Read Online Shadow on the Crown by Patricia Bracewell - Free Book Online Page B

behind the clouds. She had an irrepressible exuberance—a quality that had not found much favor with Duchess Judith but had endeared her to Emma. The two of them were much the same age, and during the mad weeks of preparation it had been Wymarc’s unbridled enthusiasm for the adventure that lay before them that had buoyed Emma’s spirits and kept her from despair.
    “I will be grateful to leave this ship,” Emma said, “but I fear that the worst is likely yet to come.” She dreaded this first meeting with the king, and she wanted it behind her. Yet even that, she reminded herself, would not be the worst that she would have to face in the coming days. There was the bedding to get through, but she put that out of her mind for now. “When we go ashore, do not leave my side,” she commanded, “even for a moment.”
    A bridge spanned the river ahead of them and led to a wide, tower-crowned stone gateway from which banners hung, limp and dripping. Emma could see a throng of folk crowded at the tower’s foot and massed upon its parapets, waving kerchiefs and hats enthusiastically in spite of the rain. A rumble of voices floated across the water toward her in a general roar of excitement and cheers. Armed men in mail tunics and scarlet cloaks lined the path that led from the riverside to the city wall, their black shields overlapping to keep the crowd at bay.
    At the water’s edge, four black-clad acolytes, oblivious to the steady downpour, held a scarlet canopy over a scarlet-robed archbishop. A knot of brightly clad noblemen, their fur-lined mantles and hoods testifying to their high rank, clustered behind the prelate, their faces turned expectantly toward the approaching ship.
    “Which of them is the king?” Wymarc asked.
    Emma scanned the men again but none of them fit the description that Ealdorman Ælfric had given her of Æthelred—a tall, well-built man with long golden hair and a trim beard.
    A little shiver of foreboding crept along her spine to mingle with the anxiety already there. Was it possible that he had not come to greet her? She recalled how her brother Richard had made the five-day journey to Bayeux to wed Judith and escort her back to Rouen, and how the count of Turenne had traveled for near a month to sue for the hand of her sister Beatrice. Æthelred, though, had sent a delegation to Normandy to bid for his bride rather than come in person. Could he not even trouble himself to meet her at the city gate?
    “I do not think that he is here,” she murmured to Wymarc.
    “Perhaps he is waiting to greet you in great state inside the palace,” Wymarc said, “or at the church. Perhaps he thinks you will not wish to see him until you have had a chance to rest from the journey.”
    Or perhaps, Emma thought, he is somewhat less than eager to meet his bride. Whatever the reason, it was an affront to her, and her anxiety grew.
    The boat drew up to the dock, and Emma recognized Ealdorman Ælfric standing foremost among the nobles waiting to greet her. He had left Normandy some days before she had, and now the sight of his gaunt, old face, already smiling a welcome, cheered her somewhat. He helped her over the gunwale and into the shelter of the canopy, then took both her hands and bent to kiss them.
    “The king sends you greetings, my lady. Your bridegroom wished to come himself, but pressing matters of state have kept him from your side. I am bid to welcome you and escort you to your lodgings in the abbey precincts.”
    He had barely finished speaking when the archbishop raised his hands and intoned a blessing, and the noise of the crowd hushed as the Latin words floated on the air. After that Emma was introduced to each nobleman in turn, and she greeted every man with a gracious word and a smile in spite of the misgiving that clutched at her heart. She had been anxious at the prospect of meeting the king. That he had not come to greet her, whatever the reason, only increased her unease.
    “I thank you,