Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex

by Lesley Jepson

  ‘You’ve made them laugh at least, Goz,’ chuckled Baldwin, tipping his head towards the tittering maidservants. Gozfrid merely grunted and buried his nose in the goblet, drinking his wine and gazing into the fire. Baldwin stood and shook out Gozfrid’s shirt, pale blue along with darker blue breeches. He made shooing gestures with his arms towards the maids, who jumped up and dried their hands on their aprons, commenting to each other and laughing coquettishly up at Baldwin.

  ‘Good night, ladies,’ he laughed as he closed the doors on the giggling maids, then turned to his friend. ‘Come on, Goz. Dress yourself and then we can have a quick look around before we eat. And I hope there’s plenty of food, my friend. I could eat a horse.’

  ***

  Chapter 66

  Judith gazed at the gowns being held aloft, biting her lip as she tried to decide which one she should wear. Would the green one, trimmed with marten fur and with the yellow kirtle beneath, set off her eyes? Or perhaps the red velvet. But if she got over-warm in the great hall, then her skin would match her dress, and she’d look like she’d been boiled. She shook her head at the velvet, and Alys laid it over a chair.

  Ghislaine held up the blue gown she had donned when she first arrived, with the matching mantle and silken ruffles, but Judith wanted to dress in something she hadn’t worn before. Something that would dazzle the court. Dazzle Baldwin.

  Still chewing on her lip, she assessed the one Elin was bringing out of her dressing room; a lavender velvet that shimmered into pale mauve and silver as she moved, and along with it a deep purple kirtle stitched with tiny lavender beads and silver thread around the neck, hem and cuffs. Judith nodded happily and the other girls put the rejected outfits away. Elin unhooked the back of Judith’s gown and it fell to the floor, while Ghislaine pulled the kirtle over her head. Judith shivered with the brush of cold air on her skin, clad only in the delicate silk shift she wore beneath her clothing.

  Elin dropped the purple silk over the Queen’s head and adjusted the sleeves and bodice around her slender shoulders and slight bosom as Alys looped the cuff buttons closed. With Ghislaine’s help, Judith squirmed into the close-fitting lavender gown, pushing the arms into the sleeves, which were tight around the top, falling into satisfyingly full swags below the elbows, their dagged points almost reaching the hem. The gown’s front hemline was cut high to allow much of the rich purple kirtle and all of the delicate embroidery and beadwork to show.

  Elin passed a heavy golden girdle around Judith’s slim waist, hooking its huge amethyst clip securely into the links. As Judith sat for Alys to brush her hair, Ghislaine fastened Judith’s amethyst and gold cross around her neck. Alys rolled the sides of Judith’s long, dark locks and wove the crown into a complicated circular braid, securing it with a gold clasp before she fitted the circlet around Judith’s forehead. Then she braided the length of Judith’s hair, weaving in lavender and purple ribbons, and golden cords to fasten the ends.

  Judith stood and looked in the beaten-metal mirror, satisfied at what she saw.

  ‘You look so beautiful, Highness,’ grinned Ghislaine, ‘we should have visitors from Frankia more often.’

  Elin opened the door and as Judith stepped from her chamber, Ghislaine and Alys caught up her train. They proceeded along the gallery to the wide formal staircase just as Lady Emer, clad in a bronze woollen gown and a full veil emerged from her side of the corridor. She stopped to allow the Queen to pass, and raised one critical eyebrow at Judith’s regalia.

  ‘Has Archbishop Ceolnoth seen your attire, Highness?’ Emer’s words were sharp, and Judith looked at her questioningly.

  ‘No, Lady Emer. Why would he wish to view my gowns?’ Judith bit back her impatience.

  ‘Then he hasn’t given you permission to wear that kirtle, Highness?’ Emer clicked her tongue and Judith felt her forbearance wearing thin.

  ‘Why on earth would I need the Archbishop’s permission, Lady?’ Judith tried not to allow her irritation to show, but she really wanted to get into the great hall as soon as she could, to speak with Baldwin.

  ‘The colour, Highness. Only the clergy wear that shade of purple.’ Judith stared at Emer, momentarily speechless, then let out a huge sigh and shook her head, allowing the corners of her mouth to tilt in a smile.

