But their idyll came to a sharp end then for there was a sound of hooves outside and voices. Waltheof gave her a swift smile, gathered up her half dried cloak and was crossing to the door when it creaked open to admit Ivo of Taillebois. His glance swept over them.
He said sharply, ‘Your mother sent me to look for you, my lady. She was anxious for you.’
Judith answered with a complete composure that drew her lover’s admiration. ‘My horse took fright in the storm and bolted, but fortunately Earl Waltheof saw what had happened and came to my rescue.’
He ignored Waltheof. ‘I rejoice for your safety, but pray allow me to escort you back to the lady Adeliza. I have half a dozen men outside so you will be safe enough now.5
His insinuation was so obvious that Waltheof took a step forward, but Judith intervened sharply. ‘I can assure you, Messire de Taillebois, that I was perfectly safe in the Earl’s care and have no need of your men-at-arms.’
‘You may take yourself off,’ Waltheof said, less politely. He was not going to relinquish his love to this arrogant young Norman. ‘I will escort the lady Judith back to her mother.’
‘Lady Adeliza sent me for that purpose,’ Ivo snapped. ‘If you are ready, my lady . . .’
Judith looked from one to the other and laughed. ‘Oh, men! I will ride with both of you. What is more important is whether the rain has stopped.’
‘It has, but the sky is still black. I think we should go at once.’ Ivo’s sharp eyes took in the heavy fur mantle still about her shoulders and his thin mouth tightened.
‘I am ready.’ Judith thanked the woman for shelter, and Waltheof laid a coin on the table. It was small enough recompense, he thought for the use of this rude place that, in sheltering the first exchange of love between them would for ever remain in his memory more surely than any palace.
CHAPTER 4
If he had thought to approach William on their return to Rouen he was disappointed, for the King rode off immediately for the Flemish court at Brussels. His father-in-law, the Count, had died a few weeks before and William and Matilda went to pay a state visit to the new count, her brother Baldwin. The English guests were left in the charge of Roger of Montgomery, whose wife, Mabille, was a member of the notorious Bellême family, none of whom were above murdering or poisoning to gain their ends. Waltheof liked Montgomery, a serious man without much imagination, but dependable; Mabille, however, was sly and crafty, moreover she was kin to Ivo of Taillebois and once Waltheof saw her glance at himself and then at Judith and he was certain that Ivo had told her of the incident in the forest. A premonition of evil seized him – these two could wreak havoc if they had a mind to do so, and he wondered if Ivo had pretensions to Judith’s hand. It seemed hardly likely, but ambition could drive a man to any lengths, however insignificant his rank might be. Sometimes he reached his hand inside his tunic to touch Elfgive’s amulet, hoping it would be a match for any evil intentions Mabille of Montgomery might have.
He was careful from then on in the hall. He did not look at Judith and she too kept her eyes from him and only spoke demurely in company. Once, meeting her alone on the spiral stair he caught her to him as she stood above him, a smile on her wide mouth. They kissed urgently, passion leaping between them, and then he released her for fear any should come up or down.
But Judith lingered, touching his hair and his beard. ‘My lord,’ she whispered, and then, ‘my dear, my love . . .’ And to hear her speak thus made him catch her close again, holding her slender young body to his that he might feel the curve of her breasts, his arms about her slight waist.
‘Let me go,’ she said softly, ‘there are steps above.’ She brushed his mouth swiftly with her own, and then she was gone down the stair. He went on up, his head spinning, so that he was scarcely able to make a sensible reply to one of the King’s clerks who was on his way down.
He was behaving like a love-sick stable lad and he knew it. To snatch kisses on the stair was hardly a correct manner for an Earl to woo a King’s niece, but for him love was something to which he was responding with all his nature. With his lands and Judith he would have enough and more to content him all his days, and the thought of her at Ryhall, sitting on the high seat with him in his own hall, sharing his chamber and his bed, brought a warm colour to his face.
