‘She is almost thirteen, Lady. Exactly half my age. My parents have been gone more than five years now, and although I brought her from our estate to live with me at court, I have had little time to teach her how to be a lady.’ Ralf gave a small shrug and slid his gaze to Elin, the top of her head level with his shoulder.
‘I’m sure she will get along with the Princess, Lord. And she won’t be able to help but become a lady, with the example the Princess will set at your court.’
Ralf had to push away a shout of laughter, knowing that Ghislaine would be like no-one they had ever met before, then he heard Elin speaking and he brought his mind back to concentrate on her words.
‘If your sister was too young to accompany you, Lord, why did the King bring his sons? They are much younger than she is, surely?’
‘But they are princes, Lady. My King wanted them affirmed by the Pope, so should they ever come into their own thrones, they are already anointed. Kingship is precarious where I come from, and although the King’s eldest son is King of Kent, and his daughter Queen of Mercia, there are other kingdoms nearby. And still the Danes attack from their strongholds in East Anglia and Northumbria, then there’s Cornwallium, and Wales trying to make their own wars with us.’ He laughed. ‘But don’t think you will be in any danger in Winchester, Lady. You will be safe there, I swear.’
He watched as Elin slid her clear green eyes in his direction, tipping her head to meet his gaze. ‘Danes attack us from the North too, Lord, but the King also has two brothers who often disagree with him and with one another. There is usually conflict somewhere nearby, which is why Gaston is always so busy.’
‘And that gives you some free time, Lady.’ He burst into laughter, and Elin joined him, showing him her white even teeth behind full, well-shaped lips.
‘Indeed, Lord. But I must go back to see if the Princess has been dismissed from the Queen’s tutelage.’ She dipped her head with a broad smile as she daintily made her way towards the castle courtyard. He watched her skirt sway with her steps, then turned and made his way towards the practice yard. While the King slept, he would watch over his sons.
***
Chapter 8
Seated on the edge of the fountain, Judith watched the tiny golden fishes that her father had imported from the East darting in and out of the fronds of weed undulating beneath the water. The sun was hot on her head, and she snatched the hated veil from her hair and threw it disconsolately on the ground beside her. A soft chuckle made her turn her head and see Baldwin coming towards her.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked peevishly, as Baldwin dropped to the ground at her feet.
‘Gaston is putting your brothers and the English princes through their paces with wooden swords, so Gozfrid and I were released for a while.’
‘I should be at yet another fitting, keeping Mama company while the boys are busy, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone, so I came out here.’
Baldwin leaped to his feet and gave her a small bow, ‘Then I will leave you to your thoughts, Princess,’ he declared, but Judith tilted her lips in a small smile and shook her head.
‘You don’t count, Baldwin. Please sit.’
The tall young man folded himself back onto the ground, with his back against the edge of the fountain, and Judith slid down beside him.
‘I can talk to you,’ she stated bleakly, and Baldwin nodded.
‘Indeed you can, Princess. About anything, and I swear I will not break your confidence.’
Judith sat for a long moment, pulling at the stalks of grass by her side, considering what she might say. The calls of the birds in the trees began to fill her mind with their sound, and she dragged a huge breath before she spoke.
‘I don’t want to leave, Baldwin. Yet I am to marry the King of Wessex, so I must. And I am afraid.’
She felt rather than saw a tremor pass through Baldwin’s body, and she heard him snatch a sharp gasp. She turned and faced him, her eyes wide to invite him to speak.
‘Do not fear, Princess. It’s a good thing, isn’t it? That you are allowed to marry, instead of seclusion at Senlis?’ Baldwin’s words were encouraging, but Judith heard the tightness in his throat as he spoke.
‘My mother says I should be pleased. Father has made it a condition of my wedding that I am crowned Queen.’ Judith paused and tilted her head slightly, ‘And she says I am lucky that it is Lothaire that is being given to God in my stead, but I don’t feel lucky, Baldwin. I feel my life is over.’
