‘And I should be in a meeting with my brother and the council before he returns to Sherborne, so we are both escaping from our duties for a few moments.’
Her face became serious, and she glanced down at their entwined hands before solemnly gazing back at him.
‘But I shall be missed, Lord.’ He heard the tightness in her voice as the guilt began to assert itself over the excitement of being crammed together, in a doorway where anyone might discover them.
‘I miss you.’ He kissed her knuckles again and clasped her hands to his chest. He felt rather than heard her sigh, but he knew she must go about her errands, as he must go about his.
‘I miss you too, Lord. But I must go.’
‘When will we be together again?’ Ӕthelberht leant down and rested his forehead on hers, ignoring the linen that kept them apart. If he could have his way, they wouldn’t be apart for much longer.
‘I will try and slip away after the evening meal, Lord. She may retire to her rooms, and I shall stay in attendance on the Queen.’
Ӕthelberht kissed her gently, then peeked round the edge of the doorway, checking that no-one who might notice and report back was around. ‘I shall wait at the foot of the kitchen stair, my love.’
‘I shall be there if I can, Lord. As soon as she leaves the Hall, I swear.’
Sibyl gathered up the hem of her gown and hurried away to find Adal, and Ӕthelberht made his way to the council meeting, wondering how he could rid the court permanently of Emer Cuikishe and her spite.
***
Chapter 80
Restful sleep had eluded Ӕthelbald since he returned to Sherborne after the Witan and Christ’s Mass. He had thought that returning to his preferred court would settle his mind and allow him to reflect on the decisions the Witan had made regarding the Danes, but it had done the exact opposite.
He simply lay awake, listening to Eanwulf’s regular breathing beside him, then just before dawn he would fall into a restless doze that stole much of the morning away from him, leaving him disoriented for the rest of the day. His conscience was pricking him, and he felt that the reins of the kingdom were slipping from his grasp, through no-one’s fault but his own. He must return to Winchester and take up the reins of the kingdom properly. Not simply leave it to Ӕthelberht.
‘I don’t know how much longer I can keep my court here, Ean.’ Ӕthelbald blinked exhaustion from his eyes and watched as the watery winter sunlight tried to find a way into the chamber.
‘You can keep your court anywhere you please, Lord. You are the King.’ Eanwulf turned on the pillow to face Ӕthelbald, who caught his breath when he saw the sun glinting on the young man’s fair hair. Gently, he pushed aside a strand that was caught on Eanwulf’s lashes and he grinned.
‘It is because I am King that I must go back, Ean. It was bad enough during the Witan and over Christ’s Mass, listening to that old fool Ceolnoth preach about the importance of family, procreating for the glory of God and to leave worthy heirs to continue to rule after we are gone. Now the Queen has had her sixteenth birthday, it is my duty to….’
Eanwulf put his finger over Ӕthelbald’s lips to still his words, then slid his hand over the King’s cheek and tangled his fingers in his hair, pulling his face close to his own. Ӕthelbald allowed the intimacy, waiting for the tirade he knew must come.
‘You told me there were plenty of years before you needed to beget heirs on her.’ Eanwulf’s voice was soft.
‘I know. But Ceolnoth is right.’ A regretful sigh.
‘Ceolnoth is an impertinent, drunken old sot. He relies on his friendship with your father to remain at court. Banish the old bugger back to Canterbury. Let him spread God’s word amongst your brother’s people in Kent. Give the Bishopric of Winchester to Ealstan. He’d gladly swap Sherborne for the income Winchester would bring, and at least he’ll not give you any grief, I’d hazard.’
‘No. He’d be too interested in the royal wine cellar.’
‘But he’s loyal, Lord. You need loyal friends around you, lest your brother try and take the kingdom from you.’
‘Ӕthelberht wouldn’t do that. Besides, he knows he is my heir, until…’ Ӕthelbald’s voice trailed away, unwilling to give voice to the thought.
‘Until you have a son.’ Eanwulf’s tone was resigned, as if it was something he had accepted as inevitable.
‘Yes.’