He entered his tower room abstractedly and was brought up short in the doorway to find it very much occupied. Edwin was sprawled elegantly on the bed, with Maerlsweyn sitting beside him; Morcar stood with folded arms by the window with Magnus, and Thorkel sat astride a stool near them, while on the other stool by the table sat a visitor. Hakon was in the act of pouring wine for him as Waltheof entered, while Outy laid bread and meat on the table.
Maerlsweyn sprang up. ‘My lord, see who is here!’ Waltheof closed the door and brought himself abruptly from his rapt thoughts to face the stranger. For a moment he stared in perplexity searching for a name to fit the face. Then he said, ‘Edmund – Edmund Thoroldson. You are Ansgar’s cousin, are you not? How come you here.’
The Saxon rose and took the Earl’s outstretched hand. ‘Greetings, my lord. I am on a pilgrimage to Rome, to holy St Peter’s tomb,’ he indicated his plain gown and staff, ‘and thought I would see if they would let me visit my cousin.’
‘You have been to Beaumont-le-Roger.’
‘Aye, the old lord allowed me to stay an hour with Ansgar. His wounds are healed now, though he will never walk well again, and he is fairly treated. It is only the walls of the castle that irk him. I fear he will not see England again.’
‘Our captivity may be less close, but we are in no better case,’ Maerlsweyn put in grimly, ‘we do not know when we may go home.’
Edmund glanced round the luxurious room in some disbelief and from his place by the window, Morcar said; ‘Our chains may be of silk and fur and gold, but they are there nonetheless, my friend. My lord,’ he glanced at Waltheof, ‘we had sent your page to find you so that Edmund may tell us all how things stand in England.’
Waltheof sat down on the edge of the table. ‘Then speak, Edmund Thoroldson. Is the country quiet?’
The visitor took a long pull at his wine. ‘Yes and no, my lord. On the surface, yes, but there is trouble for all that. Kent rose earlier this summer – but Bishop Odo made short work of that. Edric Guilda harries the Normans if they come near the Welsh border – they’ve not beaten him yet, nor will they, that wild one! He was born in wargear. But the Normans are everywhere and the men who came with the King for gain and plunder now treat our people shamefully. The taxes are beyond bearing and no Englishman with any grievance can get a just hearing – neither land nor gold nor women are respected.’
‘But what of FitzOsbern and Bishop Odo?’ Waltheof demanded. ‘I thought the King trusted them to keep order. Can they not bring their underlings to heel?’
‘FitzOsbern – you know he is Earl of Hereford now – keeps what order he may and though he is a stern lord he is just enough, but he cannot be everywhere at once and the scum of Europe are loose in England now. Many of our people are fled to Scotland or to foreign courts over the sea.’
‘What of the north?’ Edwin asked. ‘What of my land and my brother’s?’
‘The Normans have not yet gone beyond Lincoln and Leicester,’ Edmund told him, and Maerlsweyn broke in.
‘You have been to Lincoln? Have you heard aught of my land? My wife and children?’
Edmund shook his head. ‘I’ve not see them, my lord Sheriff, but I did hear that Duke William had placed them under his protection, so they will not have been harmed, nor your land spoiled.’
‘Thank God,’ Maerlsweyn got up and began to pace up and down to hide his private emotion.
They had all fallen silent. Edmund the pilgrim ate hungrily of the bread and meat that Outy had set before him; Maerlsweyn stared out of the window and thought of his children, and of his wife with whom he had not lain for so long; Morcar scowled and imagined the north growing ever more turbulent without his p
resence and his brother’s; Thorkel wondered if the King of Scots would make peace with William or whether men from Iceland would come down with their Scottish allies for what pickings might be had in such a time of unrest. Young Hakon thought of his sweetheart in Fotheringay and wondered if she would wed another before he returned or, even worse, if some marauding Norman would deflower her.
It was Edwin, who had been staring thoughtfully at Waltheof’s shield standing propped against the wall, who broke the silence.