She tipped her head down and tried to hide her tears, wishing she hadn’t removed her veil so that she could hide her face while she cried. She didn’t want Baldwin to see her cry. She was a Princess of Frankia, and had been taught to hide her feelings.
‘Princess, your life is just beginning.’ Baldwin’s tone was gentle, and he took the hand that was pulling up the stalks of grass and pressed her fingers firmly. ‘You will be a Queen, rather than a nun. And perhaps you will be the mother of kings.’
‘But he is so old, Baldwin. Much older than my father. And I am to be fifteen before he….before we…..’ Judith bowed her head even further in an agony of embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to speak those words aloud, but they rattled around her head constantly and she hadn’t been able to help herself.
‘He is mature, certainly. But he is obviously a great warrior, and pious, and kind.’ Baldwin’s voice was level, and she was grateful that he hadn’t laughed at her. Feeling her face cool slightly, Judith risked a curious glance out of the corner of her eye.
‘How do you know he is kind?’ That was the only word she had cared about. What interest had she if he was a warrior, or of his piety. But kindness in a husband was an attribute to be prized.
‘I have seen him with his young sons, and his body servant. He has patience to listen to the boys while they tell him about their day, and I have seen him share a joke with the man who is always beside him.’
‘Ralf Edric.’
‘You know him?’
‘Elin told me.’ Judith sighed, gazing at her hand still clasped in Baldwin’s large fist. She could feel the callouses from sword craft and horsemanship rubbing on her soft palm, and she was aware of the dampness of his hair and skin as they sat together in the sun. She thought he must have dipped his head in the water butt when Gaston gave him and Gozfrid permission to leave. His hair was drying into curls around his head, and she could see where the spirals had dripped water from the ends onto his linen shirt. The fabric was darker where the rivulets had fallen, although the bright autumn sun was drying it swiftly.
‘I can’t see that he would be unkind to you, a Princess of Carolingian blood. Great grand-daughter of Charlemagne himself.’ Baldwin’s tone was encouraging, and Judith felt her spine straighten, an automatic reaction when anyone ever mentioned her ancestor.
‘But I will have to leave my home, my family and everyone I have ever known. I shall have to travel to a foreign country and live there, among strangers for the rest of my life.’ Judith knew she was sounding sorry for herself, but she couldn’t help it.
‘You would have been living among strangers at Senlis,’ Baldwin stated patiently.
‘Can I write to you, Baldwin? From Wessex?’ Judith dropped her eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face if he should refuse her. ‘If I can find a messenger to bring my letters, of course,’ she added sadly.
‘I would be honoured, Princess,’ he pronounced, and as she glanced at him in relief, she saw the grin on his face and couldn’t help but smile back.
‘Then we shall remain friends, Baldwin. And I shall tell you my innermost thoughts. Things I won’t even tell my mother, or my ladies.’
‘An honour indeed.’
&n
bsp; ‘And I shall write in French, not Latin. So even if one of my husband’s clerks opens it, they will not understand what I write.’ She beamed at him, eyes sparkling as she spoke in a whisper, ‘You can write in French, Baldwin?’ Her words were hesitant as the thought occurred to her that he might not have had the education to write in the language he spoke, just the Latin that the monks taught. Then her face cleared as he laughed, then pursed his lips wryly.
‘Yes, Princess. I write in French and Latin, and I can read in both those languages, and even in Greek if I put my mind to it.’
Judith felt herself flush, as if she had insulted him. That had not been her intention, but she knew that Baldwin, like many of the young men at her father’s court, preferred weapons and horses to parchment. She should have known that Count Audacer would have had his son formally educated.
Behind them, she heard the call of Elin, looking for her to come and try on yet more garments. Judith tried to pull her hand from Baldwin’s grasp and scramble to her feet. The large stone fountain hid them both from view, but she knew Elin would walk the paths of the garden until she found her.
Baldwin didn’t at first relinquish her fingers, and Judith gazed at him in surprise. His face was serious, his brows together and his mouth compressed into a line.