Eanwulf swung his legs off the bed and padded naked to the side table. Ӕthelbald watched the play of muscle in his thighs and buttocks as he walked, and the ripple beneath his skin as he stretched to pour some wine. He would never get tired of watching his lover’s body perform the most mundane of tasks. Eanwulf turned his head slightly and grinned at Ӕthelbald, raising one eyebrow as if reading his mind.
‘Can’t you stay longer, Lord?’ The arousal evident in Eanwulf’s stance made Ӕthelbald twitch a smile behind his beard. There would be time enough to command the household prepare to return to Winchester later.
‘I can stay for another hour or so, but then I must get the ostler to organise the horses. I would set off before dark, and the short winter days never seem to give us enough time before dusk begins again.’
‘Then share a cup of specially spiced wine with me, Lord. It will keep out the chill and give us energy for..,’ he gestured to the bed and grinned again. Ӕthelbald sighed and dipped his head in a resigned nod, then covered his eyes with his arm. Dimly he heard Eanwulf move around the room, opening the drawer and rummaging for what Ӕthelbald assumed were the requisite seasonings, then the glug of the wine jug and the hiss of the heated poker to warm the alcohol.
The mattress dipped as Eanwulf sat down. Ӕthelwulf opened his eyes and smiled his thanks for the tankard of mulled wine. He could smell the flavouring in the steam as it tickled his nostrils, and absently he wondered what spices Eanwulf might have used.
‘Drink, Lord,’ encouraged Eanwulf, gulping from his own cup, ‘then allow me to give you pleasure. We can discuss the arrangements for the journey afterwards.’ Eanwulf drained his cup and placed it on the floor, then began to slide his hands over Ӕthelbald’s chest, and lower over his belly. Ӕthelbald quaffed the last of his own wine in one huge swallow, then tanged his fingers in Eanwulf’s hair as the young man began to trace a path down his body with wine-moistened lips.
His breath shuddered in his chest as the thought of finally consummating his marriage passed briefly through his mind, then he gave himself up to the delight of Eanwulf’s ministrations. There would be time enough to strengthen his resolve on the journey back to Winchester.
He didn’t need to be strong quite yet.
***
Chapter 81
'Lord! Lord!’ the King’s steward, Hugh, hammered on Eanwulf’s door. ‘Lord, I cannot wake the King.’ The man paced up and down the gallery, waiting for the door to be answered. He began hammering again, just as the door to the next chamber opened and Ealstan’s face appeared, swollen with both sleep and a surfeit of wine.
‘What in God’s name is going on here?’ Ealstan adjusted his robe over his shoulder and cinched the belt closed. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and the light stabbed painfully at his eyeballs.
‘Apologies, my Lord Bishop, but I cannot wake the King, and I wondered if Lord Eanwulf might enter his chamber and wake him.’ Ealstan could see that Hugh was sweating with apprehension, and the Bishop sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his brow to try and rid himself of the headache that had woken him.
‘Wait here. I will speak with Lord Eanwulf.’ Ealstan unnecessarily pointed to the floor, and the steward stood stock still, twisting his hands in anxiety. Ealstan twisted the latch and entered the chamber, almost gagging on the sour smel
l pervading the room. He strode to the window and pulled back the heavy padded linen drape, then turned towards the bed.
He stopped, his hand clapping over his mouth with shock and his eyes wide.
Naked on the bed, entwined in one another’s arms were Ӕthelbald and Eanwulf, both a waxy blue colour and most obviously dead. A thin bubble of foam around each man’s lips spoke to Ealstan of poison, and he wracked his brain to think how to justify this scene to the servants.
Throwing a discarded comforter over the exposed flesh, he hurried to the door and beckoned Hugh, who stepped forward with a puzzled expression.
’Lord?’
‘I need your word, Steward, ….’
‘Hugh, Lord Bishop. My name is Hugh.’ He bowed his head and continued to twist his fingers.
‘Hugh. Are you loyal to your King, Hugh? Can I trust you?’ Ealstan squinted at the portly steward, who levelled an indignant look in return.
