Battle For The Prince's Love
Bertha's Tale: A Novel - episode 8
These twice-monthly instalments of my serialised historical fiction novel are just for my members only. The beauty of early Anglo-Saxon history, for fiction writers, is that the surviving written record is so tiny that we can create these stories suggesting what their lives might have been like. To access this content, you can subscribe below and join our wonderful community of like-minded souls. We’d love to have you!
Hild couldn’t work out if it was love or simply lust that brightened Æthelberht’s eyes. Lust she could deal with; that would not last. But love? That would be more difficult to handle.
“Don’t torture yourself, Hild. Staring at them won’t make it go away.” She turned towards Egbert, her oldest friend after Æthelberht. Hot tears stung her eyes.
“But look at them.” She waved her hand wildly towards the top table, her voice raised. At Egbert’s nervous glance she brought her voice back under control. “He adores her – clearly. Anyone with eyes can see that he has taken a fancy to her. What am I to do? I am nothing without him – personally and at court.”
“I know, Hild. But you have to stay strong if you are going to win this.”
She looked at him in disbelief.
“What do you mean, win? I’ve already lost, haven’t I? Look at them!” She was getting distressed.
“He’s only just met her. You can’t stop the marriage but you can stop whatever feelings he has for her.”
Tears tumbled down her cheeks; she couldn’t restrain them anymore. “No I can’t.” Her voice came out as a trembling whisper. “Look at them, Egbert.”
Æthelberht was deep in conversation with someone sat to his left, heads bowed together until one or both of them creased with laughter. They ate as they spoke, pulling apart meat with their fingers and dipping chunks of bread into the thick stew.
He looked across at Bertha for just moments at a time, sneaking brief glances to catch a glimpse of her. He didn’t stare at her; that would have been too obvious. But his face glowed unmistakably as he studied his bride across the table. He seemed nervous as he took her in, his breath shallow in his chest. Occasionally she would catch his eye, capturing him for a magical moment amidst the revelry, time seeming to stand still for just the two of them. His mouth would crease into the smallest of smiles, the type familiar to those in the first flushes of love, before he broke her gaze and returned to his friend’s discussion.
Egbert couldn’t lie to Hild; it was clear to him as to others that Æthelberht seemed infatuated with Bertha.
“But he loves you; he always has done.” It was the best he could do to reassure Hild.
She waved him away, rendered speechless by her hopelessness. She brought her mead cup to her lips, hesitated a moment as she studied its contents, breathed in its comforting aroma, and then gulped it down, draining the cup. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the warmth of the liquid.