Such an alliance, even now, with Ælfhelm dead and his sons imprisoned, would have its advantages. She imagined Athelstan fettered to the beautiful, scheming Elgiva – and abruptly she pushed the thought away. The king would never agree to it, and to attempt it without his blessing would mean catastrophe – father and son irrevocably divided and, far worse, a kingdom in chaos. Athelstan would never take that step.
He must not.
‘I doubt you need worry about Elgiva,’ Wymarc said. ‘She’s crafty as a cat. Toss her in the air and she’ll land on her feet every time.’
Yet Emma worried. As relieved as she was that Elgiva was no longer in her household, she had no wish to see her at the side of an ætheling or of some northern warlord, but neither did she wish her to be at the mercy of Eadric and his hounds.
When the council session ended, most of the nobles set out for their homes – fled, Emma thought – eager to get away from the king’s fierce, suspicious gaze. Two of the Mercian magnates, though, were ordered to remain. They were the brothers Siferth and Morcar, kin by marriage to Ælfhelm and the first to plead with the king on behalf of Ælfhelm’s sons. Æthelred claimed that he wished them to advise him in the search for Elgiva, but everyone knew that the men were hostages to the king’s fear of Ælfhelm’s supporters. The two men could not plot against him if they were at court, under his so-called protection.
Siferth’s young bride was Elgiva’s kinswoman, Aldyth. She was fifteen winters old, and tall for her age, quite the opposite of Elgiva, who, Emma reflected, was elfin in comparison. Everything about Aldyth was large – mouth, hands, feet, even her teeth. Yet she was not unattractive. The large eyes beneath her dark brows were beautiful, and her skin was fair and smooth. She had a lovely, wide smile – when she did smile, which had not been a frequent occurrence of late.
When Aldyth had first arrived at court, just before Easter, she had been shy and exuberant all at once. With the arrest of her cousins though, her excitement had turned very quickly to bewilderment. And when word came of her uncle’s death and Elgiva’s disappearance, her bewilderment had turned to horror and fear.
Emma had done what she could to shelter her from the rampant speculation about the fate of her cousins and from the cloud of suspicion that had settled upon her husband and his brother. It was Hilde, though, Ealdorman Ælfric’s granddaughter, who had taken charge of Aldyth, just as she had once taken charge of the king’s young daughters when she was no more than a child herself.
They sat together now, Hilde and Aldyth, on one of the fur hides that covered the floor, keeping watch over Edward and Robert, who seemed determined to explore every corner of the chamber. From her place at the embroidery frame under the high window, Emma watched them and smiled. Hilde had grown into a lovely young woman, her hair in its long braid the colour of honey. She was the same age as Aldyth, but she seemed years older somehow. Perhaps that was due to the responsibilities she had shouldered in the royal household, Emma thought. Or perhaps it was because she had lost both of her parents when she was so young, her mother to sickness and her father to the king’s vengeance. Hilde was smiling now, though, as Aldyth spun a wooden top before the delighted eyes of the two bairns.
Edyth, who was seated with her sisters beside Emma, looked at the group on the floor and scowled.
‘Can we not get some servants to take the children so these ladies can help us with this altar cloth?’ she asked, her tone surly. ‘The design is intricate and it is likely to take us years to finish it.’
‘This is a gift from the royal family to Archbishop Ælfheah,’ Emma replied, ‘and therefore we should be the ones to work the embroidery.’
She frowned at Edyth, who had been discontented with the entire world, but mostly with Emma, for some weeks now. The king’s eldest daughter was clearly gnawing on some grievance, but Emma had yet to determine in what way she was at fault.
She saw Edyth about to make another protest, but before she could say anything one of the household slaves, a boy of about eight, raced into the chamber and straight to Emma’s side. Without waiting for permission to speak, he cried, ‘There is word from Windsor that the lords Wulfheah and Ufegeat have had their eyes put out!’
The needle slipped from Emma’s hands, her gaze drawn immediately to where Aldyth and Hilde sat frozen, their faces ashen. They stared back at her with horror in their eyes until Aldyth collapsed forward, wailing as if she’d taken a mortal blow. Instantly Margot was at the young woman’s side, wrapping a comforting arm about her while Wymarc swept a protesting Robert from the floor.
Emma grasped the young slave by the arms and pulled him towards her. He was new to the court, still raw and untutored, sold into slavery during the worst of the famine when his parents could no longer feed him. He had meant no harm. He had only been eager to tell her the news, but a slave who could not hold his tongue was of no use to her.
‘You are never to speak in my presence until I give you permission to do so, whatever the message you carry. I shall punish you if you ever burst into my chamber like that again. Do you understand?’
He nodded, his eyes wide and frightened.
‘Good,’ she said, drawing him still closer. ‘Now, tell me,’ she said more gently, for his ears alone, ‘what else do you know of their fate?’ She cast another quick glance at Hilde and saw with a pang that the girl’s face was wet with tears as she clutched a whimpering Edward to her breast and stared pityingly at Aldyth. Hilde’s father had suffered this same cruel punishment, had even survived it, although he’d spent the rest of his life in exile, consumed by bitterness and hatred. Hilde had known him only in the weeks before he died – a twisted wreck of a man. This news, Emma thought, must bring back all the anguish that his young daughter had felt for him. Swallowing the hard knot of pity in her throat, Emma turned back to the boy and asked urgently, ‘Do the prisoners still live?’
‘I know not, my lady,’ the boy whispered, clearly frightened by the distress he’d caused.
‘Go and see if you can discover it,’ she said, ‘and bring me word.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ he said, remembering to bow before he scampered off.
Emma drew in a long breath and stood up, considering what to do next. Aldyth still sat on the floor, wrapped in Margot’s arms and sobbing with sorrow or with terror – likely both, Emma thought. The girl certainly had good reason to be afraid. She belonged to a family that had earned the king’s enmity, and there was no telling how far Æthelred would carry his vengeance. If he should send men here to take Aldyth away, even she would not be able to stop them.
All work on the archbishop’s altar cloth had ground to a halt. Edward was crying despite Hilde’s efforts to soothe him. Aldyth was distraught, and Edyth was frowning at her while her younger sisters stared at the weeping girl with frightened eyes.
‘Hilde,’ Emma said, taking Edward from her and pacing with the light, bouncing step that usually quieted him, ‘please take the younger girls outside for a walk.’ That would remove them from this turmoil and give Hilde a task that would hopefully take her mind from painful memories.
But it was Edyth who stood up and began to herd her sisters towards the chamber door, saying, ‘I will take them.’
‘I wish you to stay, Edyth,’ Emma said. ‘I may need your assistance.’ Edyth was old enough now to begin to learn how to deal with a court crisis.
‘And I wish to go,’ Edyth said, her voice taut as the string on a bow. She paused beside Aldyth and said, ‘You should not weep for those men. They were my father’s enemies. He would not have punished them had they not deserved—’
‘Be silent!’ Emma said sharply. In an instant she had thrust Edward into Hilde’s arms and, drawing Edyth aside, she hissed, ‘Edyth, you must show compassion