He swung the blue mantle from his shoulders and let it lie across a stool. There was a tumult in him now that he could no longer repress, but he stood for a moment where he was, unable to move, to take that for which he had waited so long.
Seeing that moment’s hesitation, the touching humility in his face, Judith slid from the bed and came to him, her long dark hair falling to her waist.
He caught his breath and laid his hand on the shining tresses, letting it fall over them to her breasts. As he touched the silky warmth of her skin he cried out, ‘Judith – Judith, I love you.’
She smiled again but it was at his magnificent body that she was looking, not into his eyes wherein lay his love.
‘What is that about your arm?’ she asked and touched Elfgive’s amulet.
He gave it a quick glance – it seemed so long since Elfgive had fastened it there. ‘A charm,’ he said, ‘to keep me from harm, to bring me my heart’s desire – which it has done, has it not?’
She was still looking curiously at it. ‘But who put it there? Was it a witch?’
He laughed, his arms about her now. ‘No, she was neither witch, nor sorceress.’
‘She?’
‘A peasant girl.’
‘You loved her?’
He gave a slight shrug. ‘She was nothing, my heart.’
An odd expression crossed her face – he might almost have thought it was jealousy, or perhaps a new possessiveness. ‘.Then you do not need it now that you have me.’
She untied it, her fingers finding the threads tangled, while he smiled down at her.
She let it fall on the floor. ‘There, my lord. I will be your amulet now, your safeguard. No other woman’s work shall hold you.’
A sudden misgiving seized him, a brief flash of instinctive doubt, superstition perhaps – to throw away such a thing, was it asking for ill fortune? But almost at once the doubt was gone. What room for doubt tonight? Elfgive’s amulet lay forgotten on the floor as his arms tightened about his bride.
‘No other woman ever shall,’ he said unsteadily and held her close, feeling the very littleness of her body against his.
‘My lord,’ she whispered, ‘my husband.’
He swept her up then, lifting her into his arms, his mouth on hers as he carried her to the bed, his kisses bringing to life again those moments in the forest hut and on the stair at Rouen, only intensified by a passion that no longer need be repressed. He laid her in his bed and there was nothing now, no thought, only his desire, the singing in his head and
Judith in his arms, her own about his neck, her mouth responding to his in a manner that set every pulse throbbing. The rushlight flickered and died and with one hand he drew up the white bearskin to cover their joy in the darkness.
BOOK IV
THE MANTLE OF SIWARD
JUNE 1071–JUNE 1076
‘But chief where Croyland spreads her wide domain,
And holy Guthlac holds his mystic reign,
He joyed to tread.
Waltheof’s epitaph by Orderic Vitalis
Chapter 1
He had been out all day in the July sunshine. It was still warm this evening and he could feel the heat of it on his face, his fair skin tanned, for there had been several weeks of unbroken fine weather. He had visited Ryhall and Connington, Gerdelai and Bracebroc, seeing his reeves, checking on the state of his manors and now he would spend the night at Croyland before riding home to Northampton on the morrow. He had brought Thorkel and Ulf with him and a company of men for there had been much trouble in the fens this summer. Outy, as usual, rode behind him, his lord’s personal baggage strapped to the back of his saddle.
The fine spell had dried up the marshland and where in the winter there were great stretches of water and bog, islands cut off except by boat, now many causeways were open again. Only the bogs remained black and noisome, infested by insects and snakes. At Croyland, he thought they would be burning jet to keep away the snakes.
The causeway to the Abbey was clear now and they rode over it to the gate which the porter had already opened for them. The rebuilt church was standing stark against the blue sky, the stones white and new, and Waltheof gave a small sigh of relief.
‘Thank God, there seems to have been no trouble here.’
‘Amen to that,’ Thorkel agreed. ‘Thorney and Peterborough have not fared so well. But did you hear the fellow by the mill say that our friend Ivo is arguing with the Abbot about their common boundary?’
‘That man! He caused enough trouble in Normandy without our having him on our hearth-step here,’ Waltheof said. ‘Some evil fate must have prompted William to give him Holland. No doubt the Abbot will tell me all about- it.’
