Chapter 4 #2
They look at me incredulously. “Yet you wear a trinket of theirs around your gullet?”
“As a reminder of the Pagan who trusted me when he should not have. I took it…and his head.”
The men ponder over what I shared, but my noble accent confirms my social standing. I hate that it is this way, but sadly, I’m still attempting to heal a wounded England from my cruel predecessors.
“I know the Queen has an herb garden filled with basil and lavender. She often sits in this garden, watching her men train. If I weren’t privy to the running of her kingdom, how would I know that?”
The men look amongst themselves because they know this to be true.
Even if they’ve never met me before, it’s no secret I do this. I like to watch and suggest any tactics that may be lacking to the men who train potential soldiers for Northumbria. For who better to protect England than its Queen, a queen who overthrew those who dared challenge her?
“Aye, tis true. But if what ye say is true, then how can we pass Northumbria’s guards?”
“Why did you fall out of grace with her ladyship?”
“'Cause we won’t fight for a woman who sits on a stolen throne.”
“The rightful heir is Aethelred’s eldest son. Even though a bastard, his place is on that throne,” concurs another man.
This is troubling.
“How do you know of Aethelred’s young?” I ask because this is not privy information.
“Not all men are in favor of the Queen’s lenient ruling, so we began an uprising,” one shares, which turns my blood cold. “Her people starve because of the flourishing land she gives to Pagans! She is nothing but a traitor!”
Even in death, my brother still haunts me, it seems. I knew the time would eventually come, but I thought not so soon. This is very bad.
I do not know who is coming for me and my throne. Finding Sune and Loki just becomes more dire because my enemies are plenty.
Who is Lord Rufus working with? Prince Ludwig to ensure I accept his hand in marriage so a man can sit on Northumbria’s throne? Or my counsel, perhaps, who wish for Aethelred’s children to rule? Or does another threat loom?
When did my kingdom grow so callous?
The only way to save my land is for people like these six men to be made an example of. I tried to rule with kindness, but alas, that has been seen as weakness. The gall of these men to think they can dethrone me sets alight the fire in my belly.
I decide, here and now, that I will send word back to my faithful men and imprison my councilmen until I return. I cannot trust anyone. Until I uncover the coup, everyone is guilty.
But first, I need to slaughter these traitors and make an example of what happens to those who defy their queen.
“She is weak,” I say firmly. “How many men fight for your cause?”
“Hundreds.”
Sadness and rage overwhelm me. How did I not see this? I knew that many did not agree with my ruling, but hundreds of incensed men denote a war. And my sons are collateral.
“Who leads you?”
At the head of every army is a leader, and I need to know who that is.
“Lord Aethelbald, son to Lady Osburh and Lord Aethelwulf. He seeks his revenge on the queen who destroyed his family, as well as his kingdom.”
This cannot be.
The ghosts of the past haunt me.
“So I leave you this gift… I will do everything in my power to ensure your children never get on the throne. They will never know their birthright, for your name, your legacy, dies with you.”
Those were my parting words to Aethelwulf, my once husband, before I tore out his heart with my bare hands.
I cared for Aethelbald as my own when I was Lady Osburh’s lady-in-waiting. I always knew he was destined for great things—I just never anticipated it would be fighting him for my throne.
I left Aethelbald and his siblings in the care of monks, which seems to be my biggest downfall, because if all those who could overthrow me were dead, I would not be in the predicament I am in. Perchance I am weak, after all.
If what is said is true, then Aethelbald knows of his heritage and what I did to his father and grandfather. He knows what I did to Wessex, which means it’s not only my head he comes for. He comes for my kingdom too.
He wishes to sit on Wessex’s throne, and he cannot do that with me as the Queen of Northumbria. He also cannot do that when another king rules Wessex. I fear for King Raedwulf of Wessex, my dear friend; his life is in danger.
He was anointed as king under my order, but now I worry that his reign will come to an end.
As do us all.
This battle has just become Wessex’s fight as well.
I must find Lord Louis immediately and inform him of my findings. There is no time to waste, for England will be bleeding once more.
“Take me to him,” I order firmly. “I am an ally he needs. Imagine the riches you will reap for being the ones who brought down Queen Emeline.”