‘Sweyn of Denmark is more our friend than William,’ he said at last. ‘He is Earl Ulf’s son and cousin to Harold himself. He is a Dane and there is hardly a man among us who has not some Danish blood. Canute was a great King, why should not Sweyn rule us as rightly as Canute, and more so than any Norman usurper?’
‘For God’s sake!’ Maerlsweyn sprang up, and going to the door opened it and looked out on to the narrow stair. There was no one there and he closed the door firmly. ‘Edwin, I beg you to guard your tongue. One whisper of treason and somehow the King will hear of it. This place teems with his watch-dogs.’
‘You jump at shadows.’ Magnus laughed scornfully, and Morcar went on. ‘We can talk freely enough in this tower room. I say my brother speaks sense. It is obvious that William will not keep his promises to us – why then should we not unite in the north and invite Sweyn to be our king?’ ‘And let the south fend for itself – is that what you mean?’ Waltheof queried. ‘God forbid! Canute himself made us one people – would you undo all he did and make us two kingdoms again?’
‘The north is not William’s yet,’ Moracar said obstinately ‘and there are blood-hungry men left there who will fight.’ Edwin came to stand beside his brother. ‘If we win a victory in the north, the West Saxons and the people of East Anglia would soon rise to join us.’
Edmund looked up, his mouth full. ‘I would not count on that, lord. When Harold’s sons, that Edith Swan-neck bore him, landed at Bristol this summer the citizens drove them out, deeming William more likely to bring order and good trading than three young fire-eaters.’
Listening to them Waltheof had the impression of a gathering tide, of a momentum that would have them all in its grasp, sweeping them on until there was no turning back. Some instinct made him want to reach for a stay, to hold on to the reality they were all forgetting.
‘Our hands have lain between William’s,’ he said at last. ‘Are we to be forsworn?’
‘What is an oath forced from us?’ Magnus queried roughly, ‘We could do no other then.’
‘Perhaps not, but some among us were quick enough to condemn Harold for oath-breaking.’
‘We did not swear on holy relics,’ Morcar retorted, and Edwin flung up his hands in irritation.
Edmund said : ‘It is for William to break his word to us first.’
‘He has broken it to me,’ Edwin snapped. ‘He will not give me his daughter as he promised.’
Hakon spoke then, hesitantly, for he was the youngest among them and the least in rank. ‘My lords, we talk as if we are in England. How can we think to put on our battle-harness until we are on our own soil again?’
‘Who are you to speak?’ Morcar demanded. ‘Keep silent before your betters.’
‘Every free man has a right to his say,’ Hakon retorted obstinately.
‘God’s Cross, if we are to listen to every jumped-up churl . . .’.’
Hakon turned scarlet and Thorkel interrupted quickly. ‘He speaks good sense, that you would do well to heed.’
‘We need no instruction from you, Icelander,’ Magnus growled. ‘Are you to tell Englishmen what to do?’
‘My men are right,’ Waltheof said tartly. ‘All this is idle. William is not a fool. He knows how he would feel if he were in our place. That is why we are here – do you think he has not prepared for rebellion?’
He watched them as he spoke. Half of him responded to any chance of freedom, eager to swing his timber-axe again to rid England of her conquerors, but the other half immediately thought of Judith and reacted against aught that might throw away his hope of marriage with her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life and now, watching the faces of his friends, he knew he would go to almost any lengths to keep her. And yet if it should come to a choice between Judith and England, what would he do? It had seemed clear enough when he had talked with Richard during the summer; but then he had not held Judith in his arms nor kissed her mouth. At least at the moment there was no question of a choice, for as Hakon had said, they were in no position to do anything.
Magnus flung away from the window. ‘It seems you are eager to defend William,’ he sneered, ‘perhaps, Waltheof Siwardson, you have a reason for not wanting to return home?’
Waltheof felt the hot colour flood his face, as if Magnus had stripped his private thoughts naked before them all. ‘You presume too much. I have more reason than you to want to return home if you measure it in hides of land.’
