Bertha's Tale: A Novel
7. in which the prince's old wife seethes with jealousy
A creative retelling, based on truth but not intended to be read as historical fact.
Please be aware that this instalment covers themes of baby loss and bereavement, after the paywall. These were features of Anglo-Saxon life just as much as they are today, so they are important to write about, but if they are difficult for you to read please feel free to skip this post.
A voice, far off, called to her… Muffled at first… gradually becoming clearer as she emerged from the fog clouding her mind.
“Hild?”
She could hear her name but found herself unable to respond, to break her gaze, to drag her eyes away from them. She found that she had curled up as she sat on the bench, her elbows resting on her knees and chin in her hands, fingers gripping her face. It felt comforting to be so tightly bound, as a baby finds safety in its swaddle, or its mother’s embrace. She noticed that she was rocking gently, probably imperceptibly to others, the sway that so often calmed her little one now calming her own troubled mind. Her breathing was slow and deliberate, working hard to stay under control.
“Hild?”
She felt detached, like she was floating through some sort of dreamworld, her mind trying to process the contradiction between what she knew to be true and what was playing out before her. Those around her were celebrating, feasting; mead was flowing, lyres playing, loud shouts erupting.
But she was numb to the partying around her. She was grieving, panicking, frozen.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Æthelhild?” She jolted at the sound of her full name. Usually only Æthelberht called her this; he said he liked the way that both of their names started with the same element, Æthel. It simply denoted their belonging to the Kentish royal dynasty, but he liked to think that it was a sign from the gods that they were destined to be together.
She turned to face Egbert.
“Do you want more mead?” The eyes that met hers brimmed with frustration; she had clearly been lost in her thoughts for a while.
Mead … yes … that would help to drown out the nightmare unfolding before her. She nodded absently and handed her cup to Egbert. She drank in the liquid, felt it warm her from the inside out, cast its dizzying spell over her. She had had too much mead this evening but it was helping to dull her anguish.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Telling Their Tales to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.