There had been a man in Rome, a kind, quiet man, called Lord Wulf of Bavaria who had taken a great interest in her gospel books. She had been touched and had talked to him as much as she could but Torr, to her great surprise, had been jealous. Wulf’s simple attention – just artistic interest, she was sure – had inflamed his passion in a way she’d not known since the first days of their marriage and this baby must be the result. She was longing to get home to Durham to keep it safe but first there was this visit to endure.
She nudged her pretty carriage companion awake as they clattered down the sparsely built but surprisingly busy streets of Caen and onto the slope towards the gates of the formidable ducal fortress. Once within the gates, Judith kept behind the carriage’s door-flap so she could sneak a look, unnoticed, at the ducal fortress. It was enjoyably unimpressive with much of the huge space on the hilltop just bare grass and Judith thought fondly of pretty Durham with its winding streets and well-established houses and her own elegant enclosure. But her dear home was far off yet and now they were drawing to a halt and two guards were leaping to pull back the flap and she only just sat back in time not to be caught peeping. She looked again to her companion.
‘Ready?’
‘Absolutely. I cannot wait to see her face.’
Judith smiled stiffly and led the way out into the open, her legs weak from the journey so that she staggered stupidly as she stepped out to meet Mathilda. She waved away all help and righted herself to look at her cousin. She had forgotten how small she was, and how little that mattered for Normandy’s duchess held herself even more regally than she had in their youth. The ten years since they’d last been together had at least drawn a few lines across her face but they only served to emphasise her natural beauty.
‘Judith, my dear, how lovely.’ Mathilda offered her a formal hand but then stopped, her eyes fixed over her shoulder. ‘Oh and, and . . .’ Judith watched amazement turn into a joy that had been notably absent from the initial greeting. ‘Emeline? Emeline, is that really you?!’
And then she was pushing past Judith to take Emeline in her arms and their bellies, both swollen, were bumping against each other and they were laughing and crying and calling for Cecelia and all was a confusion of tears and laughter. Judith stood awkwardly to one side until at last Mathilda looked to her again.
‘You brought Emeline back.’
‘It seemed churlish not to.’
‘I’m so glad. And Hugh? Is Hugh back too? William will be delighted.’
That, Judith knew, was the plan. Torr had fallen over himself to offer the Grandmesnils transport home, as if they were his personal gift to William, and that made Judith uneasy. She looked around the yard but the men had dismounted and gone inside for ale.
‘Hugh is back,’ Emeline confirmed. ‘And our children too. Meet Amaury, Claudine and Beatrice.’
‘Gosh, how the twins are grown!’ Mathilda exclaimed as the three children who’d bounced off the linen walls of the carriage most of the journey finally sprang free.
Karl followed more sedately but went unnoticed as Mathilda’s six children came rushing forward to line up before Emeline’s three.
‘Why are you that funny brown colour?’ asked a bullish boy with bright red hair that Judith could only assume was the one they called ‘Rufus’.
‘You’re the funny one with that crazy hair,’ little Beatrice shot back and the two mothers hastened over to the standoff.
‘She reminds me of you, Emeline,’ Judith heard Mathilda laugh as they dived in together to keep the peace and she had to put a hand to her belly to curb the instantly flaring jealously that she had all but forgotten her lively cousin always inspired in her. She stepped determinedly forward.
‘This is Karl.’
Mathilda turned as the rest of the children scrambled off together and smiled politely at the boy.
‘Welcome to Normandy, Karl.’
‘Thank you,’ he mumbled.
Judith longed for him to dazzle Mathilda but he had not his father’s ready charm – nor, she hoped, the foibles that went with it.
‘Why don’t you check the horses?’ she suggested and watched him break thankfully away and escape to the long run of stables against the palisade fencing that marked the perimeter of the royal lands. She wished she could go too but Mathilda was taking her arm.
‘And how is life over the Narrow Sea, Cousin?’
‘It suits me well, thank you.’
