Suddenly she felt herself pulled around another pillar and she was in front of the crowd, gazing up at the white-bearded Pope. Lothaire released her hand and stepped forward.
‘Holiness, I have brought my sister as you asked.’ Lothaire’s voice was quite firm and Judith glanced in surprise at her younger brother daring to interrupt the Pontiff. She remembered him as the diffident child of her girlhood, only speaking when spoken to. It surprised her that, despite his youth, he had grown in confidence and stature. He was still as slender as a reed, but was taller than she, and his hair, although tonsured, fell in soft coppery waves onto his shoulders. Lothaire’s charcoal-grey woollen habit was finely-woven, with a tooled leather belt around his waist, rather than the more customary knotted rope. She also observed that instead of the open sandals on his feet that she would have expected, he wore well-made leather boots beneath his robe.
Tearing her eyes from her brother, Judith met the gaze of the old man before her and then bowed her head slightly; her belly wouldn’t allow further prostrations. Baldwin stepped forward and kissed the ring on the hand extended by the Pontiff, and with care, Judith moved towards the old man, her lips brushing the air above the gleaming golden ring. A chill seemed to emanate from the wrinkled flesh and despite the heat from the press of bodies all around her, Judith felt a shiver creep up her spine.
Abruptly, the Pope got to his feet and regarded Lothaire with a fond smile in his pale blue eyes.
‘Bring your sister to my chamber, my son. I would speak with her in private,’ Nicholas glanced at Baldwin then turned back to Lothaire, ‘without her husband.’
The Pope swept towards a door concealed in the panelling, and Judith followed in his wake, clutching the hand of her brother tightly and hearing the softly mocking chuckle of Baldwin behind her.
‘Don’t worry, sister. You will be quite safe,’ whispered Lothaire, his unsteady gait matching Judith’s bulky steps.
They entered another chamber, a well-appointed sitting room with a huge chair in the centre. At the end of the room, Judith could see an arched loggia looking out onto the city, those buildings still surviving from the Ancient Romans standing side by side with newly-built stone palaces and more dilapidated timber homes. Straight roads radiated from the Basilica into the distance as far as she could see, the grey of the stone mingling with the green of the hillside like fingers clutching at the land.
‘Come and sit by me, my child. Dear Lothaire, bring that chair for your sister, and then you can sit on the stool yonder.’ Judith noticed a soft hassock on the other side of the Pope’s chair, which she assumed was the stool he meant. Lothaire dragged a chair from in front of the writing table, placing it near where the Pope had seated himself and then led Judith towards it.
‘You are very beautiful, my child.’ Nicholas stretched his hand out and covered those clasped in Judith’s lap, patting them gently. His fingers were icy cold and slightly clammy on her skin, and Judith wondered how to respond, simply tilting her lips in a smile at the old man. His hand moved to her hair, flowing over her shoulder beneath the short veil.
Heeding Lothaire’s advice not to bind it tightly, Alys and Ghislaine had braided it over her head, securing it at the nape of her neck. Then Ghislaine had found some silver clasps that were meant for cloaks, and had fashioned a way of clipping them down the length of her hair to hold it together. But as her hair was almost to her knees, there were still rippling waves beyond the clips, unconfined by Ghislaine’s jewelled chains.
‘And your hair is quite lovely.’ Nicholas threaded his dank fingers through the unbound ends, and it cascaded over his icy palm like silk. Judith began to feel uneasy, but determinedly kept her gaze clear and her mouth smiling.
‘Thank you, Holiness,’ she whispered, unsure of what response she should make, and Nicholas beamed at her benevolently.
‘Your father is displeased with you, my child.’ Nicholas nodded to confirm his words, then slid his gaze to Lothaire, seated on the hassock to the Pope’s right, ‘But your handsome brother here tells me you are happy.’ The Pontiff leaned forward abruptly and myopically scrutinised Judith’s face, then sat back again, patting Lothaire’s shoulder with the hand that wasn’t tangled in Judith’s hair.
‘I am, Holiness. Very happy. I have loved my husband since I was a small girl, and I am pleased we are together at last.’
