Chapter 20 Skarth the Godless
Twenty
Skarth the Godless
THREE DAYS LATER
Loki and Sune are collecting flowers to lay on Emeline’s grave. There is no body, just a wooden crucifix to mark her final resting place.
If not for my sons, England would be burning. It takes all my willpower not to torture and kill every person who played a part in Emeline’s de—
I can’t even think it without wanting to rip this world apart.
In the end, she knew the only way to stop this war with Aethelbald would be her death. Her final sacrifice has set us all free.
But her sacrifice was selfish, and I am furious at her.
Honestly, I would kill her myself if I could. How dare she do this? We were in this together, a partnership. But she had a game plan all along.
She knew how this would end.
I shouldn’t be angry, because wasn’t I planning to do the same thing?
It seems both of us value each other's lives more than our own. But to be here without her, I feel cheated.
And I also feel like I have failed her.
I don’t know what comes of England now that Aethelbald has no rivals. Everyone is terrified of him because he is the king who “defeated” the infamous Queen Emeline.
If only these cowardly imbeciles knew the truth.
The only reason I didn’t die with Emeline in battle is because of my sons. However, I did die with Emeline, and the only reason I didn’t end my own life when I saw her take her last breath was that I couldn’t leave my sons to be orphans.
Emeline would never forgive me.
This was the least I could do for her, considering I failed her when it mattered the most.
I slew anyone who stood in my way, but that bastard Aethelbald took Emeline’s body before I could get to her. Ulf and I frantically fought our way through the hundreds of men, but in the end, we were outnumbered. She was taken, and with no other choice, Ulf and I fled.
Surrender has never tasted so repugnant. But if we stayed, Ulf and I would be dead, and how would we get our revenge on Aethelbald if we were dead, because his day is coming.
There is no way he gets to live in the castle as king and live happily ever after.
No.
That is not the ending I chose.
Abbot Maxwell stands beside me. He and the brothers have offered us sanctuary, but we cannot stay here.
I do not care how long it takes.
Or what I must do.
Aethelbald is going to die and die by my hand.
He will be put on display for all to see what a true weakling he is when he begs for his life. I will dishonor him in ways unimaginable and torture him in the most creative fashions.
But regardless, it doesn’t bring Emeline back.
It doesn’t even make me feel a sliver better, for I am dead inside.
“Emeline wouldn’t have wanted you to mourn her.”
“Well, she doesn’t have a say…just as I didn’t in her death.”
The abbot sighs, understanding this is an argument he will never win. “Today is her funeral procession.”
I curl my hands into fists. “I am well aware.”
Ulf and I discussed this in detail today. We would never get past the castle walls without being detected, as the soldiers are on alert for any gate-crashers. But I cannot sit here whilst Aethelbald desecrates Emeline’s memory.
The thought of her being laid to rest without me there is one I cannot accept.
So I have a plan.
The soldiers are looking for Vikings, so I intend not to look like one and blend in as best I can.
“If you insist on going, may I offer a disguise?”
My interest is piqued.
“Aethelbald won’t want any commotion, and to question a brother would be frowned upon, especially considering today’s events. So you will wear our robes and pay your respects to our queen.” He offers me the brown robe he holds.
I look at the abbot, brow arched because he cannot seriously believe that, given this opportunity, I won’t storm the castle and deliver the king the fate he deserves.
But as Abbot Maxwell smiles, I realize that is exactly what he knows I will do.
“You won’t have an army.”
“I don’t need one,” I counter because I don’t.
All I need is to be in the same room as Aethelbald, and I’ll take care of the rest.
With no time to waste, I accept the robe with gratitude.
The abbot is hiding something. I don’t know what it is, but he is privy to something I am not. I can ask questions later, however.
I summon Loki and Sune, who come when called. I stroke the hair from their brows, cherishing their faces because Emeline forever lives on in our sons.
“I must go do something, but I promise, I’ll be back.”
Sune frowns, but Loki retrieves a note from his pocket and places it in mine. “Do not read it until it is time.”
“How will I know when that will be?”
“You will know, Father. Go now, Mother waits.”
I kiss them quickly on their foreheads, promising to return soon. But in the interim, Aunt Sigrith will watch over them.