Neither of them mentioned the events of ’51 when they had moved in and out of England as if God was somehow choosing between them. Maybe He still was.
‘You live in the north, I believe?’ Mathilda pushed.
‘I do. What of it?’
‘Nothing of it, Judith. I was simply asking.’
‘Of course. Sorry. Torr – Tostig – is a little sensitive about his office. We live in Durham which is a fine city with a wonderful cathedral and beautiful countryside all around but it is, you see, quite a long way from Westminster. Sometimes Torr feels . . . isolated.’
‘I see. And you, Cousin – how does this Durham suit you?’
‘Oh, I love it there and have much to do with the people and the cathedral chapter. I am more than content to manage our estates whilst Torr travels with the king. Edward values him highly.’
‘How nice. Shall we go inside?’
Judith nodded thankfully, praying she could get somewhere to rest a while for she was so tired with the new babe. Already, though, she could hear Tostig throwing his weight around in the hall and knew she dared not leave him to talk to these cunning Normans alone. How she dreaded the evening ahead.
‘And how does my cousin, King Edward?’ Duke William asked Torr, sleekly casual.
Judith felt the words spike across her skin like nettle rash. The feasting had gone every bit as badly as she’d feared. All evening Duke William had been feeding her husband both flattery and wine and Torr was edgier than ever. She put out a warning hand to her husband but he did not even notice.
‘He is old,’ he told their host recklessly, ‘and dull. He can scarcely keep his seat in the hunt.’
‘Really?’ William half-smiled. ‘I remember him as such an accomplished rider as a young man. How sad for him.’
‘He is well enough yet,’ Judith said quickly.
William looked at her curiously but Torr was leaping in again.
‘We should perhaps, Lord Duke, speak of England alone?’
Judith felt every part of her clench with nervous fear.
‘Alone?’ William said, drawing out the word so it seemed to take on even more import. ‘Of course, Earl Torr. It would be a pleasure. Perhaps you would like to see my wife’s new abbey of La Trinité? It progresses fast.’
Torr blinked at his host, then looked to Judith. They both glanced to the window opening where the dying sun was turning the sky a dull orange.
‘Now, Duke William?’
‘Why not? It looks beautiful by moonlight. Not as fine as Roman monuments, perhaps, but a modest achievement all the same.’
‘Of course,’ Torr stuttered, putting his well-used wine goblet down with a clatter. ‘I would be honoured.’
‘And your wife?’
‘If you wish.’ He was sweating, Judith noticed, caught out by William’s speed. He wasn’t ready for whatever he had planned. ‘Perhaps Hugh and Emeline would like to come too?’
‘Oh, they are tired,’ William said easily, ‘and wish to settle their children back into their new home, do you not?’
‘We do,’ Hugh agreed hastily, nudging Emeline to her feet.
Judith felt a sudden crazy urge to hold onto her tenuous journey-friends. William looked alive, focused, dangerous. They had been mad to come but there was no going back for the duke was already leading the way out of the hall, guards falling in behind them. The sun had gone but the moon was near full and as they trod towards the half-built abbey, Judith felt like a ghost of herself. The city of Caen lay, as far as she could tell, to the so
uth of the enormous compound in which William’s castle nestled, but Mathilda’s abbey was in the east and William’s, so he told her, was just being started in the west.
‘So we can spread the city out,’ he said companionably as they walked, and looking at the new houses that were being built all along their route in a mixture of wood and stone Judith saw how they were helping to create a new city, more modern and elegant than the huddle of buildings directly beneath the fortress.
It was a clever plan, a vision even, and she looked for Torr to plead with him not to underestimate this man but he was sauntering along with Mathilda, chattering about shoe designs, seemingly oblivious to any possible trouble ahead. And now, here they were at the new abbey. The guards held torches but William waved them back as he led them under the open archway and into the cavernous space of the developing nave. Judith looked up at the half-grown church and it seemed to her that it was reaching cravenly towards the sky, as if it were Normandy itself, ever grasping for more.
