Gozfrid sipped his wine and tipped his head towards the letter, ‘How long ago was it written, Win? If he was as ill as you say, he might well be dead and his wife banished to a convent.’
‘The Princess seems to think she would be welcome in Mercia, so we could go there. If she is in a convent….’ Baldwin fixed hard eyes on his friend, ‘then by God we get her out.’
He stuffed the letter into his shirt and strode out of his chamber towards the room where his father conducted the business of the King. Regardless of the Count’s opinion, he was determined to bring Judith home. It would simply be easier if he had his father’s blessing. Briefly he rapped on the doorframe and entered without waiting for a response.
Count Audacer was behind his huge desk, rolls of parchment surrounding the space where he worked, seals and wax and quills laying haphazardly over the surface. Books and scrolls were piled on shelves lining the room, and the walls were covered in maps of the land ruled by King Charles and his brothers. A huge window behind the Count illuminated the room, and allowed a view of the formal gardens of the palace, paved paths leading to the fountain behind which Baldwin had hidden with Judith. He gazed at it for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked his father in the eye.
‘Father. I would ask you a favour.’ Baldwin remained at the huge studded wooden door. If his father was too occupied to see him, he would wave him away with a promise of a later time to talk. Baldwin hoped his father was not too busy; every moment delayed was a moment more that Judith might be endangered. With relief, he saw his father smile and beckon him forward.
‘Come in, my son,’ smiled Count Audacer, ‘What troubles you?’
Baldwin felt inside his linen shirt and withdrew the fold of parchment Judith had sent. He offered it to his father, but didn’t put it into his hand. Baldwin hoped his father wouldn’t want to read it.
‘The letter I have received from the Princess tells me her husband is dying, Father.’ His voice was made harsh by the tightness of his throat and he paused, calming his breathing and trying to swallow. He continued, his tone slightly less terse. ‘And she is understandably anxious about her own fate should that happen.’
The Count rose from his chair and went to the small table in front of the window. He poured two cups of wine and handed one to Baldwin, who swallowed the liquid gratefully.
‘She will come home, my son.’ Count Audacer smiled reassuringly at Baldwin. ‘Her father will expect her to be returned into his care, should she no longer have a husband.’ He took a thoughtful swallow of his own wine, and his voice lowered. ‘She is still only a child.’
‘She is fourteen.’ The words left Baldwin’s lips before he had chance to realise he spoke them aloud. He took another swallow of wine and tried to keep an impassive expression on his face.
‘As I said, only a child.’ The Count smiled again as he continued. ‘And perhaps her father may want to make another match for her, my son. Or she may wish to retire to a convent. Senlis, perhaps?’
Baldwin pushed away the coldness that had settled in his chest. Did his father already know the fate of the Wessex king? Had Charles already decided a fate for Judith? He knew that his father would never betray a confidence from the King, not even to his son. Baldwin took another swallow and cleared his throat.
‘I doubt that very much.’ He paused, then decided to plough on and say what he had come to say. ‘Might I fetch her, Father? Her husband may already have succumbed to his fate and I would not have her adrift.’ He spread his hands, trying to persuade his father by logic rather than tell him he felt in his soul that she was in danger.
‘I could take the packet of letters this week, just me and Goz. If the King lives, then we come home, but if he is no more, she might need advice and protection.’
A frown crossed his father’s face, and the Count shook his head. ‘Protection from whom?’
‘The Ӕthling. Prince Ӕthelbald.’ Baldwin tried to keep his tone neutral and not let his distrust show. ‘She says he dislikes her, and she feels he might banish her.’ He stopped and tried to put a conciliatory note into his voice.
‘If he has sent her away already, it will be easier for just the two of us to find her and bring her home, rather than a cohort of troops? We wouldn’t want to appear to threaten, would we?’ Baldwin smiled wolfishly, knowing that his father took the meaning from his words. The treaty between Wessex and Frankia forbade troops being taken into each country unless it was to fight Danes.