This is the last time I leave my boys, I vow as I quickly enter the stables and undress. I tie the belt and affix the crucifix from the rope as I’ve seen the brothers do, then untie the fastest horse. I mount him but am surprised when someone mounts the horse beside me.
He, too, wears a robe.
“No,” I firmly state to “Brother” Ulf. “You will blow our cover even before we leave the monastery.”
“You cannot go in there alone. We have one chance to do this and do it right. We owe Emeline that,” he replies, and his tenacity is clear.
I don’t have time to fight him on this, so I cluck my tongue and tug on the reins, launching into a wild gallop. Ulf soon follows, as we both know time is of the essence because our window is small and there is no room for error.
* * *
We leave our horses and follow the procession of mourners into the church where Emeline’s ceremony is to take place. Soldiers from Wessex, Northumbria, and Mercia line the street, watching for anything suspicious.
Both Ulf and I bury ourselves deeper under our hoods and adjust our face coverings so only our eyes are visible. It is a sign of respect when in mourning for the brothers to wear such a covering, so we blend in.
The king has made Emeline’s funeral a public affair. The reason for this is not because he is gracious. He does this as a strategy to appear kindhearted and forgiving, and to have his people witness with their own eyes that Emeline is dead, thereby cementing his status as the only monarch.
He has tarnished her reputation, stating that she incited a war because she wished to change religion and denounce their one God, believing in many.
It’s all horseshit and lies, so the people worship him and villainize Emeline.
I do not have a plan as such, but all I need is a sword and a clear shot, and Aethelbald will pay for what he did to Emeline. It’s not the death I want for him, but I will have to settle for this.
Bells commence ringing, and an awful clove incense can be smelled. Ulf and I try to fit in, but it’s difficult not to stab all these fake arseholes in the jugulars because they failed Emeline. All too weak and narrow-minded to grow a pair and follow her instead of Aethelbald because of his gender.
Other brothers are here, so we excuse ourselves, but when I get closer to the altar and see Emeline’s elaborate wooden coffin laid out in front of it, I stop, needing a moment.
Or two.
She looks as if she's merely sleeping, draped in a gold dress. Her long hair is brushed, and a crown sits atop her head. Her hands are interlocked under her breasts. Flowers adorn the inside of the coffin, which is lined with white silk.
She would have hated this because instead of flowers, my warrior would have wanted a sword.
Even though she is mere feet away, I cannot accept that she is dead. My brain can’t comprehend what I am seeing.
No longer will I hear my name fall from her soft lips. Nor will I feel her touch. Hear her laughter. No longer will I look into those eyes and find my home.
I want to kill every person in here…
Ulf places his hand on my back, ushering me forward because I suddenly cannot breathe.
My hugrekki lies in a casket, her light forever extinguished. What sort of bullshit ending is this?
The bells stop chiming, and the crowd hushes when a young lass walks down the aisle, tossing red rose petals, paving the path for the king.
The moment I see Aethelbald, a rage so fierce overcomes me, and I taste blood. He wears furs and dons jewels. He appears somber. It’s all for show, of course. All I see is his victory in every arrogant step he takes.
He stops by Emeline’s casket and places a kiss on her forehead.
“Use your head and not your heart,” Ulf whispers, holding me back as he grips my bicep.
He’s right, but every part of me demands vengeance, and for it to be bloody. But all in due time.
Once Aethelbald is done with his facade, he takes his seat on the throne and waits for the priest to deliver his sermon.
The church is filled to the brim with mourners, and it’s apparent that Emeline touched quite a few people. She was honorable and honest, and some appreciated the change she wished to bring to England.
But it’s too late now because England’s demise was conceived on the day Emeline died. And now, these weaklings can deal with the aftermath.
“Queen Emeline was a visionary,” the priest in his red robe commences. “Her faith was strong as was her love for England.”
The men and women hang onto the priest's words like gospel. Such hypocrisy because Emeline’s methods were seen as unorthodox and not respected. She only achieved all she did because she refused to give up. Now she is celebrated like some saint when in life, she was seen as a sinner.
Soon, the priest’s words become background noise because all I focus on is Aethelbald. He sits without a care in the world, believing he is protected by all the kingdom's guards who now fall under his rule.
Lord Rufus sits by Aethelbald’s side, and he too has seen his last sunrise because come nightfall, both men will be dead.