Magnus’ eyes flashed. ‘Maybe, but now it would seem that the favour of the usurper is more important to you than your own land.’
Waltheof’s arm came up and he struck Magnus hard across the mouth with the back of his hand. ‘One day,’ he said savagely, ‘one day, I swear by God and his holy Mother, there will be a reckoning in blood between your house and mine and you will pay for that insult.’
Magnus, blood trickling from a cut lip, had staggered backwards, but now, fumbling for his dagger, he would have drawn it had not Edwin seized his hand and prevented him. ‘Be still, fool. You asked for that blow.’ And to Waltheof he said, ‘My lord, we will do nothing if we cannot agree among ourselves. I do not doubt your loyalty.’
Waltheof folded his arms across his chest, controlling his wrath. ‘Nor need you. But we are wasting time on such speculations. Let us, for God’s sake, use our heads.’
‘The Earl is right,’ Edmund pushed away his plate, glancing scathingly at Magnus who was leaning against the wall again, breathing heavily. ‘That man is a fool who would beard the lion of Normandy in his den, or plot against him in his own palace.’
Thorkel gave a dry laugh. ‘Men have tried that, so I’ve heard, and where are they now? Banished and landless!’ He plucked the strings of his harp and played a few bars. Then he got up and poured wine for them all. The rich dark liquid from Italy soothed ruffled tempers and eased the moment of tension so that the talk turned on what was happening at home, and long after the curfew sounded they questioned Edmund hungrily, listening to every detail of his news.
At length when they dispersed and Maerlsweyn escorted the guest to his sleeping quarters, Waltheof sat down on the bed and watched Thorkel tidying away the cups and setting the stools in order.
‘Leave that – it’s work for Ulf.’
Thorkel smiled. ‘That sort of pride I have not – and the poor child is fast asleep.’ He glanced at the lad curled on his pallet in the far comer, and then intently down at his master. ‘Well, my lord?’
Waltheof gave him a wry look. ‘I thought you claimed to know my mind better than most?’
‘I wonder if you know it yourself just now.’ Thorkel crossed to the window and fastened the heavy wooden shutter. “Did that wastrel Magnus strike too near the mark?’
Waltheof sighed. He felt unusually weary tonight. ‘Maybe. He and Ivo of Taillebois would rejoice to see me brought low – though God knows I never wanted to make enemies.’ He lay back, linking his hands behind his head. ‘We who were in this room tonight, we are the chief men in England yet we are never in harmony – how can we achieve anything?’
Thorkel began to undress. ‘I am a poet, not a warrior, and I cannot tell how William may be defeated, but this I do know – that we need a leader. Sweyn might be the man,’ and then he added, ‘or you, my lord?’
Waltheof got up, shaking his head. ‘Not I. Can you see the Earls acknowledging me? Nor do I want it.’
‘What is it that you do want, Waltheof my friend?’
‘I? I want to go home
, but . . .’
‘But with a bride?’
The Earl unclasped his mantle and began to pull off the Norman style of closer knit hose that he had purchased for himself. ‘Yes, with a bride. More than that I cannot see.’
‘Then God hasten your wooing.’ The Icelander lay down on his pallet. ‘Yet if you take the lady Judith to your marriage bed, what then? Will you draw your sword against, her uncle?’
Waltheof threw back the bearskin and climbed naked into bed. He had thought of this so often that now it had become part of his mind, lying always at the back of his subconscious thinking until it was like a pack that he carried with him. Ever since that day in the forest hut he had known it would come to this choice. Some men might marry and then draw the sword on their wife’s kin – his own great-grandfather had done it – but God had endowed him with a conscience to be reckoned with, something he had not fully realised until now, and that would dictate his actions or give him no peace. He had never understood better why Harold had broken his oath to William and why he himself, if Judith were his wife, should keep it.
Of the Ring of Earls (Conqueror Trilogy Book 1) Page 15