They dismounted in the courtyard. It was quiet for it was the hour between Vespers and supper, and the monks would be absorbed in their reading and meditation. He went alone through the cloisters where it was warm despite the shadowed stone arches, and all the sweet-smelling peace of the summer evening seemed to hover here. On the far side a small door led into the monks’ herb garden and it was here that he knew he would find Ulfcytel.
Sure enough the Abbot, a man of ordered habit, was pacing between the beds in his usual custom, his missal in his hand. The air was heavy with the scent of fennel and marjoram, thyme and sage, and Waltheof paused in a brief moment of thankfulness. Remembering Peterborough’s fate, it was like a miracle to find all this unchanged.
Then the Abbot turned and saw him and he knelt for a blessing.
‘Well, my son, what brings you to us?’
‘The midsummer tally, Father.’ Waltheof rose and kept step with him as he continued his pacing. ‘And I wanted to be sure that all was well here.’
Ulfcytel sighed. ‘Thank God and blessed Guthlac. Our brothers in Peterborough have suffered sorely. After last summer’s raid they have little left but a blackened church to rebuild and bare walls open to the sky. The Danes took everything, even the golden diadem from the statue of Our Lord.’
‘Why did we ever think they might be trustworthy?’ Waltheof demanded, more of himself than of the Abbot. ‘God knows I am half Dane myself, but never would I put faith in them again. They care for nothing but plunder. Hereward must have been mad to bring them in.’
‘You forget,’ the Abbot put in quietly, ‘he and his men led that raid on Peterborough, for all they said it was to put the treasures there in safe keeping and out of Norman hands. In the end it was the same for the Danes took everything.’
Waltheof paced silently. He only knew the thegn, Hereward, slightly, a tenant of Ely Abbey and a fighting man full of fire, but governed by impulse. Hereward hated the Normans and wanted England free – as they all had, he thought, but what was the good of hitting one’s head against a stone wall once one was sure it would not fall. They had to live with the Normans now and he had begun to believe in William’s justice.
But Hereward had set himself to war with the Norman monk, Turold, who had succeeded his uncle, Brand, as Abbot of Peterborough. With the Danes who were plundering off the coast he led the raid on that Abbey, drove out the monks and stripped the place. King Sweyn had come this time – two years too late, Waltheof thought bitterly – but that monarch had shown he was no Canute. Now he had sailed off with the plunder he had seized and the Englishmen were left on the island of Ely prepared to defend that fastness. There too had fled Bishop Aethelwine of Durham, an outlaw himself, and Siward Barn, Waltheof’s old comrade. He thought they were all a little mad. Did they think, now, that William could be beaten?
‘You know the King is on his way to the fens?’ he asked. Ulfcytel nodded. ‘So I heard and prayed it was true. I am wholeheartedly with Bishop Wulfstan. The time for rebellion is over, whether our people like it or not.’ He glanced up at the tall figure beside him. ‘And we have our own troubles as you may have heard.’
‘Aye. What has Ivo done? You know that I have some influence now with the King and I will do all I can to make sure Ivo does not harm you or the
brethren.’
‘It is not so large a matter that you need to trouble the King, merely that Taillebois and his men are disputing our boundary and they harry or kill any of our cattle that are on questioned land. His men have no respect for anything that is English.’
‘Leave me to see what I can do, Father. I’ll talk to Ivo.’ He loathed the man but for Ulfcytel he would have to do it.
The Abbot said: ‘Thank you, my son. At least your friend, de Rules, is a good friend to us. He gives generously to Holy Church and sent us six of his own cattle for those we lost to the Lord of Holland. Tell me,’ he glanced up curiously, ‘you were not tempted to join the rebels?’
‘Not I – I’ve made my peace with William and I’ll not break my word to him again. Besides, I should be a poor husband if I did, would I not?’
‘The Countess is well?’
‘Yea, but she finds the waiting irksome. She is very energetic and does not like to be so burdened. When our son is born . . .’
Ulfcytel smiled. ‘You are so sure it will be a boy?’