The men are gluttonous bastards, and I can see their delight at the prospect of having everything they desire within reach. I need them alive for now, but the moment I uncover where Aethelbald is, I will end each of their lives, and painfully so.
“All right, we will take you to him. But first, we need to know you can be trusted.”
“And how is that so?”
When one man licks his full lips, I know how.
I am faced with two options—I submit, being a whore to these vile men, or I fight.
If I fight, then I risk my children, my kingdom, and the lives of many. But if I surrender, I once again become a whore to England.
There is only one choice I can make—I cannot lose because I am no one’s whore.
“That seems like a fair request,” I concur softly. “Who wants to go first?”
Before they can volunteer, I strike my head back and connect with the short man’s nose. He screams in shock and terror and cups his nose, which frees my wrists. I waste no time and lunge for his blade, stabbing him in the throat.
I can’t take delight in seeing him bleed out because I have another five men whose lives I need to end.
I slice the throat of another man who stands in disbelief that I am not a damsel in distress as they predicted me to be.
I take his sword.
Two down…
The remaining men withdraw their swords and come charging toward me.
I fight with my life because losing is not an option.
When they realize they’ve been tricked, their anger rules, which is the error of man number three, who receives my sword through his bowels, innards spill onto the floor as I sever him from guts to gullet.
The bloodshed fuels my rage, and I continue to fight with a strength that cannot be matched because these men are mere babes in war. They attack in numbers, but I duck and weave, for I have fought against an army of men and won.
One man slices my forearm, and for that, I stab him through the eye, withdrawing my blade and stabbing him in the heart. He drops to the ground with a thud.
The remaining two men soon understand this is a fight they will not win because I am no lady-in-waiting.
“You are Queen Emeline,” one says, sword extended out in front of him.
“Yes, I am, and I plan on taking your head.”
Before he can speak, I slice my sword through the air and do as promised. I take his head. It rolls along the ground, coming to a stop by the feet of the other man, who peers down at it, eyes as wide as his dead friend’s.
“I w-will take you to him,” he says in fear, attempting to bargain for his life.
The old Emeline may have spared him, but that Emeline is no more. “I think I shall take my chances.”
He opens his mouth, attempting to plead for mercy, but none will be had when I drive my sword through his open mouth, withdrawing slowly and watching in pleasure as he drops dead.
Breathless and crazed, I peer through the strands of hair shrouding my face at the chaos I created. Six men lay dead by my feet, and I wish I could kill six hundred more.
My composure slips, and I lift my face to the heavens and scream. I scream over and over again. I want to scream this pain away, but I know so much more faces me for the road is long.
I do not wish for war, but it’s all that seems to follow, and when I am winded by someone punching me in the back, it appears war follows me into victory.
I am quick to recover and spin before my attacker can drive his sword through my stomach. But when we lock eyes, I know I was right—to the six men I killed, there are six more to take their place. I left our campsite to avoid this mess.
The giant of a man does not care that I am a woman and punches me in the face. Blood instantly pours from my nose.
He dives for me, sending us both to the hard ground.
I blindly reach for a weapon, but my best guards have trained this man as he reads my moves and drives a blade through the back of my hand, impaling me to the ground. I inhale my scream because I will not give him the satisfaction.
“’Ello, my Queen,” he sneers inches from my face.
He pins me down with his heavy weight, so I cannot move. Fighting is futile. Now I must fight with my mind.
“What do you want?”
“I want many things, but most of all, I want to destroy you how you destroyed me.”
I don’t recognize him, but he’s clearly blaming whatever misfortunes on me instead of owning up to whatever he did. So typical of these weak men.
He furiously lifts my dress, and when I kick my legs, he punches me in the mouth. Instantly, I see stars as my head connects with the ground.
He crudely shoves two fingers into my womanhood, defiling me as I am restrained beneath him.
It does not matter if I am a queen or not; all men see women as their lower, and they can do with them as they please. This is a man’s world, something which I will die for changing because no woman should ever bow to any man.
He undoes his pants with one hand and spits into his palm when his cock is free. He removes his fingers from inside me, and as I reach for a fallen blade with my spare hand, he places his dagger against my throat. “I do not need you alive to finish.”