Shadow on the Crown Read Online Free PDF Page B

unspoken on her lips. She turned to her brother instead.
    “What does my father say?” she asked him. To have arrived tonight the messages must have been sent from Rochester at the very first moment that the weather allowed. Surely they contained news of some import.
    Wulf did not answer her but glanced at Athelstan, who was reading his own missive.
    “It is heavy news,” her brother said, his face grave. “I am sorry, my lord.”
    Elgiva held her breath. It must be a death. Nothing else would make her brother look with such concern toward the ætheling. Was it the king? Dear God, if he were dead, then the
witan
would surely offer Athelstan the throne. The implications of that for her own future could be enormous. The new king would need a wife, and her father would make sure that Athelstan looked to Northampton for his bride. She might be a queen before Eastertide.
    But Athelstan had set the tablet down in front of him, and now he rose and faced the throng in the hall. His expression was solemn, and his movement drew all eyes toward him. A hush fell over the revelers as they waited to hear what he would say.
    “I am bid by my father the king,” he said, his voice echoing through the silent hall, “to announce that on Christmas morning my mother, the Lady Ælfgifu, died after giving birth to a son. The babe, alas, followed his mother in death. I ask that all present here tonight pray for both their souls.” He turned to Elgiva and Wulf. “I would speak with my brothers alone. Please excuse us.”
    Elgiva watched the three brothers make their way from the table. Their mother’s death was a sorrow to them, she supposed, but her passing was of little significance to anyone else. The king’s wife had borne him numerous children, but as his consort and not his queen, she had done little else. Her death would have no effect on the kingdom or on Elgiva’s world.
    She turned to her brother, who was looking thoughtfully at the tablet in his hand.
    “What does my father say?” she asked again. “I suppose that the king’s sons will leave for Rochester tomorrow.” This news must put an end to the feasting, in any case.
    “They do not go south,” Wulf replied. “There is no reason to do so, for their mother is already in her grave. My father writes that the æthelings are to take charge of our house troops and go to the king’s manor at Saltford. He will meet them there, but he does not say when. Not immediately, I think.” He tapped a finger against the tablet, then he looked speculatively at Elgiva. “The king, it seems, will take another wife, and very soon. I am ordered to stay here with you, in case you are summoned to court. It appears, my dear sister, that my father entertains the hope that you will be Æthelred’s bride.”
    Elgiva gaped at her brother, while her mind played with new possibilities. To be wed to the father and not the son was not the destiny that she had been anticipating. Would it suit her? Well, it would certainly put her in a position of power much sooner than she had looked for it. Yet it was not an honor that she was certain she would like, and it was not exactly the power that she had hoped for.
    “To what end would the king marry?” she asked Wulf. “Æthelred is an old man with seven sons. What need has he of a bride who would give him yet more sons?”
    “He is not so old,” her brother said. “And, as you have good reason to know, he enjoys his earthly pleasures. Better to marry than to burn, the Scriptures say.”
    She frowned. She wanted to wed a king, and yet . . .
    “His first wife was never crowned queen,” she protested. “What good to wed a king and not get a crown?”
    Wulf’s hand snaked behind her as if he would caress her, but instead she felt his fingers grasp her neck in a painful, viselike grip that she could neither escape nor shake off without making a scene.
    “Do you never think beyond your own petty concerns, my dear sister?” he hissed into her