‘My hair is a gift from God, Lady Emer. If He had wanted me to keep it covered, He wouldn’t have sent my husband to marry me. He would have allowed my father to send me to the convent in Senlis to serve Him instead. But He so loves my hair, He allowed me to marry the King so that I might keep it and show it to glorify His name, instead of shrouding it in linen as you do yours.’
Judith swallowed hard and took another breath. ‘Tell the Archbishop I thank him for his concern, but there is no need for it. I am a dutiful wife to my husband, and a devout servant of God. And I would like to remind you, Lady Emer, that I am neither your child, nor your dear. I am your Queen.’
Judith gazed at Lady Emer until the older woman inclined her head and dropped her own eyes back to her stitching. Judith let the air out of her lungs slowly and looked unseeingly at the skeins of thread. She slid her eyes up to Alys and Elin, and the latter nodded and smiled at her wordlessly. Beside her, Judith could feel Ghislaine wriggling and when she glanced at the young girl, she saw she was trying her best to hold in her laughter, her cheeks pink and hot.
After a moment, Lady Emer rose from her embroidery frame and gave Judith a low curtsey.
‘Majesty, excuse me. I feel rather unwell.’ Emer kept her head bowed, and Judith raised her eyes.
‘Of course, Lady Emer. I hope you feel better soon.’
The door crashed closed and Judith’s shoulders slumped in relief.
***
Chapter 28
Ӕthelbald made his way quietly down the dark corridor from the most remote part of the palace; the part that was neglected and dilapidated and where even the servants didn’t go very often.
He checked for the twentieth time that his breeches were properly laced and his leather jerkin was pulled down, adjusting the ties of his shirt cuffs once more. He wanted to reach the passage to his own rooms without being observed, where he could think, and perhaps pray for guidance.
He needed to strengthen his soul against temptation, and he needed advice.
As he slipped quietly through the connecting door, he saw Emer marching towards him, the insignificant Sybil at her shoulder. By her demeanour, she was obviously angry and upset, and Ӕthelbald wondered if he could fade back into the darkness before she became aware he was there.
‘Lord Ӕthelbald.’ Emer’s voice carried down the corridor, and he realised it was too late.
‘Lady.’ He bowed and she bobbed her knee briefly, agitation plainly written on her face as he gazed down at her.
‘Might we have a conversation, Lord?’ Emer lifted an enquiring eyebrow, and he nodded once. Turning to the girl silently standing at her side, Emer’s tone was strident. ‘Get back to the solar, child. Keep your ears open, and if that Frankian slut is plotting anything, I want to know about it.’ She nodded a curt dismissal, and Sybil scurried away back the way they had come. Emer twisted the knob on the door of her chambers and arched a smile at him.
‘Welcome, Lord. I shall pour you some wine.’ Emer swept into the room, and Ӕthelbald followed, glancing around out of habit to see if they were observed, but no-one was visible in the corridor. He closed and latched the door behind him.
Ignoring the flagons of wine on the sideboard, Emer found a tiny key on her chatelaine and used it to unlock a cupboard hidden behind a wall hanging. She lifted out a large stoppered bottle and held it up.
‘My husband’s best wine, Lord. We both look as if we need a drink.’ Ӕthelbald watched as she poured a generous measure into two ornately wrought goblets and handed him one. Without waiting for a toast, he drained his cup and held it for a refill. Emer chuckled softly and filled it to the brim.
‘I would ask your counsel, Lady,’ he began, gulping at least half the wine in his goblet as he thought what to say. He couldn’t tell her the truth, and if he had managed to avoid her seeing him, he wouldn’t have sought her out. Now he needed an excuse.
‘Anything, Lord. I too would like to speak frankly.’ Emer topped up his cup and then, with a thin smile, seated herself on a low stool.
‘I was wondering if you could think of a way to help my father. He seems to be losing his grip on State affairs, and I….’
‘No wonder, with that Frankian harlot by his side, Lord,’ interrupted Emer. ‘She is deliberately twisting his words, and openly defying Archbishop Ceolnoth when he tried to pass on well-meant advice through me as to how she should conduct herself.’ Ӕthelbald watched as Emer drained her goblet and poured more wine for them both. It was truly delicious, and he wondered where Sir Richeld had found such a smooth beverage. The wine the court usually drank could be quite rough on the throat, and he determined to ask which monastery produced this vintage.
‘She doesn’t seem to understand that she is merely a means to an end. She thinks because her father insisted she be crowned Queen, that it gives her the power to do what she chooses, without fear or favour from anyone here. Why, she even corrected me in the proper form of address, and I served your sainted mother for years and she never once….’
He saw Emer take a breath and compose herself. She gave him a rueful tilt of her lips and took another sip of her wine, this time dainty and more ladylike than the previous quaffs.
‘My apologies, Lord. She has angered me. I tried to offer well-intentioned advice and she refused to listen. I dread to think what she is plotting for your father’s kingdom.’ Emer stopped and tilted her head, ‘Your future kingdom, should I say, Lord. Providing it is still yours when your father passes to his eternal rest, and not simply an extension of Frankia.’
