shadow in the darkness, but he was like his father—a force as solid as stone. She could not move him to do her bidding, and she hated him for that just as she had hated her father and brothers. Like them he wielded a power over her that she could not rebuff.

Not until she had a son.

She pressed her hand against her belly, caressing the soft flesh, certain that despite the pleasure Cnut had taken in her body, her womb would not quicken. Not now.

And she hated him for that as well.

April 1010

London

On the Friday before Holy Week a special Mass was celebrated at St. Paul’s, beseeching God’s mercy upon the realm and pleading for victory over England’s enemies. Emma attended, along with many of the king’s thegns and their wives who had made their way into the city for the Easter court. Æthelred and his retinue had not yet appeared in London but were expected any day. Athelstan and Edmund, to the dismay of both Emma and Archbishop Ælfheah, had left the city with their hearth guards the day before.

Emma had tried to dissuade Athelstan from disobeying his father’s command to remain in London for the Easter court, but all her arguments were futile.

“My staying,” he had said, “serves no purpose other than to proclaim my submission to the king. What is the point of that? He mistrusts me no matter what I do. Edmund and I can be of far more use in East Anglia with Ulfkytel, readying the levies for battle, than we can by staying here and offering advice to my father that he will not take.”

“But he charged you with London’s defense,” she had protested. “You cannot just walk away from that.”

“I can, because the city is well protected.
Jesu
, it is bursting with armed thegns and their retainers. I have turned over command of the London fyrd to Ealdorman Ælfric, and the king and Eadric will be here with more men in a matter of days at the most. In any case, I have already disobeyed my father’s command by journeying to Headington in January. I did it again when I led an entire army outside the city walls to head off Thorkell, for all the good it did. How many times can he punish me for the same offense?”