‘I am, Lord Bishop. There’s no-one who has served the King more loyally than I have. Why, I remember when…’ Ealstan held up his hand to halt the man’s tale. They did not have time for reminiscences before more servants and guards arrived to find out what the commotion was about, and the pounding in his head did not dispose him to listen to more than was essential.
‘Then I need your word, Hugh, that you will discuss this with no-one else. If I find out that you have broken this confidence, I will have your tongue, do you understand?’ Ealstan felt guilty that he was threatening the man, but he needed his help, and his silence.
‘You have my word, Lord Bishop,’ vowed Hugh, in an offended tone.
‘Then come inside and help me.’ Ealstan opened the door a slight crack and the portly Hugh slid around the door with difficulty, standing in stunned silence as he viewed the bed while Ealstan locked the door behind them.
‘We need to get the King back into his own room, Hugh. He needs to be washed and covered, and then you need to pretend to try and wake him again. And then you need to raise the alarm. Do you understand?’ Ealstan waited for a response, wishing he could sit down and eat something, and perhaps have a mug of cool ale, but all Hugh could do was nod his head silently.
‘We can wrap the King in the coverlet, and carry him back to his own bed.’ Ealstan moved over to the bed as he spoke, pulling aside the hastily thrown comforter and rolling Ӕthelbald onto his back. His friend’s eyes were closed and his limbs slack, and Ealstan knew they had both been dead some time, perhaps the whole of the night. He had performed enough funeral rites to know the stages of decomposition, and he was grateful for the cold January weather that had slowed putrefaction and kept away the flies. Had this happened in summer, the stench alone would have alerted the guard.
Hugh seemed to overcome his shock at the sight of the King naked in another man’s bed, and he hurried to help Ealstan lay the monarch’s arms and legs straight so they could roll Ӕthelbald into the coverlet.
Ealstan strode to the side table and dampened a piece of linen with some wine, then returned to wipe away the froth from both Ӕthelbald and Eanwulf’s mouths. Hugh dragged a sharp breath.
‘Poison, Lord Bishop?’ he asked with a gasp, and Ealstan nodded sadly.
‘From the smell of the wine cups by the bed, and the flagon yonder, it would seem so. This is Eanwulf’s chamber, so I can only suppose he was the instigator of this tragedy, poisoning the King and himself. By the look of the bodies, it was a swift and peaceful end. But no-one must know. It must look like the King died in his sleep, from an apoplexy perhaps. And this chamber must be kept locked until the King’s body has begun its journey back to Winchester. After that, you may dispose of the other body.’
Hugh regarded Ealstan with trepidation in his eyes. ‘What about the smell in here, Lord Bishop? Someone might notice.’
Ealstan thought for a moment, gazing at Eanwulf’s corpse with irritation. How could he have been so selfish? It was one thing to kill himself, a mortal sin that would deny him burial in consecrated ground, but to poison the King too? To cut off from Ealstan the person that brought him wealth and position, all because of jealousy. It was too much to be borne.
‘Can you get hold of any burnt lime, Hugh? If you cover the body with that, it will stop the smell.’
‘It will scorch the body, Lord Bishop. It will make a burial that much harder.’
Ealstan snorted derisively and tugged the coverlet over Ӕthelbald’s feet, grabbing the King’s legs and nodding that Hugh should take the King’s shoulders. The men grunted as they lifted, and struggled to carry the prone monarch’s body to the chamber door. Ealstan could feel the blood pounding in his head as his headache redoubled its efforts behind his eyes, and he looked helplessly at Hugh. The older man gave him a determined nod.
‘Help me put him over my shoulder, Lord Bishop. It will be easier to carry him like that, even though it is disrespectful. You can open the chamber door and look to see we aren’t disturbed, then lock this door behind us.’ Hugh huffed a breath and then braced himself to take the full weight of Ӕthelbald’s body on his shoulders as Ealstan sighed with relief at the solution presented to him. The last thing they needed was for him to vomit, and the strain of lifting Ӕthelbald had started his stomach to roll.