Ӕthelbald took another mouthful of his wine and glared balefully at her words, and she again tilted her mouth in the semblance of a smile.
‘Forgive me, Lord. These are women’s squabbles and you shouldn’t be expected to listen. Can I help you…..would you like to avail…..?’ Her voice trailed away as she nodded at his breeches and then swept a hand towards the bed against the farthest wall, heaped with feather pillows and a fur throw. He swallowed the last of his wine and supressed a slight shudder.
‘No, Lady. I simply wanted to discuss my father’s ability to rule, and I think you have provided me with the answer. The new Queen is obviously dripping her Frankian poison into his ear when they are alone.’ Ӕthelbald heard himself speak the words, but could not think of when his father had been alone with his child-wife without Ralf Edric at his side.
Perhaps they were plotting together? The lengths the Frankian wench would go to so her father could rule Wessex wouldn’t be any surprise, and what Emer was telling him only supported that theory.
Ӕthelbald hauled himself to his feet, wondering how long it had been since only two cups of wine had made him unsteady on his feet. Nevertheless, he would go to the Queen and… He paused, thinking that the wife of the king in Wessex should not be called such. His mother never had. That Judith was a Frankian princess was undeniable, but she would not be Queen to him.
He strode to the door, bumping his thigh painfully on the table in his path. Emer stood as he did, her hand on his forearm.
‘Lord? Are you quite well? The wine was strong, and…’
‘Quite well, Lady. And I intend to go and tell my father’s wife that she can forget all her schemes to deny me my birth right. You have clarified my mind, Lady Emer. And for that you have my gratitude.’ Ӕthelbald gave her a shallow bow, all he dared with his head spinning as it was. He walked through the portal and heaved a sigh, then took a huge cleansing breath.
His previous shame had transformed into righteous anger, and he had no need of spiritual guidance. He knew the source of his problems, and she was married to his father.
***
Chapter 29
The door to the solar burst open,
shuddering on its leather hinges and the echoing sound of boots on the bare wooden floor made the ladies look up from their stitching.
‘Out.’ Ӕthelbald’s tone brooked no refusal, but all those present gazed at him over their needlework.
‘I said out. All of you, out. Now!’ The volume of his voice rose, and Judith saw him rock on his feet as he swung his arm towards the door. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was drunk. She nodded at her ladies and they scurried out, glancing worriedly over their shoulders as they left the room.
‘Now it’s just you and me, Princess.’ He towered over her menacingly, but Judith refused to drop her eyes. She was as royal as he, and if he thought she could be intimidated, then he did not know her ancestry. Judith regarded Ӕthelbald calmly, hands still in her lap as she waited for him to speak. She resisted the urge to rub the ring on her thumb with her knuckle.
‘Lord?’ Her tone was softly questioning, and he hurled himself away from her and leaned on the high ledge of the window, glowering at her.
‘Don’t think I don’t know what your scheme is, Princess. You and your duplicitous Frankian father.’
Judith continued to gaze silently at the young man, waiting for him to explain himself.
‘Just because your father has two brothers pinning him within his own boundary, don’t think he can send you to claim Wessex on his behalf so he can increase his landholding. Wessex is mine, when my father dies, regardless of you or any child you manage to convince him is his.’ Ӕthelbald’s words were snarled through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, and Judith looked aghast at his suggestion.
‘Lord, I….. Your father and I…..’ She could hardly bear to discuss the terms of her marriage with this loutish prince, but she wouldn’t tolerate her reputation and that of her father enduring such slurs.
‘My marriage was agreed so that Frankia might help Wessex and vice versa against the Danes. I bind our two lands together, as would any child I might have. But the union cannot be consummated until I am fifteen, which is more than two years hence.’ Judith felt her voice becoming stronger the more she spoke, and she looked Ӕthelbald directly in his eyes. ‘And you will always be your father’s heir, Ӕthelbald. Before any child I might have, the crown will first pass to you.’
‘You say that now, childless and ostensibly virginal,’ he snorted derisively and looked her up and down as if, in Judith’s mind, he were weighing her for market, ‘but I will tell you this, Princess.’ He jabbed his finger in her direction. ‘My father has agreed to halve the kingdom after the Witan, and I shall rule Western Wessex. But know this; when he dies, the kingdom will be unified under my kingship once more.’
‘I would expect no other, Lord.’
‘And you had better take care, Princess. I have many spies, and I will know instantly if you try and influence my father against me. Play childish games all you wish, but should you attempt to depose me, you will rue the day you came to Wessex, I swear.’
With another sneer of contempt, Ӕthelbald strode from the room, crashing the door on the hinges once more. As the sound of his boots died away along the gallery, the swift steps of her ladies assailed Judith’s ears as Elin, Alys and Ghislaine hurried to her side.
‘Do not take any notice of him, Highness,’ insisted Ghislaine, patting Judith’s arm placatingly as Judith began to tremble with delayed shock. ‘We shall tell Ralf what he said, and Ralf will tell the King.’
‘No!’ cried Judith, looking at each of her attendants in turn and nodding her head firmly. ‘The King must not be concerned over this. Ӕthelbald will discover his mistake, and realise that I do not intend to usurp his position. Why would I?’ She shrugged and held out her hands. ‘But the King must not know.’