Nicholas nodded, his right hand still affectionately on Lothaire’s shoulder, and Judith watched the old man’s eyes slide from her face to her belly, huge in her lap and straining against the pale blue silk of her gown despite the newly-slit seams. The chair in which she was sitting made it impossible for her to minimise her condition, and the mound of her child thrust disconcertingly forward towards the Pope. The baby, uncomfortable, began to move slowly and Judith’s belly rippled with the movement.
‘Oh, my child,’ the Pontiff gasped, ‘do allow me…..’ the Pope’s words trailed away as, much to her astonishment, he placed both his hands on Judith’s belly and closed his eyes. Judith, shocked into immobility by the moist chill of the Pope’s palms through the thin silk of her gown, shot an anxious glance at her brother, but Lothaire simply smiled and gave her a reassuring nod.
After a seemingly endless moment of silence, Nicholas glanced up at Judith, his hands still splayed on the undulating mound of her belly. ‘I have prayed over your son, my child. He will be strong and brave, like you. As you walked towards me in the church, I was quite put in mind of the Holy Mother, and how she must have looked before she gave life to Our Lord.’ The Pontiff beamed up at her and then removed his hands, sitting back and resting his arm on Lothaire’s shoulder once more. Judith determinedly kept her eyes on the Pope, rather than gaze at the damp patches his palms had doubtlessly left on her gown.
‘So I will issue a dispensation, my child, blessing your union with your husband. I shall write and inform that over-zealous bombast that is Hincmar of the fact that he has no right to try and usurp the power of Rome, and I shall insist he lift the edict of excommunication.’ Nicholas shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as if at a loss for words at the temerity of Archbishop Hincmar.
He smiled brightly at Judith. ‘And I shall write privately to your father, thanking him for sending your divine brother into the church, and bidding him welcome you and your husband into the bosom of your family once more.’
‘Divine, Holiness?’ Judith’s brow creased slightly at the Pope’s choice of word, and Nicholas chuckled softly, waving one hand in front of his face.
‘Forgive me, my child.’ He grinned at her, then his eyes moved distractedly downwards to watch her belly as it continued to roll and surge beneath the silk of her gown. ‘Did I say ‘divine’? I meant to say ‘devout’. I am an old man, as you can see, and sometimes the word we have in our mind is not the one to escape our lips.’ He beamed again at her bulging figure, his tongue moistening his lower lip, then turned an equally pleased smile on Lothaire, stroking the boy’s shoulder affectionately. ‘I meant ‘devout’,’ he repeated.
As Judith gazed at Lothaire, she thought she detected a slight shadowing of her brother’s eyes, a qualm behind the smiling countenance that he offered the Pope, which was swiftly masked and gone. She determined to ask him about it when they were alone.
Nicholas got to his feet, as did Lothaire, offering his hand so Judith could haul her bulk from the chair. As her hair swung free from her lap, the Pontiff caught it again, passing the chestnut strands through the fingers of his left hand and breathing in their fragrance, while he placed his icy right hand on the dome of her stomach.
‘Have no fear, my child. Your son will be blessed and your family reunited once more.’ He lifted his hand and patted Judith’s cheek, and she lowered her eyes so he didn’t see the doubt and revulsion his gesture had cause
d in her mind.
The old man walked through the door back to the body of the cathedral, and Judith felt Lothaire’s hand slip inside her own.
‘Come, sister. Let us go and find your husband.’
Judith released the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding and squeezed Lothaire’s reassuringly warm fingers in response.
***
Chapter 123
Much to Judith’s relief, the Pope was surrounded by his priests and supplicants when they stepped through the door, and she glanced down the gallery to find Baldwin.
He was standing a little way away, observing the ebb and flow of humanity who had come for a Papal audience and seemingly unaware that his wife was watching him so intently, drinking him in and hugging to herself to fact that they had been given a blessing on their marriage.
