[An excerpt from the the mystery novel Nun Too Clever, which looks at what life as a queen was really like for the fairytale maiden who landed the prince.]
An Unexpected Death
The king is off fighting in Cornwall. He is always off fighting somewhere or other. When the hurricanes hit, it was Kent. When the roof over the fire collapsed, he was in East Anglia. When some villagers started a blood feud, Egbert was in Mercia. It stands to reason he would be off being heroic when I heard about the body.
The day had been ordinary enough, the most remarkable event a visit from a predictably long-winded cleric. Who would have guessed the life of a queen involved so much tedium? On this inauspicious day, I managed to put off the bishop until dinner, when I had no choice but to seat him next to me. The man is sufficiently unattractive to make it a blessing that he joined the priesthood and spared a woman. And it isn’t just his table manners.
While he waited for a dish of jugged hare to be placed within reach, the bishop caressed a gold cross so large it was vulgar. The potage arrived first, and the bishop slurped it from his spoon. Between mouthfuls he droned on about the status of his ongoing effort to claim yet another parish for his diocese. Good Christians, I thought, are often surprisingly venal. The bishop wiped his mouth on the tablecloth.
I took a break from Bishop Badwulf, turning to the elderly and deaf thane on my left. This old guy showed up from time to time and was always seated next to me. Before dinner I’d seen him limping around the hall, visiting with the other old warriors. They laughed and yelled stories at one another. One old fellow repeated the same story several times running, while another, vying for the limelight, tried to shout him down.
My old thane was mercifully quiet. Whenever I tried to engage him, he seemed happy enough to offer his toothless smile and nod his head amicably. He was so hard of hearing that any attempt at conversation turned to gibberish. On the rare occasion he understood what I said, his answers were just as nonsensical. The first time I found him sitting next to me, I asked him about battles he had fought. The topic is a reliable icebreaker with warriors old and young. “Have you fought with the king, sir?” I asked.
“He’s not my enemy,” said the old man. “I bet Your Royal Highness fights with him all the time.”
The old thane never stayed for more than a night, but after the third time in as many months that I had to endure his company, I asked the butler why the old warrior merited a seat next to the queen. “His Majesty’s orders,” the butler had explained, if you can call that an explanation. I was left wondering, not for the first time, if Egbert populated the hall with particularly unappealing men during his absence, or if it just seemed that way.
Turning to the old man, I steeled myself for our usual verbal joust. His eyes gleamed a little as he looked at me—or was he looking at the chicken pasties the servant was placing in front of me? I wasn’t sure, but there was no mistaking the hand on my thigh. I removed his hand and turned back to the bishop. As I watched him return his uncleaned spoon to a dish of pork roasted in wine, my appetite faded. I soldiered on. “How was your journey from Lichfield, Your Excellency?”
“Uneventful, Your Royal Highness.” In his eagerness to speak, he didn’t feel the drop of sauce that slithered from a corner of his mouth. “That is, until I discovered the body.”
(To be continued)