‘Let me think about it, my son.’ Count Audacer’s voice held a reassuring note, and Baldwin felt a curl of hope begin to stir in his stomach. ‘If I feel it beneficial to consult the King, I will. Or perhaps I won’t.’ He snorted in amusement, ‘But I will let you know before nightfall.’
‘Thank you, Father.’ Baldwin jumped up from the chair he occupied, and replaced his cup on the pewter tray, then strode out of the door as Count Audacer went back to his paperwork.
He took the stairs two at a time back up to his rooms. He needed to write a brief note to Judith and find a messenger with a swift horse. If he wrote quickly, the man might be able to find passage on a ship by nightfall.
Ma chère princesse, je te trouverai
Dearest Princess, I will find you.
My father has given me permission to bring you home if your husband dies. He thinks Gozfrid and I pose less of a threat, and we can arrange passage quickly on a ship. Do not worry, for I will see you very soon and we shall decide together.
I still pledge myself to you, Princess. For the whole of my life I am yours to command.
Baldwin D’Audacer
Then he had to pack a small valise, and tell Gozfrid to do the same. Regardless of whether his father entrusted him with the packet of letters or not, he would travel to Wessex in the morning. He would make sure Judith was safe and bring her home. Or die in the attempt.
***
Chapter 56
Judith sat in her solar, resentfully stitching a corner of linen that would become an altar cloth. Her ladies spoke in whispers, and even Ghislaine, whose discretion was often less than reliable, seemed very subdued. The young widow had let it be known that her demoiselles should garb themselves in their darkest kirtles and gowns out of respect for their King, and she gazed across a sea of darkest blue and grey.
She had chosen her own attire carefully; she wanted to attract no criticism or censure. Her kirtle was of grey silk, edged with black tracery at the hem and wrists and over this her gown was made from blue velvet, the shade almost as dark as midnight. Judith had asked Ghislaine to hunt at the bottom of all the fabric chests to find a length of steel-grey silk suitable to use as a head covering, and she had pinned her hair beneath the soft fabric so none showed.
Between them, they had fashioned another piece of silk that passed beneath Judith’s chin, covering her throat and up over her ears, being held in place by her coronet which held fast the piece of fabric which flowed downwards, drifting over her forehead and around her shoulders. No-one could accuse her of disrespect, covered as she was from throat to wrist, but she knew Archbishop Ceolnoth would try.
She felt so old, although she was only just fourteen.
Judith had sent word to Ӕlswith in Mercia that her father was dying, but the Mercian Queen hadn’t yet arrived, and Ӕthelwulf had died so swiftly at the end, with only Judith, Ralf and Ceolnoth in attendance. She longed for her friend to arrive, and the clattering of boots in the passage beyond the door made her look up hopefully as the door was thrust open.
In strode Ӕthelbald, sorrow and anger in equal parts on his face and she rose to greet him.
‘King Ӕthelbald. I am pleased you have come. The Archbishop wants to wait until your sister and brother also arrive be
fore we bury your father, so…..’ Her words trailed away as he glowered down at her with a derisive snort.
‘If Ceolnoth is waiting for those two to get here, then he won’t have anything to command his time until then,’ he sneered, and to Judith’s surprise, Ӕthelbald snatched hold of her wrist in a vicelike grip and pulled her towards the door.
‘Lord?’ stammered Judith, shocked by the new King’s rough handling. ‘I can take you to see your father if you wish. He lies in state in the chapel, with all the pomp and majesty accorded to him. There is no need to….’
Ӕthelbald stopped and jerked her close to his body, and she could smell the leather of his jerkin and the wine on his breath, as well as an indefinable scent of the outdoors; cold and crisp in the January air.
‘That old fool Ceolnoth is going to perform a marriage ceremony, Lady. Make no mistake, before my father is in the ground, you shall again be Queen of Wessex, married to its King once more,’ he snarled, and Judith saw the contempt in his eyes.
