what you want, not what others have in mind for you.”
14
Godegifa was almost hysterical as she entered Emma’s chamber. She strode through the door, her hands gesturing wildly. “You could have been killed, and I would have been blamed. I have always said you are a thoughtless child.”
Emma would have been flattered had she thought the agitation was for her benefit. Sitting on the bed, she continued removing her outdoor shoes, replacing them with soft squirrel-fur slippers. The toe of one, she noticed, was slightly mauled. She smiled; Saffron’s contribution. The pup was at that annoying stage when she would chew anything left lying around. She had ravaged one of Æthelred’s boots the other night; Emma had been horrified, convinced her husband would take his anger out on her, but to her surprise he had merely laughed and tossed the other boot to the dog, declaring the animal might as well have both of them. It seemed odd that her husband was so kindly disposed towards the waywardness of animals and yet was so indifferent with her and his eldest son. She assumed he was disappointed with her. Was he also disappointed with Athelstan?
On Emma’s behalf, Gunnhilda answered Lady Godegifa’s bluster. “We are quite safe. My daughter is upset from the experience, but her nurse is taking care of her. We thank you for your concern, however.” As sarcasm went, it was blunt and to the point.
Indicating to one of the younger women that she would appreciate a goblet of wine, Emma accepted the drink and sipped at it. Her hands were shaking; if that swan had caught her with a backlash from one of those powerful wings…Emma composed herself. The child could have been most dreadfully injured.
“Edmund is spreading talk of it all over the place!” Godegifa retorted irritably, aware that Gunnhilda had reprimanded her discourtesy. “What will the King think when he hears? He will want to know why I was not with you.”
“There is nothing to be alarmed over,” Emma stated, wishing the subject could be dropped. “I expect he will realise that Edmund, in the way of boys, is exaggerating the incident into something it was not.”
The elder woman was not listening, her discomfort heightened by fears that had been swelling out of all proportion these last few weeks. Her husband’s position within Æthelred’s favour was becoming daily more precarious; there had been another disagreement between them yesterday evening, resulting in Alfhelm taking his temper out on his wife. Would he blame her for any harm that might come to the Queen? The girl’s well-being and education had been pressed into her care, although she had frequently stated she did not want the responsibility. Alfhelm had waved aside her protests: typical man, never stopping to consider the consequences if things went wrong.
Mindful of Gunnhilda’s sharp tongue, Godegifa expressed her relief for the girl, but added, “It is well no one was hurt, but where was your guard, madam? That fool, Leofstan Shortfist? He is slovenly and useless. I shall see he receives a flogging.”
Emma swung around, angry. “It was not Leofstan’s fault; he was too far away to help.”
Godegifa seized on the excuse she needed to shift blame from herself. “Then he should not have been! What if you had been attacked, not by a swan but by a man?”
Emma’s impatience was rapidly expanding into fury. She felt the wrath building inside her, ready to spew out like a poorly sealed jar of over-fermented beer. If this insufferable woman said one more word…
“The swan will have to be dealt with; we cannot have a rogue bird on the river. Have you thought to order its destruction? Oh, leave it to me. I will see to it.” Unaware of Emma’s building hostility, Godegifa headed for the door, was stopped short as her friend Ethelflad hurried in, her appearance disheveled, her manner as agitated as her own had been.
“There, you see.” Godegifa turned to face Emma, her arm
14
Godegifa was almost hysterical as she entered Emma’s chamber. She strode through the door, her hands gesturing wildly. “You could have been killed, and I would have been blamed. I have always said you are a thoughtless child.”
Emma would have been flattered had she thought the agitation was for her benefit. Sitting on the bed, she continued removing her outdoor shoes, replacing them with soft squirrel-fur slippers. The toe of one, she noticed, was slightly mauled. She smiled; Saffron’s contribution. The pup was at that annoying stage when she would chew anything left lying around. She had ravaged one of Æthelred’s boots the other night; Emma had been horrified, convinced her husband would take his anger out on her, but to her surprise he had merely laughed and tossed the other boot to the dog, declaring the animal might as well have both of them. It seemed odd that her husband was so kindly disposed towards the waywardness of animals and yet was so indifferent with her and his eldest son. She assumed he was disappointed with her. Was he also disappointed with Athelstan?
On Emma’s behalf, Gunnhilda answered Lady Godegifa’s bluster. “We are quite safe. My daughter is upset from the experience, but her nurse is taking care of her. We thank you for your concern, however.” As sarcasm went, it was blunt and to the point.
Indicating to one of the younger women that she would appreciate a goblet of wine, Emma accepted the drink and sipped at it. Her hands were shaking; if that swan had caught her with a backlash from one of those powerful wings…Emma composed herself. The child could have been most dreadfully injured.
“Edmund is spreading talk of it all over the place!” Godegifa retorted irritably, aware that Gunnhilda had reprimanded her discourtesy. “What will the King think when he hears? He will want to know why I was not with you.”
“There is nothing to be alarmed over,” Emma stated, wishing the subject could be dropped. “I expect he will realise that Edmund, in the way of boys, is exaggerating the incident into something it was not.”
The elder woman was not listening, her discomfort heightened by fears that had been swelling out of all proportion these last few weeks. Her husband’s position within Æthelred’s favour was becoming daily more precarious; there had been another disagreement between them yesterday evening, resulting in Alfhelm taking his temper out on his wife. Would he blame her for any harm that might come to the Queen? The girl’s well-being and education had been pressed into her care, although she had frequently stated she did not want the responsibility. Alfhelm had waved aside her protests: typical man, never stopping to consider the consequences if things went wrong.
Mindful of Gunnhilda’s sharp tongue, Godegifa expressed her relief for the girl, but added, “It is well no one was hurt, but where was your guard, madam? That fool, Leofstan Shortfist? He is slovenly and useless. I shall see he receives a flogging.”
Emma swung around, angry. “It was not Leofstan’s fault; he was too far away to help.”
Godegifa seized on the excuse she needed to shift blame from herself. “Then he should not have been! What if you had been attacked, not by a swan but by a man?”
Emma’s impatience was rapidly expanding into fury. She felt the wrath building inside her, ready to spew out like a poorly sealed jar of over-fermented beer. If this insufferable woman said one more word…
“The swan will have to be dealt with; we cannot have a rogue bird on the river. Have you thought to order its destruction? Oh, leave it to me. I will see to it.” Unaware of Emma’s building hostility, Godegifa headed for the door, was stopped short as her friend Ethelflad hurried in, her appearance disheveled, her manner as agitated as her own had been.
“There, you see.” Godegifa turned to face Emma, her arm
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