St. Brice’s Day, England, Anno 1002. At the order of King Aethelred, thousands of Danes are murdered in a frenzy of ethnic cleansing. Outraged, the Danish king, Sweyn Forkbeard, swears he will take Aethelred’s head, and his crown.
But Sweyn needs allies. Chief amongst his supporters is Aelfgifu, an English noblewoman and head of a once great family. She has her own reasons to hate Aethelred and, as a pagan, she is sympathetic to the Danish cause. When Aelfgifu marries Sweyn’s son, Canute, war is inevitable. But if Aethelred is weak, Emma, his Norman queen, is not. And she will stop at nothing to destroy the woman at the heart of the Viking army.
Love, ambition and revenge combine in an epic struggle for justice during the most turbulent period in England’s history.
Reader Comments:
I went into this book a little prejudiced…I had always read books where Emma was the heroine and Aefgifu the villain. But, I was curious to see if the author could pull it off. She did…magnificently! 5 Stars
This is a story about bravery, sacrifice and love during a time when Christianity was taking hold of western Europe. Th influence of Denmark over the leadership of England is profound and interesting. A worthy and educational read.
Prologue
Oxford, November 1002
The smell of blood grew stronger. The church was crammed with others who’d had the same idea: sanctuary. For surely they wouldn’t be harmed in the house of God? Gunhilde peered through the wooden slats that made up the outer wall of St. Frideswide’s church, holding tightly to her son. Her husband had tried to fight off the attackers. She’d heard his final scream as she ran with their boy, not daring to look back.
Gunhilde gagged, covering her mouth with her hand, fighting her body’s reaction to the sights, sounds and smells around her. She wanted to look away, to cover her ears and block out the screaming but she was compelled to watch, to bear witness. Her neighbours, people she had known for years, had fled in panic. She prayed they would make it to the church. After a while, all hope faded. Yet still, she stared through the tiny slit in the wattle.
It seemed that only Danes were being slaughtered, brutally attacked on all sides by multiple assailants, hacked down by sword and axe. There was so much blood that it became difficult to tell the victims from the attackers. Gunhilde was getting used to the screams, but the smell could not be ignored. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the emptied bowels of the dead and dying was too thick, too cloying. Outside, a confused child, separated from his parents, wandered straight into the path of the attackers. She couldn’t bring herself to look and she turned her head away.
Gunhilde’s stomach betrayed her at that moment, and she vomited, retching noisily. No one paid any attention. As she straightened, she looked up in apology to the painted image of the virgin princess, St. Frideswide, on the far wall of the church. That was when she noticed the stranger, prone on the floor, one hand holding his shoulder where blood seeped through. Grasping her son, she knelt to help the man.
She could see the muscle open on each side of the gash and a flash of bloodied white beneath the hacked flesh. She had no water to clean the wound; the best she could do was bind the man’s shoulder with her headscarf. He nodded gratefully when she was finished; it was crude, but there was nothing more she could do for him. Gunhilde stood, preparing to go back to her spot at the slats. She needn’t ask how he was injured, indeed there was only one question she had at that moment. “Why?”
“Why?” His voice startled her; she hadn’t realised she’d spoken the word aloud. The man’s pale face looked up at her, emotionless, then to her son who stood close behind her. “Why? Because the king wants it, that’s why.” He spat out the words.
Gunhilde’s eyes widened. “Aethelred? He ordered this? ” She waved her hand in frustration, not having the words to describe the horror around them.
“He did. I overheard one of the soldiers encouraging a Saxon boy. Told him there`d been a plot against the king’s life by the Danes who had originally fought for him.”
Gunhilde thought of her husband, Pallig, once a mercenary for the king. “But we’re settled here. We pay our taxes like anyone else.” She paused. “And we’re Christians.”
The man shook his head, causing the blood from his shoulder to flow once more. “It makes no difference to a man like Aethelred. He has treacherous advisors. They fill his head with fear and mistrust.”
The Northern Queen – Available Here
Copyright Kelly Evans
Kelly Evans - Author 
Exciting!!!