‘But, Lord…… you can’t. I was your father’s wife, and….. The Archbishop won’t countenance this, Lord. It will be against God, that you marry me.’ Judith was horrified at the prospect of being married to this man who had always hated her; sharing his bed, bearing his children.
‘Ceolnoth will do as he is told. I am sole King here now, and I shall decree what is and isn’t against God. Besides,’ he dipped his head and whispered malevolently in her ear, ‘I’m not marrying you because I want to swive you, Madam. I can’t think of anything I want less. I’m marrying you because you inveigled my father into giving you half his kingdom and by God I shall have it back.’
He straightened and carried on along the passage, pulling her behind him towards the flight of stairs. From the corner of her eye, Judith saw the hem of Ghislaine’s grey gown as she ran towards the back staircase. She knew her friend would be fetching Ralf, but Judith couldn’t see what he would be able to do about this; Ӕthelbald seemed implacable in his determination.
***
Chapter 57
Ralf! Ralf! You must come.’ Ghislaine trotted down the stairs, shrieking her brother’s name. At the foot of the stairs, she hurtled into the kitchen, catching hold of the central pillar of the staircase to steady herself. Ralf and Adal were standing at the kitchen door, deep in conversation.
‘Ralf!’ Ghislaine’s voice cracked as she hurried over the marble floor of the kitchen, ignoring the open mouths of the servants as she rushed past them.
‘What is it, sister?’ smiled Ralf, grasping her shoulders to halt her in front of him. Ghislaine’s face beneath her filet was hot and flushed, and Ralf could see by her expression that her news would not be welcome.
‘He came and took her. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her from the solar, and she thought he wanted to see his father, but I heard him snarl at her about land and Archbishop Ceolnoth, and she looked so afraid, Ralf, and he dislikes her so. He pulled her behind him down the stairs so I came to find you and….’ Ghislaine ran out of air and heaved a breath, blinking at her brother with wide eyes. Ralf gazed at her for a moment, his thoughts in a whirl.
‘By ‘he’ you mean Prince Ӕthelbald?’ Ghislaine nodded silently, hopping from one foot to another in agitation. ‘And you say he’s taken Queen Judith to the chapel, to the Archbishop?’ Ghislaine nodded again, chewing her lip.
‘What in God’s name is he up to now?’ Ralph spoke his thoughts aloud as his mind raced and Ghislaine watched him with wide eyes, trying to catch her breath.
Ralf glanced into the courtyard, where a carriage and a great many horseman were just entering the gateway. He shot a look at Adal and tipped his head towards the carriage.
‘If that is Queen Ӕlswith, tell her where we’ve gone, Adal. I may need help calming her brother down, if the death of their father has unhinged his mind.’
‘Yes, Lord.’ Adal stepped forward towards the visitors and Ralf raised one eyebrow at Ghislaine.
‘Come, sis. Let us see what the new King has in his mind for the dowager Queen.’ Ralf took a firm hold of Ghislaine’s hand and strode purposefully towards the path to the chapel, hoping that Adal directed Queen Ӕlswith to follow swiftly. If the new King was threatening Judith’s life, he would defend her to the end of his own. But he would prefer words to violence, and it was his hope that Ӕlswith could reason with her brother before anything untoward happened.
After all, if he killed the King to save the Queen, his own life would be forfeit. And he had too much to live for to let that happen.
***
Chapter 58
Judith skittered around the corner of the chapel, her balance precarious because Ӕthelbald refused to loosen his grip on her wrist and was striding out with his long legs. She had to trot by his side to keep pace, her wrist aching and her stomach roiling with dread at the thoughts of what might await her in a marriage bed, despite Ӕthelbald’s declaration of disinterest in consummating the union.
Ӕthelbald crashed the huge studded door of the chapel back on its hinges and Archbishop Ceolnoth rose arthritically from his prayers before the altar. Judith could see the body of her husband, laid on some planks of wood suspended over trestles.
He was dressed in his polished leather armour, straps neatly crossed over the chausses on his legs and his cloak folded by his side. His hands were clasped together as if in prayer and beneath them was his long sword, its hilt shining and the blade oiled. Judith thought he looked as if he were merely sleeping before going into battle, the cares and troubles of his life erased from his face in slumber.