‘What do you think?’ William asked Torr, gesturing expansively.
‘It will be very beautiful. It reminds me a little of the new Westminster Abbey.’
‘Does it?’ William’s voice was sharp. ‘It is finished, this Saxon abbey?’
‘No, no. It is not so far progressed as this, though it is bigger of course.’
‘Of course?’
Judith longed to step in and stopper Torr’s mouth but she dared not.
‘It is the king’s own project.’
‘I see. And kings need bigger abbeys than everyone else, do they?’
At last Torr stiffened, sensing danger.
‘The abbeys, surely, are for God, Lord Duke?’
‘Of course. It is good that King Edward is building. The abbey church was in poor repair when I was last in London in ’51. You remember? Oh no – you were in exile at the time.’
‘I was in Flanders with Count Baldwin, your wife’s father.’
‘And your wife’s brother. We are virtually related, Earl Tostig.’ Torr looked uneasily at William who clapped him on the back and strolled forward, as if admiring the stonework. ‘I enjoyed my time in Westminster,’ he said into the night sky. ‘I got on very well with the king, my cousin. He and I are related too.’
‘Distantly.’
‘His mother was my great-aunt.’
‘A maternal line,’ Torr replied but his voice was thin and Judith saw him wrap his fingers nervously into his hazel hair.
She moved towards him but just as she gained his side William spun back.
‘Why are you here, Earl Torr?’
‘A family visit, Duke. And I brought Hugh back.’
‘For which I am grateful, but that was not, Torr, out of the kindness of your paltry heart. So I ask again – why are you here?’
His bluntness was ruthless; it left Torr nowhere to go.
‘I wondered, William, if you would consider backing me as King of England.’
‘You?’ William looked at Torr with contemptuous disbelief. ‘You as King of England?’ He laughed, a dark, harsh sound that scraped off the ragged columns around them. Then suddenly he stepped so close to Torr that the moon behind them seemed to pull their faces into one. ‘King Edward promised me the throne of England on his death.’
‘I have not heard of that promise, Duke William.’
‘Rubbish. Of course you have. It is whispered everywhere.’
Torr gripped Judith’s arm.
‘But not declared aloud,’ he said stoutly and Judith thought she had rarely seen him so brave.
‘Not yet. King Edward is a cunning man and does not want disruptions in his own reign. He promised me England in recognition of our family connections and my strong reputation as a leader and my kindness to him as a youth. He said the crown would be mine if there was no other heir and there is none.’
‘Edgar.’
‘The Hungarian child; the lost prince’s son? He is just a boy. No one will have him as king. You are right to think of an alternative candidate, Torr, but it is not you. You are right, too, to think of your own gain but you aim too high. Do you like Northumbria, Torr? Does it mean much to you, or would you rather, perhaps, rule Wessex?’
The last word came out as a hiss and Judith flinched. How did the Duke of Normandy know of Torr’s avoidance of his own lands? She glanced nervously towards the guards but they were the other side of the archway keeping dutiful watch outward.
‘Come, Torr.’ William’s voice was all softness now. ‘I am not threatening you, far from it. I am offering you a deal.’ Torr’s green eyes widened, big as the moon above their heads. ‘My wife has taught me to sharpen my wits, Torr, as yours has perhaps taught you – so now is the time to use them. You are a younger son, yes? Never first in line. Never rewarded . . . as Harold is rewarded.’ Judith closed her eyes against this nightmare – William knew Torr so well. ‘You are worried, Torr, that your brother will be king.’
‘No, I . . .’
‘Yes you are. And you should be. Will he give you Wessex, think you, if he rules? I doubt it.’
Judith felt Torr shudder and knew that he doubted it too. He had come to Normandy, it seemed, on some fool’s errand to win support for his own bid to the Saxon throne but he needed to think again.
‘A deal, my lord duke?’ she asked.
Torr looked annoyed but the time was past for his foolhardly approach. William straightened.
