The Empty Throne: A Novel (Saxon Tales Book 8) by Cornwell Bernard

Author:Cornwell, Bernard [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780062250711
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2015-01-05T16:00:00+00:00

The bell still tolled as I dressed. Eadith lay under the bed pelts, watching me. I dressed in the clothes I had traveled in, damp, stained, and smelly, then bent to kiss her, and the pain stabbed at me. It was less severe, but it had not vanished. “Come and have some breakfast,” I told her, then went into the central courtyard. A mist seeped from the river, mingling with a drizzle from low gray clouds.

Finan was waiting in the courtyard and grinned at me. “Sleep well, lord?” he asked.

“Go and jump in a lake, you Irish bastard,” I said. “Where’s the boy?”

“He’s awake. Eadric’s watching him.” He looked up at the sky. “Not a good day to bury a soul.”

“Any day they bury Æthelred is a good day.”

“I’ll take another sniff outside,” he said, nodding toward the arched gate. “See what’s happening. It was all quiet an hour ago.”

I went with him, but the palace grounds looked asleep. A few guards were visible by the great hall, some geese cropped the wet grass, and a lone priest hurried toward the private chapel by the main gate. “Did you look into the hall?” I asked Finan.

“All’s well. Her ladyship’s in the upper chamber and our two Frisians are blocking the stairway like a pair of bullocks. No one can get past those two.” I had sent Gerbruht and Folcbald to reinforce Æthelflaed’s own warriors. “And no one tried,” Finan added.

“And Æthelhelm?”

“He’s in the main hall with his daughter and Bishop Wulfheard. He said to say a good morning to you.” Finan grinned. “You’ve no need to worry, lord.”

“I should have slept in the hall,” I said.

“Aye, that would have been wise. Lady Æthelflaed’s lover giving her a good swiving on the night before her husband’s funeral? Why didn’t I think of that?”

I smiled ruefully, then went to the kitchen where my son and daughter were eating breakfast. Both looked at me reproachfully, presumably because gossip had told them who had shared my bed. “Welcome to one of the best days of my life,” I greeted them.

“Best?” my son asked.

“We’re burying Æthelred,” I said, then sat and tore a lump from the loaf and cut some cheese. “You remember Father Penda?” I asked my son.

“I remember pissing with him.”

“When you’ve finished stuffing your belly,” I said, “I want you to find him. He’s probably in the great hall, so find him and tell him I need to see him. But tell him privately. Make sure the bishop doesn’t know!”

“Father Penda?” Stiorra asked.

“He’s one of Bishop Wulfheard’s priests,” I said.

“A priest!” She sounded surprised.

“I’m turning Christian,” I said, and my son choked on his ale just as Æthelstan came into the room and bowed his head in greeting to me. “You’re going to the funeral,” I told the boy, “and you’ll pretend to be sad.”

“Yes, lord, I will.”

“And you’ll stay by Finan’s side.”

“Of course, lord.”

I pointed the knife at him. “I mean it! There are bastards out there who want you dead.” I paused, letting the knife drop point first into the table.

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