***
Chapter 30
Chère Baldwin, J’ai tellement peur!
Dearest Baldwin, I am so afraid.
The court of Wessex is so rough and dirty, and the weather is foul. I long for the bright skies and clean stone floors of my father’s castle. Here, the dogs are allowed to go where they will, and their droppings are everywhere. I have engaged a steward, and I shall set him the task of finding servants to clean the hall and my rooms and the stairs at least. My husband can live in filth if he chooses, but I shall not.
I have been thinking a great deal about my mother, and I am trying to behave as I think she would. The woman who has run the household since my husband’s first wife died hates me, as does the Archbishop, and I fear they will try and sow discord between my husband, his family and me. The two little boys are lovely, and although they have to study hard, they have a lot of fun together. There are also two other sons, both grown men who regard me with suspicion, I feel.
The language here is difficult, and the way they speak Latin makes it hard for me to understand much of what is said. You must remember Ralf, who was beside the King when he was with us. His younger sister has been assigned to my household, and she is helping with the translations, but everything is so strange, and everything takes so long. I have told her she must teach me the language as soon as she can, because I must be able to speak in their own language to those who serve me. What sort of a queen will I be if I can’t speak to the people of my country?
Baldwin, I miss you so much. I miss our walks in the garden, and our talks when we would hide behind the fountain. I miss my brothers – even Charles – and I miss playing roquet on the grass and hoping you would interrupt your sword-craft to come and see us and make little Lothaire laugh.
Here everything is wet and dark and dirty and smelly, the food is awful and there is no music. We shall live on bread, cheese and chicken until my steward can convince the cook to make something other than burnt meat and gravy. Even the wine is thick and sweet.
I shall try and be brave, as a Princess of Frankia should be. I shall be kind to the servants, so they want to do as I ask out of affection, rather than fear. I shall be gracious to my husband’s men, and as friendly to their wives as they will allow me to be. They regard me with suspicion and envy at the moment, but I will do my best to change that.
But here, in the privacy of my words to you, in the language no-one here speaks or writes, I can tell you I am afraid. I fear people will see through my pretence of being confident and regal and realise that I am a girl not yet thirteen, frightened almost to death by being in a court full of strangers, married to an old man who can’t remember who I am most of the time.
Please write back soon, Baldwin. Tell me about your life. Give me something to think about other than the nest of vipers here. Has my mother delivered her child yet? You see, I know nothing from my old life, and I miss it so much. I miss you so much.
Your friend, though miles apart,
Judith, Queen of Wessex and Princess of Frankia.
***
Chapter 31
Judith looked up with relief from her stitching and smiled as Ralf crossed the wooden floor towards her, being eagerly pulled along by Ghislaine. She held out her hand, and to her surprise he didn’t kiss it; rather he touched the back to his forehead and knelt before her.
‘Majesty.’
She blinked in surprise, and heard Elin and Alys whispering behind her. Judith calmly folded her hands in her lap and gazed at her husband’s right hand man.
‘Ralf, thank you for coming. Please, sit. I want to speak with you, and I cannot talk to the top of your head.’ Judith chuckled in the back of her throat, and watched Ghislaine drag a stool from the edge of the hearth. The girl pushed it in front of the Queen so her brother could sit, and he moved his sword from his side to allow for the small wooden legs of the stool beneath him.
‘How can I serve you, Lady?’ The solemn expression on Ralf’s face surprised Judith; he had always smiled
and laughed in her presence, but this meeting was important, so she was happy to follow his formality.
‘May we speak plainly, Ralf? I am so in need of your help, and I would like to count you as a friend here in Wessex.’
‘Lady, you have my oath. As much as I belong to the King, I belong to you.’ Ralf spoke earnestly, and Judith believed him.
‘Well then. I have asked a man called Adal to be my steward. He is in charge of the brewery at present, but he reads and writes, and can speak Latin.’ Judith gazed into Ralf’s eyes and waited for his opinion, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding when he nodded.
‘I know the man. He was a brave soldier and when he was wounded, King Ӕthelwulf found him a position here, that he might not starve.’ His words pleased her, and she recalled Baldwin saying that she would find her husband to be a kind man. She beamed at his approval of her choice and continued, ‘Ghislaine has agreed to teach me English, so I might speak to the servants. I would ask you, Ralf, how many servants are there in the castle? And why don’t they clean? Where are the musicians? I would like to hear music when I sew, or read, or eat. Would it be possible for me to bathe properly? And why are there no demoiselles?’ Her questions came tumbling out, and the puzzled look on his face made her want to laugh.
‘Lady?’
‘Demoiselles, Ralf. Ladies in waiting. At my father’s court, the wives and daughters of the nobility used to serve my mother. There are few ladies here.’ Judith paused and leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice to a whisper, ‘Is it because there has been no Queen for a time?’
‘Most of them live with their husbands, Lady. In their own homes, looking after their families.’ Ralf spread his hands and gazed at her doubtfully, and Judith sat back with a frown.
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