‘Swear allegiance to me, Earl Torr. Swear to uphold me as King of England when the time comes and I will give you Wessex.’
Torr sucked in his breath. Wessex! Judith knew that, bar the throne, ruling Wessex was the one thing that could tempt him. But he could not swear, not to Normandy. No Saxons liked the Normans, no one would back William’s claim and Torr would have no power to sway any opinion – though he may not realise that. She watched her husband fearfully.
‘I will gladly swear allegiance to you when the time comes, Duke William,’ Torr said but William just gave a dark chuckle.
‘Very good, Torr, but no, that will not do. You must swear now.’
‘Now?’ Torr looked hopefully around the empty half-church.
‘Here,’ William corrected smoothly. ‘In Normandy. In my hall, before witnesses and on holy relics.’
Judith felt herself shaking and Torr must have done so too for he pulled her close and shook his head.
‘You know I cannot do that, Duke. I am an earl of England, sworn to King Edward.’
‘Sworn to King Edward who has promised me the throne. I ask only for your matching promise of support once you are free of that allegiance.’
‘And if I do not?’
William shrugged and picked up a stone, running a hand over it as if testing for weaknesses.
‘That is your own free choice, Earl Torr. I will not force you. But know this . . .’ He slammed the stone suddenly across the floor where it splintered, tiny fragments spinning out across the hardened earth. ‘I demand loyalty of my men and I demand it up front. If you swear to me now, I will give you Wessex when I am king. If you do not, I will give you nothing save the sharp side of my sword. You are with me or you are against me. Choose.’
‘You may not become king.’
‘True. I may lose.’
William smiled as if this were ridiculous.
‘Or you may choose not to challenge.’
‘Without your support, you mean? I would not rate yourself so highly, Earl Tostig.’
Neither would Judith but now was not the moment to say so. Torr looked to the heavens for a long time as the rest of them stood, suspended, then finally he extended his hands to William.
‘I am your friend, Duke, truly. As you say we are nearly related and this is, surely, enough? How can I know where England’s throne will be promised? It will be my duty to serve whomever King Edward nominates but trust me, if it comes to you, I will honour you with all my being and gladly.’
‘You do not think it will be me?’
&nbs
p; ‘Only God can know.’
‘And you will not choose now, Torr? You consider your loyalty too great a bargaining piece to give away so soon? You will not pin your colours to my mast?’
Torr looked straight at William, his eyes as sharp now as his host’s.
‘It seems to me, Lord Duke, that you have no masts to pin them to.’
He looked pleased with himself but William did not even flinch.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘No, Earl Torr, but if the need arises I will have and you, it seems, will not sail beneath them. A shame but it is your decision. I will not ask again and neither, believe me, should you.’
They were up at dawn. Judith had been awake half the night and even Torr, usually hard to pull from slumber, jolted up at the first bright streaks of sun over Caen. Rousing a sleepy Karl, they made for the stables, keen to be gone, but they were not the only ones.
‘You will ride?’ Mathilda asked, stepping inside just as Judith was preparing to mount.
She turned reluctantly.
‘It is quicker.’
‘You will not be harmed here.’
‘Not yet.’
Mathilda grabbed her hands and Judith looked round for Torr but he had already gone out into the yard with Karl and she was alone with her cousin.
‘Could Torr not think again, Judi? If war comes, we will be on opposing sides.’
‘As we were in ’51?’
Mathilda sighed.
‘That was not war. Our fates were counterbalanced, yes, but not set with battle-lines drawn against each other.’
‘I have no sword, Mathilda.’
‘Come, Judith, there are more ways to fight than with raw steel, as well you know. You could persuade your husband.’
‘Persuade him to swear to Duke William? To Normandy rather than to the land of his birth? Why would I do that?’
Mathilda bit at her lip.
‘Because Normandy will win. William will win.’
‘How do you know?’
‘William always wins.’
‘So far but these are cruel times, my sweet one.’
Mathilda looked distressed.
‘Must they be so between us? You want to fight me?’
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