“We can no longer wait for a decision from the Witan on the custody petition,” Eirik said.
She nodded, knowing the danger grew day by day as Steven grew more bold in his misdeeds.
“I still say we could lure the bastard into the open if we used Eadyth or John,” Tykir grumbled.
“Tykir, I warned you not to broach this subject around Eadyth.” Eirik stood, towering over his brother menacingly.
Eadyth pushed Eirik gently back down into his chair. “Now, Eirik, let Tykir speak his mind. For once, treat me as a woman, not a child.”
“A child!” Despite the seriousness of their situation, Eirik grinned at her. Eadyth blushed, knowing he was thinking of all the ways in which he had treated her in a very womanly way, all night long.
“The answer is ‘nay,’ and we will not discuss it again, Tykir,” Eirik stated flatly. “We will find another way. On the morrow, I intend to travel to Gravely’s estates in Essex, and I will hide out there ’til he returns, no matter how long it takes.”
But the solution was taken out of their hands the next morning when Earl Orm came to give them the news. “King Edmund was murdered at Gloucestershire. ‘Twas on the feast of St. Augustine. He and his court were feasting at Puckle-church when the villain Leofa stabbed the king in the heart.”
Eadyth and Eirik exchanged startled glances. What could it mean?
“The king’s men tore Leofa limb from limb after the assault, but ’twas too late. Edmund was already dead,” Orm said, gulping down deep draughts of mead.
“He was so young,” Eadyth murmured with dismay. “He could not have seen more than twenty-four winters.”
“Yea,” Eirik agreed, “and his sons Edwy and Edgar are barely out of swaddling clothes, being but four and two years old. His brother Edred will, no doubt, succeed him now, and him not much younger than Edmund was… only twenty-two, methinks.”
Tykir stood and paced uneasily. “But unlike Edmund, who compensated for his youth by surrounding himself with wise advisors, Edred thrives on evil companions such as Gravely. An ill wind blows over Britain, I say.”
“Was Edred responsible for his brother’s death?” Eadyth asked the earl.
Orm shrugged. “He is suspect, but there is no proof thus far. His supporters sweep down on Wessex even now, presumably for the funeral, but more likely seeking their spoils.”
“And the Witan?” Eirik asked uneasily, voicing Eadyth’s silent concern over Steven’s custody petition now that the king was dead.
“The Witan cannot be changed ’til after the funeral and a short mourning period. At least one month,” Orm advised. “Rumor has it, though, that the present members will meet in three days at Gloucestershire to plan strategy. But already Edred demands acceptance by the Mercians and the Danes of the Danelaw. Next will be the Northumbrians, and there is no question, Eirik, that you and I will be forced to swear fealty. From there he goes to Tadden’s Cliff where he expects homage from all the northern kings.”
“He wastes no time,” Eirik said scornfully, “but ’tis what we all expected. Yea, we will swear allegiance to him, Orm. What other choice have we? But mayhap we can work with the present Witan to forestall sweeping changes in his governing body.”
“My thoughts exactly. Can you meet me in two days so we can travel together to Gloucestershire?”
Eirik nodded.
Later, after Orm left, Eirik and Tykir sat discussing this new development with Eadyth.
Eadyth laid her hand over Eirik’s to get his attention. “I will not allow John to be used in any way, but ‘twould seem you have no choice but to use me as a lure for Steven,” she told her husband. ” ‘Tis more dangerous now to delay. Once Edred gets his own men on the Witan, I fear Steven’s custody petition will be granted.”
Eirik glared at her stubbornly, but finally he nodded his agreement. “We will do it my way, though, Eadyth, and you will do naught to endanger yourself. Do you hear?”
“I promise. But I tell you this, husband. I would kill myself and my son afore I would allow that son of Satan to get his hands on John. Putting a child in his care would be like casting it into the pits of hell.”