‘Princess, should you ever be in need, I will come. My sword and my life are yours to command.’ His voice was firm and she heard the tightness in his throat as he dragged another breath, his gaze intense, ‘And although you think you will have no-one to rely on when you are in Wessex, you are wrong, Princess. You will always have me.’
He brushed his lips over her fingers briefly, then his countenance lightened and he flashed a white-toothed grin at her. He let go of her hand and Judith scrambled to her feet, straightening her tunic and shaking out her skirt. With a deep breath she turned to the sound of Elin’s voice and stepped out of the shadow of the fountain.
‘Here I am, Elin.’ Judith moved swiftly away, and Baldwin stayed hidden behind the fountain.
‘Your mother is waiting for you, Princess. The seamstress has brought some more things she has finished, and the Queen thought you might like to try them on before they get packed away for your journey.’
‘Yes, Elin,’ sighed Judith with a wry smile, ‘That’s exactly what I would like to do.’ She opened the huge wooden door set into the stone tower that led up the stairs to her mother’s apartments. From the side of her vision she glimpsed Baldwin stand up and stride away towards the tiltyard.
She hoped messengers were easily found in Wessex.
***
Chapter 9
The noise in the stable courtyard was overwhelming. Gaston barked orders at the younger boys and the older ones practised combat with blunted blades and unadorned shields. Baldwin had fought two separate bouts with youths younger than he was at Gaston’s behest, showing the youngsters where they were making mistakes, parrying their blows and tempering his own thrusts that they might learn and not die.
Now, stripped to the waist and sweating despite the cool autumnal morning, he used an old broadsword to attack a stout wooden post. Gozfrid had spent the morning in the stables, waiting for a mare to foal, so Baldwin had no other opponent than the post. His sword was a straight, thick blade with an plain leather hilt, softening with the sweat of his hands as he struck first one side of the post, then the other in a mind-numbing rhythmic pattern.
Each two-handed blow reverberated up his arms into his shoulders, and he knew they would ache when he was finished, but he didn’t care. He wanted to pummel something, and the post was as good as anything else on which to take out his frustration. He had held back with the lads, instructing and teaching, but now he could exhaust himself in order that he might sleep; Judith was to be married in the morning, and absolute fatigue was the only way he would get any rest.
‘Does it surrender, Win?’ He heard Gozfrid’s laughing voice behind him, but he didn’t stop striking the post, ignoring the splinters of wood flying with each clanging stroke. He heard his friend jump up onto the fencing rail as he continued his assault.
‘She’ll be gone soon, Baldwin. Are you not going to try and speak to her in the garden before she sails away?’ Baldwin heard the sympathy in Gozfrid’s usually mocking tones, and he made one last mighty swing before leaning, breathless, on the pommel of the sword.
‘I can’t Goz. I can barely face her. I swore to protect her since she was a baby, but I cannot protect her from this. All I can do is promise to reply to her letters.’ Baldwin picked up the sword and put it back with the rest of the practice blades, then he swept up his leather jerkin and linen shirt. He couldn’t bear to don his clothes at the moment, as wet as his skin was, and he thought he might take a swim in the lake behind the stables before he went back to his apartment. Gozfrid jumped down from the fence to walk with his friend.
‘Really? That long ago?’ The two men strode over the grass towards the water, a light mist hovering around the edges of the pool and a haze over the grass that might be the start of a frost. Baldwin didn’t care. He had no interest in how cold the water was, or how it might make his muscles contract and his skin shriek in pain. That was nothing.
‘I have known her since she was born, Goz. Watched her grow, learn to walk.’ His mouth quirked at the memory of Judith as a tiny girl gazing wide eyed at him as a gangly eight year old, dressing in leather and having a jewelled dagger on his belt even then.
‘Did you know she knighted me when she was two?’ Baldwin laughed and Gozfrid smiled at his friend’s amusement. ‘A nursemaid had been telling her a story about a princess captured by an evil troll and kept in a tower guarded by a dragon. A handsome prince came to rescue her. So one day, Judith ran away from her nursemaid, and hid in the armoury.’