His tall, rangy frame was braced against one of the stone pillars, one boot carelessly resting on the wall. Judith noted that his hair was longer than he usually wore it, the spiral curls past his shoulders and resting on the leather of his jerkin. His breeches were tight over his thighs, fastened with leather straps around his calves and then tucked into his boots. Although he hadn’t carried his sword into the house of God, neither had he relinquished the dagger at his belt, and his fingers absently played with the hilt, flicking it in and out of the scabbard as he waited.
Judith smiled to herself as she moved slowly down the gallery, recognising Baldwin’s habit with the dagger as evidence of his nervousness while she was away from him. Then his head turned and he beamed a breath-taking grin at her, hazel eyes sparkling in his tanned face, and his white teeth flashing beneath his beard.
Oh, how she loved him!
Baldwin stepped forward and clasped her hand, sliding his other arm about her waist and hugging her into his side.
‘I quite like you in that veil, my love,’ he laughed, bending his lips to whisper in her ear, ‘and I look forward to seeing you wear only that later.’
Judith blushed, feeling the flush creep up from her toes until her whole body radiated warmth. At the tickle of his beard against her skin, her stomach had clenched tightly with want of him, and as she gazed at him with laughter in her eyes, she could still feel the tightening in her belly. The baby moved slowly, and her muscles seemed to compress around it. She squirmed slightly and beamed at Lothaire, silently watching them with a rueful smile on his lips.
‘I told you not to worry, Sis,’ grinned the boy. ‘His Holiness will write to Father and all will be well.’ Then Lothaire shrugged, with an amused smirk, ‘But I shall make sure you have a copy of the dispensation, so Father can’t claim it was mislaid.’
Baldwin’s brows rose in surprise at the asperity of the remark. ‘Do you not trust your father, Lothaire?’
Lothaire widened his eyes and tilted his head, gazing between Baldwin and Judith. ‘I trust my father the King, Baldwin. But I do not trust my brother Charles not to intercept and destroy the letter.’
Judith tried to ignore the trepidation making her stomach tighten as she thought of her father’s reaction to the Pope’s missive. She gazed down at the Travertine marble floor, and then blinked, shooting a distracted glance up at her brother. ‘Those are very fine boots, Lothaire.’
The boy laughed, yet the tone in his mirth made Judith’s spine prickle slightly and she felt an uncomfortable sensation clamp around the bottom of her back.
‘I told you, Judith, he likes me. He wishes my foot healed, and prays over it constantly, he says. And until God hears his prayers and heals me, the Holy Father had some boots specially commissioned to help me walk.’
‘He treats you well, brother.’ Judith whispered the words, doing her best to ignore the feeling of trepidation settling over her like a fog. The babe’s movements were stealing her breath, and she struggled not to gasp as a violent thrust came from inside her belly.
Lothaire didn’t meet her gaze. Instead he looked out over the throng of people still waiting to see the Pope, then gave a small shrug and a brief chuckle. ‘That he does. And I shall be affirmed as Bishop of Auxerre when I am fourteen.’ He turned and this time he smiled delightedly into her eyes. ‘So I do not have much longer to wait for my escape.’
‘Escape?’ Beside Judith, beneath her clutching grasp as they walked towards the huge doorway, Baldwin furrowed his brow at his brother-in-law.
‘Forgive me. A poor choice of word.’ Lothaire tilted his head, mouth smiling, but Judith thought she saw another shadow pass briefly over his eyes. ‘I meant not long until I can direct my life as I choose, instead of being at the mercy of men who have no spirituality in their souls.’
‘Do you regret going into the church, Lothaire?’ asked Judith gently, desperate now to exit the huge vaulted cathedral and breathe air untainted by incense and unwashed bodies. Even the smoke and dung-scented air of the street seemed clean by comparison, the sweetness of the incense and the motion of the child in her belly bringing on a wave of nausea that she determinedly pushed down.
‘I had as much choice in the matter as you did, sister. And as a ten year old boy, thrust into the forum of power that the Church can represent, with all the ruthless lack of compunction shown to someone of such tender years, I would have wished it might be different.’ Lothaire paused, giving a shrug and twisting his mouth wryly.