  ‘Lady Emer, this colour is worn all the time in my mother’s court. She often wears it herself, and I am honoured to wear a colour my mother chooses for her own garments. There has never been a whisper of the necessity for permission to wear any colour of the rainbow in Frankia, and I do not recognise the need for permission in Wessex. This is my court, and I shall wear whatever colour I choose.’ Judith carried on descending the stairs, letting out a sigh of tension as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  ‘Does your mother really wear this colour, Highness?’ asked Ghislaine in a small voice when they were out of earshot.

  ‘I have no idea. But her daughter will.’

  ***

  Chapter 67

  The din from more than a dozen different conversations ebbed and flowed around the hall, vying with the musicians that Judith had ordered to play to the throng. The additional guests had necessitated a bigger trestle being brought to accommodate everyone, and to Ghislaine’s delight, she was seated next to Gozfrid. She had searched her mind to think of something innocuous to say to the warrior, in order to open some sort of conversation and perhaps divert some attention away from the Queen.

  ‘Your hair is very long, Lord.’

  Gozfrid snorted with amusement into his wine cup, and turned to gaze at the girl beside him. Ghislaine blinked her wide blue eyes innocently and beamed her best smile.

  She had watched as the Queen spoke cautiously and self-consciously to her childhood friend, seated beside the King on the monarch’s right. That Judith had been able to keep her face resolutely blank had astounded Ghislaine. She had heard the exchange of meaningless pleasantries, enquiries from Judith about her parents and her brothers, and polite responses from Baldwin in return. But Ghislaine knew that the Queen was putting up a pretence, and she was determined to do her best to help her friend.

  ‘Longer than men wear their hair in Wessex, I’d hazard.’ Ghislaine tried again to engage Gozfrid in conversation, and to her delight he placed his goblet on the trestle and turned to look at her.

  ‘It seems so, Lady. Your King wears his hair quite short, does he not?’ Gozfrid spoke slowly so that Ghislaine could understand him, and she sipped her cup of ale and nodded.

  ‘The old King, the dead one,’ she whispered tactlessly, ‘wore his hair long, like a warrior. But the new king,’ she nodded at Ӕthelbald, ‘wears his short. He is not the warrior his father was, Lord. Before he went away on his pilgrimage, I mean.’ Ghislaine blinked again at Gozfrid, watching as he thought about her words.

  They were both speaking careful Latin, concentrating on one another’s words to penetrate the unfamiliar accents.

  ‘He was different then, Lady? We only met him when he married our Princess.’ Gozfrid tipped his head towards Judith, silently listening to her husband make conversation with his guest.

  ‘He was very different. His son resents what a warrior he was.’ Ghislaine took a sip of ale. ‘His son resents everything his father did,’ she muttered darkly.

  Gozfrid nodded, and Ghislaine was fascinated by the glint of candlelight in the golden hair on the young man’s jaw. She tried to drag her mind back to his words, and wished she could speak with him in French, rather than the painstaking Latin they were using. But she did not have enough vocabulary to hold more than the most superficial of conversations. She decided that she would ask the Queen to speak only French to her in the future, that she might learn more quickly, and she hoped this was not the only visit
Gozfrid and Baldwin would make to the Queen.

  ‘He is a third child, is he not, Lady? He has an older brother and a sister, yes?’ Ghislaine nodded, surprised that their guest knew such information, and Gozfrid spread out his hands with a shrug.

  ‘We have one of those at home, Lady,’ he nodded sagely, ‘called Charles. An absolute connard, jealous of those older than he is, and equally jealous of those younger. It makes them unpredictable. And it makes me grateful to be an only son, like my friend there.’ Gozfrid raised his goblet and silently toasted Baldwin.

  ‘I have an older brother,’ smiled Ghislaine proudly, ‘Ralf, at the end of the table in the green jerkin. He looks after me since the death of my parents.’

  ‘We met him when he served the old king,’ Gozfrid moved his lips close to Ghislaine’s ear, and she suppressed an excited shiver, ‘The dead one,’ he whispered, and the girl burst into a fit of giggles that had all the heads on the King’s table turn and glare at her.