Baldwin shook his head as he remembered the panic throughout the palace. The nursemaids and demoiselles had all searched every room, King Charles was incandescent with fury and her mother, weak from childbirth, had wept and prayed that her daughter was unharmed.
‘She dragged out a sword bigger than she was, and when I found her, she made me kneel and she anointed me with the sword. She made me promise to protect her, so I did. She was two and I was eight, and I swore myself into her service, Goz.’ They reached the edge of the water and Baldwin dropped his garments onto the damp ground, unfastening the leather bindings around his legs and peeling off his breeches. Gozfrid did the same, albeit reluctantly. He wasn’t overheated like Baldwin was, but he wouldn’t allow his companion to bathe in the lake without accompanying him. Baldwin’s voice dropped to a whisper, and he shook his head at Gozfrid sadly.
‘She probably doesn’t even remember, Goz. But I do, and now that she needs rescuing, I can do nothing.’
Baldwin strode into the water and sank below the surface, bubbles breaking above him. Gozfrid watched until his friend stood once more, shaking water out of his eyes, and the curls of his hair dripping over his shoulders.
As Gozfrid inched himself into the icy water, he spoke through clenched teeth. ‘You said she was going to write to you.’ Baldwin nodded and his friend shrugged. ‘Then you must wait, Win. Until she feels there is something you need to rescue her from, you must wait.’
Baldwin grunted his assent and then struck out with strong strokes, swimming away from the shore. He could feel his shoulder muscles protest, both at the cold and at the motion expected of them after the sword-work. He didn’t care; pain would focus his mind on something else, other than the wedding he would have to attend on the morrow.
Never had he dreaded a sunrise so much.
***
Chapter 10
Judith stepped into the vestibule of the cold stone-floored chapel and shivered. Through the open doorway she could see the do
zens of candles flickering in their holders, supplementing the large flaming torches held securely in the wrought iron sconces nailed to the walls. The tongues of flame licked upwards towards the vaulted wooden roof and absently Judith wondered what would happen if the roof caught fire.
She wouldn’t have to marry the Wessex King. At least not today. And perhaps he would get tired of waiting, of conversing endlessly about the Danes with her father, of walking in the calm, quiet palace gardens. He might want to take his two sons, and his group of warriors, and sail home without her, to find a wife amongst his own people. Someone who wouldn’t have to leave her home and everything she knew.
Suddenly she felt a hand at her elbow, and she raised her eyes. Her father smiled confidently down at her and nodded.
‘It is time.’
Judith drew a huge breath and stepped forward, feeling the drag of her heavy skirt as it slid along the stones of the chapel. It was made of a light, bright blue Byzantine brocade, shot through with golden threads. Affixed to her shoulders was a matching blue silk mantle, its brooches round gold circles set with cabochon rubies. The gown was longer and heavier than anything she had worn before, and it slowed her steps with its weight. Her hair was unbound, cascading down her back to her knees in dark chestnut ripples and held from her face with a milled gold circlet also encrusted with rubies.
Standing before her was Archbishop Hincmar, waiting in his white vestments, a stiffened mitre on his head. Then she saw her future husband, clad in a leather jerkin and leggings, with thin leather straps binding his chausses. Her first thought upon seeing him was that at least he hadn’t worn his bear-skin cloak, as he would have been overheated in this throng.
The chapel was packed with people. Her mother, huge with child, sat at the front with her brothers and surrounded by her demoiselles in the brightest colours they owned. In the next row were the important lords of the court, and their ladies all vying with one another for the finest gown, the most transparent veil, the heaviest jewels. At the altar, arrayed behind the Wessex King were his warriors, all dressed more for battle than a wedding, in leather and heavy wool, with straps and buckles and swords. Judith wondered if this attire was the norm in Wessex, dark colours and heavy, badly woven fabrics. Suddenly she was pleased that her mother had insisted all her clothes were new, and that she had also packed chest upon chest of every length of fabric she could purchase from the merchants. Judith would bring colour to Wessex, if nothing else.
Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex Page 4