‘But this is my life, and once I am away from here, I can do as I like, be a better man than those with whom I have dealt thus far.’
***
Chapter 124
Believed that the carriage ride from the Basilica to their palazzo was a brief one, Judith climbed the shallow steps to her suite and greeted her ladies with a tired smile. The child continued to surge within her, and the prickling sensation she had felt around her spine had settled into a relentless ache. Once she had divested herself of her gown, she decided that she would lie down upon the bed until the pressure had passed.
‘Ghislaine, go down to the kitchen and ask Cook for the shears.’ Judith met the girl’s eyes calmly as she unhooked the clasp of her surcoat and shrugged it onto the floor.
‘What?’ Ghislaine’s brow furrowed. ‘I beg your pardon, Princess. The shears?’ At Judith’s nod, the girl shrugged and hurried from the room. Judith sank onto the padded seat by the window and gazed out over the city. Far away to the right, she could see the ribbon of the River Tiber glittering in the sunlight, and the baked dust of the street directly beneath. At least the air there was cleaner than that of Saint Peter’s and Judith tried to take a deep breath, but the heaviness of the child beneath her ribs prevented her lungs from expanding as much as she wished.
‘Elin, take the filet and veil from my hair.’ She expelled a trembling breath and tried to make her tone somewhat less curt. ‘If you please.’ Judith smiled at Elin and then turned her gaze to Alys. ‘Alys, wait until Ghislaine comes back with the shears and then you will cut some of the length from my hair.’
‘Princess?’ gasped Alys, obviously horrified by the request, and Judith sighed, trying to find a comfortable position on the seat that didn’t result in such a feeling of compression on her lower back.
‘When Ghislaine returns with the shears, I will show you from where.’ Judith wearily lifted her hair and brought it over her shoulder, measuring around eight inches of the bottom of her hair below the final clip Ghislaine had fitted.
The door opened and Ghislaine brandished the shears from the kitchen, two wickedly sharp blades joined by a flexible rivet. They looked unfeasibly large in the girl’s small hand, and Judith held out the bottom of her hair towards Alys with a grimace of distaste.
‘There, Alys. Cut there.’
‘Princess, it will only be just below your waist if I take that much off.’ Alys’ voice
trembled with tears at the thought of cutting her mistress’ beautiful hair, but Judith twisted her mouth as a wave of nausea came over her.
‘That will be quite long enough, and it will grow. But I want this much gone, and burnt.’ She held her hair in a bunch, needing to be rid of the part that Nicholas had touched. Bile rose in her throat and she gestured to the table for a cup of wine which Ghislaine brought quickly.
As Alys sliced through the luxurious length of hair, Judith gratefully gulped the wine, then ponderously hauled herself to her feet before her maid had quite finished. The pressure on her spine abated as she stood, and she was able to take a deep breath without the bulge of her child compressing her lungs. The wine had obviously helped, and Judith felt well enough to hold out her arms.
‘Now remove my gown and burn it, alongside my hair.’ Judith tipped her chin towards the fireplace as both Elin and Ghislaine unknotted the golden laces at the side of the gown and began to pull them through the hastily-cut eyelets.
‘But, Princess, it is so beautiful,’ whispered Ghislaine as she worked the threads free.
Judith gave her a sharp look as another wave of nausea built in her stomach and she began to wonder if she had eaten something that had disagreed with her. ‘Then you take it,’ she snapped, closing her eyes against the sickness. ‘Make yourself a shift or tear it up for clouts for the baby. I don’t care which, but I never want to see it again.’
She began to pull urgently at the bodice, pushing it away from her breast while holding her shift in place. Finally sufficient lacings were unfastened that the hated garment pooled on the floor and Judith felt the pressure ease on her belly as the silk of her shift whispered coolly over her skin, no longer tightly clamped in place by her gown. Leaning on Elin’s shoulder, she stepped away from the puddle of blue silk, rubbing her aching back with her other hand. A gasp from Ghislaine made her turn quickly, and she felt another wave of sickness as the pressure from the child seemed to increase and she had a sudden urge to use the pot.
Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex Page 40