He unlocked the door and peeked into the gallery beyond; it was empty and he beckoned Hugh forward. The steward struggled through the portal, laden as he was, and Ealstan hurried down the passage to the entrance of the King’s chamber. He twisted the latch and opened the door wide as Hugh tottered behind him and hefted the corpse onto the empty bed with a relieved grunt.
‘Find a barrel, Hugh,’ Ealstan spoke quickly as the two men rolled the inert body into the bed and pulled the coverlet across up to Ӕthelbald’s chin. ‘A barrel large enough to contain Eanwulf. Put him inside it and cover him with burnt lime, then have the barrel carried to the farthest part of the cellar. Leave it there, forget about it.’
‘But, Lord Bishop. Shouldn’t Lord Eanwulf have a Christian burial?’ Hugh was scandalised by Ealstan’s suggestion.
‘He forfeited that when he committed suicide, Hugh. And then murdered the King. If we are to keep this a secret, we must only have one corpse,’ he nodded at the bed, ‘that one.’
Ealstan glanced around the room; everything seemed in order. It appeared that the King had retired to bed the previous night, and had died in his sleep. He looked at peace, and when his body-servant came to wake him, no-one would be any the wiser.
‘Go and lock Eanwulf’s door, Hugh, and find that barrel and the lime. This corridor is going to come alive with guards and servants soon, and I, as Bishop of Sherborne, will be called to give the King as much of the last rites as I am able. When the commotion has died away, we shall transport the King’s body on a bier back to Winchester for burial with his father.’
‘Yes, Lord Bishop.’ Hugh bowed and walked to the door of Eanwulf’s chamber, inserting the large and ornate key into the lock and turning it firmly.
‘I will retire to my room, Hugh, and await someone coming to summon me. While I wait, I will pen a brief note to Prince Ӕthelberht, informing him of the death of his brother. King Ӕthelberht now, should I say.’ Ealstan pursed his lips resignedly, ‘Send me your best rider, Hugh, with the fastest horse. This news cannot be delayed.’
‘Yes, Lord Bishop.’ Hugh nodded briefly once more and then, with bowed shoulders, walked down the passageway to the staircase. Ealstan closed the door to his own chamber and slumped into the chair by the fire. Pouring himself a large goblet of wine, he drank a mouthful and closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts before he went in search of a quill and piece of parchment.
It was going to be a long and difficult day.
***
Chapter 8
2
Majesty
It is with the greatest regret I inform you of the sudden death of your husband, our esteemed King, Ӕthelbald of Wessex. He died in his sleep of an apparent apoplexy. I will have his corpse conveyed in all state and majesty for interment with his father, and I shall personally accompany the bier. I have sent a duplicate of this sad news to the King’s brother Ӕthelberht.
Please accept my condolences, Majesty, in your grief for your sad loss. God does indeed move most mysteriously, and we can but praise his Holy name and wait to find out His plan for our lives.
In sorrow I remain Ealstan, Bishop of Sherborne.
Judith read and re-read the parchment clutched in her hand, eyes blurring the words as she struggled to make sense of them. She had been woken before dawn by a hammering on her chamber door, and when Elin had unlatched it, Ralf had burst in with many apologies and the grimy note in his hand.
‘The rider has travelled day and night, Highness, and has brought you news.’ Judith heard the tightness in his throat that meant the messenger had shared the contents of the letter already, but she was aware that he watched her carefully as she gazed in confusion at the words on the page.
She heaved a huge sigh, and raised her face to Elin, trembling at Ralf’s side. ‘My darkest gown, Elin, and the silk to cover my hair. It would seem I am again a widow.’
Elin scurried to obey, waking Alys as she passed the pallet where the young girl lay, oblivious to the activity around her. Judith gazed at Ralf with a question in her eyes.
‘How long do you think the bier will take to get here, Ralf?’
Ralf poured her a cup of ale and brought it to the bed, where she sipped dutifully. Her mind was whirling, wondering what would happen to her now, wanting to write to Baldwin and tell him she was free once more, urge him to come and claim her. She dragged her mind back to Ralf and the question she had asked.
Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex Page 26