  She studied her plate, her face flushed in embarrassment and only risked a glance up when the servants brought in the main course. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gozfrid gaze down at the contents of his plate and raise his brows.

  ‘What is this meat, Lady?’ he hissed, prodding at it doubtfully with his dagger.

  ‘Beef, Lord,’ grinned Ghislaine, pouring a large amount of gravy over her meal and grabbing a couple of small loaves from a basket of bread carried by a passing servant. She handed one to Gozfrid and broke hers, dipping it in the gravy and chewing enthusiastically.

  Gozfrid sliced a small piece of meat with his dagger and speared it into his mouth, then furrowed his brow at Ghislaine. ‘Are you sure, Lady? It tastes like no beef I have ever eaten.’ He glanced at Judith’s empty plate, ‘And does the Queen not eat, Lady? No wonder she is so slight, if she doesn’t eat.’

  Ghislaine munched on her crust of bread and shook her head wordlessly. Swallowing as quickly as she could, she responded, ‘The Queen eats in her rooms, Lord, as often do we. She has had chicken in wine sauce and mushrooms, with honey-glazed pears and cream.’ She attacked her meal with renewed gusto, and Gozfrid sighed, prodding his meat with the tip of his dagger.

  ‘I wish we had joined her,’ he muttered, biting into his bread.

  ***

  Chapter 68

  Baldwin lifted the saddle onto his horse, fastening the buckles securely, then draped the leather with the bearskin he used to cushion his ride. Gozfrid did the same to his horse in the adjacent stable, and both men looked up when they heard another pair of boots crunching on the stones of the courtyard.

  They had risen early in order that they might prepare their mounts for the journey back to Frankia, and so that they would have time to bid Judith and her ladies farewell. The winter morning was cold, with clear frosty air that seared the throat, and steam rose from their horses’ nostrils, even in the shelter of the stable.

  Baldwin observed that the man entering the barn was Eanwulf, slapping leather riding gloves into one hand and striding towards the roan mount in the corner stall. Baldwin met Gozfrid’s eyes and tipped his head towards the doorway, and his friend raised one eyebrow with a wry twist to his lips, and then silently strode towards the exit.

  ‘Riding early, Lord?’ called Baldwin, noticing with satisfaction that he had made the other young man start; he had not been seen until he had spoken.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Yes. I ride every morning with the King. I come here early to make sure the grooms prepare our mounts properly.’ Eanwulf regarded Baldwin with thinly-veiled contempt, pursing his mouth as he saw Baldwin saddling his own horse. ‘The grooms would have done that for you, Lord, had you asked.’

  ‘I prefer to rely on myself,’ replied Baldwin tightly, and then he stepped over the straw to face Eanwulf. Bending slightly so he could speak directly to the young man, he hissed, ‘I understand the King holds his court at a different place than this?’

  Eanwulf blinked at him in puzzlement. ‘Sometimes he holds his court at Sherborne, Lord. It was his headquarters before he inherited the remainder of Wessex. But how would you know that?’

  ‘I heard my father mention to his clerk that the packet of letters might need to be diverted.’ When Eanwulf nodded, Baldwin dropped his tone a little more.

  ‘You might want to advise the King that he would do well to stay away from Winchester. The Queen would be happier if he wasn’t here.’

  Eanwulf snorted in disgust. ‘Why should he care how the Queen feels?’

  Baldwin levelled a hard look at Eanwulf, dressed in the finest leather breeches and a beautifully woven cloak with a huge circular golden brooch pinning it to his shoulder. A blue linen shirt peeked beneath his jerkin, and on his feet he had soft kidskin boots that Baldwin thought more suitable for indoors than for riding.

  ‘Because I care. And I can make sure he isn’t King for very long should I choose.’ Baldwin’s tone was hard, but Eanwulf gave a light laugh and flapped the glove in his hand towards Baldwin’s chest as if he had made a joke.

  ‘You can’t choose our King! You’re from Frankia.’ Eanwulf gave another chuckle and moved to walk around Baldwin, who stepped to the side and blocked his path.