‘Majesty,’ began Ceolnoth, dipping his knee deferentially and sweeping his arm towards Ӕthelwulf, ‘as you see, your father lies in state. Do you wish…’
‘What I wish, Archbishop, is for you to marry me to this bi….to the Queen.’ Ӕthelbald’s voice was strained with anger, and Ceolnoth gasped in shock.
‘Majesty, that cannot be. She was your father’s wife and it is forbidden.’ Judith watched the old clergyman’s eyes dart from Ӕthelbald to his father’s body, and then back to her, his lips moist and loose as he shook his head in denial of the request. But Judith knew that it was not a request.
With a whisper of steel, Ӕthelbald withdrew his jewelled seax from his belt and pointed it at the Archbishop, whose eyes grew huge in his head.
‘Marry us, you old fool, or you will join my father and I will find someone who will!’ Ӕthelbald’s tone brooked no refusal, and Judith turned a resigned face to the elderly man.
‘He is the King, Archbishop. You have as much choice as I do in this situation.’ Judith straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. She was the Queen of Wessex and a Princess of Frankia; she would endure.
The Archbishop removed the stole from around his shoulders and bound Judith’s bruised hand to Ӕthelbald’s, making the sign of the cross and muttering the marriage service in a scandalised tone. Ӕthelbald pulled a narrow gold band from his little finger and slid it onto Judith’s bare ring finger. She had never removed Ӕthelwulf’s ring from her thumb, and she could feel it there as if reproaching her.
The couple made the required responses quickly, and Ceolnoth blessed the ring and the newly-married couple just as the door of the chapel swung open again, framing a panting Ralf Edric with a shocked Ghislaine at his side. Before anyone could speak, a voice came from behind Ralf, loud and imperious.
‘What in God’s name have you done, brother? Have you lost your wits?’
Queen Ӕlswith swept into the chapel and glowered at the newly-made King.
Judith stood as still as she could, hardly daring to breathe in the face of Ӕlswith’s cold anger. The violent fury of a few minutes ago seemed almost dreamlike when she thought about it; only the
ache of her bruised wrist made the memory real. Beside her, no longer grasping her arm, or touching her in any way, stood Ӕthelbald, shocked into speechless rigidity by the tone of his older sister’s voice.
‘Why have you done this?’ asked Ӕlswith, lowering her tone in deference to the holy place in which they stood, and Judith felt Ӕthelbald drag a breath.
‘We need her in Wessex, sister. Had her father found out she was widowed, he might have instructed her to return home. This way, she remains Queen and we keep the treaty and her land.’ Ӕthelbald’s voice was lighter than it had been when he addressed her, and Judith wondered if it was because he didn’t hate his sister like he hated her. She struggled to care either way.
‘But marrying her now, brother. In front of our father’s corpse. It is hardly a regal thing to do.’ Ӕlswith turned her gaze upon Judith and smiled gently, putting her hand out to cradle Judith’s cheek. ‘And you have frightened your bride. Was that your intention, Ӕthelbald? To frighten her into submission?’
Judith heard the growl in Ӕthelbald’s throat before he spoke again, this time his tone harsh and unforgiving; the voice she normally associated with him. ‘I care not if she is fearful, Ӕlswith. Only that her father meets the terms of our agreement. When the Danes attack, he will send troops to help us repel them. She guarantees it.’
‘Then make sure you treat her well, brother. Or you might find she writes to her father and tells him how ill-used she is.’ Ӕlswith’s voice met her brother’s for sharpness, and Judith heard him give a derisive snort.
‘Her life will not change, sister. I have no wish for her company. She can continue to order the castle as she chooses, entertain the Lords when required, sit by my side when absolutely necessary.’ He looked Judith up and down, as if appraising her price for market with his cold gaze, then shrugged and strode down the centre aisle of the chapel.
Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex Page 19