  ‘The Pope invests the King, and if he knew what this King was, he would revoke the kingship in a heartbeat. You see, I do know what he is, what you both are,’ ground out Baldwin tersely, and he saw a flicker of fear in the young man’s eyes.

  ‘We are Wessex nobility,’ said Eanwulf self-righteously.

  ‘You are sodomites,’ snarled Baldwin. ‘I saw you, after the battle, on your knees in the tavern yard. How would the people of Wessex feel if their King was excommunicated, or worse, for keeping a mignon such as you?’

  ‘A .. a what?’

  ‘Mignon. A favourite. One whose attentions he prefers to those of a woman.’ Baldwin leaned forward again and whispered threateningly, ‘And although he would be excommunicated, you would be killed. You would be tied to a stake, and you would have your manhood cut off, and then you … would … burn.’

  Eanwulf gave a fearful gasp, and heaved a sobbing, terrified breath. ‘To speak against the King is treason,’ he wailed, and Baldwin could hear the fear behind the declaration. He gave a derisive snort.

  ‘He isn’t my damned King. And I can keep my counsel. But he will move to Sherborne and hold his court there, while the Queen lives undisturbed in Winchester.’ Baldwin gazed contemptuously at Eanwulf, ‘I am sure someone of your, shall we say, talents, can persuade him. And save your own skin while you do.’

  ‘And if he does not?’

  ‘He has three more brothers waiting for the chance to be King.’ Baldwin shrugged and stepped away from Eanwulf. ‘It’s his choice, and yours. A peaceful rule in Sherborne, or excommunication and execution. You decide. I have to bid farewell to the Queen.’

  Baldwin strode past a trembling Eanwulf, and when he got out of the shade of the barn door, he began a cheerful whistle. It was such a beautiful winter’s day.

  ***

  Chapter 69

  After she had broken her fast, Judith took immense care with her gown, knowing that Baldwin would come to bid her farewell before he left for good.

  With the help of her friends, she garbed herself in a wine-red velvet gown with intricate silver beading around the neckline. Beneath this she wore a pale grey silk kirtle, the hemline stitched with burgundy and silver thread. The gown’s sleeves fell away from her elbow, their fullness lined with the same grey silk, but the under-gown’s cuffs were tight to her wrist, fastened with tiny glass buttons and silver loops.

  Alys rolled and wove her hair, and Ghislaine found some silver cords to twist through to the bottom of her braid as Elin
settled her circlet firmly around her forehead and onto the cushion of her hair.

  Judith decided that they would attend the solar as they normally would, and not by word or deed would she reveal that her heart was breaking. Only the tremor in her hands betrayed her, and Ӕlswith kept up a constant recounting of her children’s activities to distract her. Judith was grateful for the diversion, even though she could only half-listen to the tales her friend told.

  They had been seated at their embroidery frames for over an hour after they had broken their fast when a hard tread on the gallery outside heralded a visitor. Judith had instructed Elin to continue with the reading lessons, and two of the younger girls were picking out a tune on their lyres while the rest stitched or wove. Lady Emer’s sharp eyes cut to the door as it opened and Baldwin entered, his grey woollen cloak billowing behind him as he strode to Judith and bowed.

  Judith nodded her head in response and drank him in, trying to commit him to her memory so she could think about everything he wore and said this one last time. His shirt beneath the leather jerkin was a dark blue hue, and his hair rested on his shoulders, curls gleaming in the winter sunlight through the window. His trousers were fine brown wool, fastened with leather thongs around his legs and down into his studded calf-skin boots. Judith gazed at his bowed head, then realised he was waiting for her to speak first.

  ‘Lord.’ It was the most she could manage, and she hissed a sharp breath when he picked up her hand and brushed the back with his lips. She was aware of the beard surrounding his mouth as the texture of the hair abraded her knuckles, and she felt her hand jerk in his warm grasp.

  ‘Princess, we are about to leave, and I couldn’t go without your blessing.’ Judith heard the words, but when she risked a glance into Baldwin’s eyes, all she could see was merriment. She withdrew her hand and rose from her chair, gazing about her for Ghislaine.