Waltheof laughed. ‘What man does not want a son to inherit his lands?’ He did indeed want a son, but he hoped for many children, and if his first-born was a girl, there would no doubt be sons to follow; yet it surprised him to find how passionately Judith wanted a boy. This seemed to absorb her to an intensity that worried him. She had said over and over again ‘land must have an heir’, and she consulted not only physicians, but wise women for anything that might influence the sex of the child. One old crone in Huntingdon told her to lie always on her right side at night – somewhat to his discomfort, he thought amusedly – another to burn incense as the sun set, a third to pray with a piece of holly in her hand. But he put his foot down when yet another told her to put a live frog into their bed. ‘I’ll not share my bed with that,’ he told her and dropped the wriggling offender out of the window. It seemed to him it would be better to put one’s faith in the Blessed Virgin and let nature take its course.
Yet had he not always had a slight superstitious uneasiness himself since she had thrown away Elfgive’s amulet on their wedding night? Now Elfgive had a son and was pregnant again, and Osgood the proudest man in Ryhall.
He shook his big shoulders impatiently. ‘Well, her time will come in October, and I pray only for a healthy child. You will come for the baptism, Father?’
‘Of course.’ They had traversed the length of the herb garden several times now and the sun had dipped behind the claustrel buildings. Ulfcytel said, ‘We must go in for supper but before we do,’ a frown settled on his face, ‘had you heard that the Earls Edwin and Morcar had been seen in these parts?’
‘I had heard the rumour, but I do not know if it is true.’
‘Nor I, but they are old companions of yours. I thought you should be warned.’
‘You think they will come to me?’ Waltheof opened the door of the cloister for Ulfcytel and they passed inside. ‘They must know my mind now – and since they chose to take to the forest like outlaws what can they expect from me?’
He could not understand the brothers for all he had known them for so long. It seemed that Edwin had thrown away every opportunity that had ever come his way and to outlaw himself now was the height of folly. He remembered Edwin’s popularity in Normandy, the obvious liking William had for him, but it seemed that Edwin could hold to nothing and where he went Morcar went too. Would they go to Hereward? He frowned heavily. If the fighting became intensified, William might well call on him to join the royal forces and he would then have to turn against his old allies. He thought of those weeks in his camp by Teeside and the bitterness because so many friends had deserted him – he had made his stand there as others were doing now at Ely. He could understand it well enough, but the rape of Peterborough stuck in his throat.
Ulfcytel too was thinking of Peterborough and of Leofric’s dream – how the gold of the Abbey had flowed away from it. That part had come true and who was to say the rest would not now be fulfilled? What was it Leofric had said, ‘The Earl stood in the stream, his arms outstretched and round his throat a red line . . .’
But Waltheof had not been at Peterborough so it could not be as Leofric had prophesied – yet it might mean that the stream of gold was part of the despoiling of England. And in that case – Ulfcytel shuddered and turned giddy at the thought, putting out a hand to steady himself by a pillar. But it was Waltheof’s arm, warm and alive, that supported him and no grey ghost. ‘What is it?’ the Earl queried anxiously. ‘Are you ill, Father?’
‘No – no,’ the Abbot answered hastily. He drew a deep breath, mastering himself, ‘I know you have no part with the rebels now.’
‘None.’ Waltheof said, and meant it. And before he left in the morning he went to kneel by the shrine of St Guthlac to pray for Judith’s safe delivery. From the outset Thorkel Skallason and the new Countess of Huntingdon disliked each other. For eight years the Icelander had shared his lord’s waking hours and often his sleeping ones as well and he found it hard to relinquish the position he had held. Judith for her part made it quite clear that she was the Countess and was not prepared to stay in the ladies’ bower, nor fill her days with the usual feminine occupations.
In the past Thorkel had been the one to receive all the reeves’ reports from the Earl’s lands and every half year to give his lord an account of his estates and which manors were well stocked with food for winter living. This duty Judith now took out of his hands. She had been far better educated than most women and many men, and at her own request had learned both to read and to write. It surprised and amused her husband to see her with a quill in her hand, her head bent over a parchment covered with figures. She was, however, less easy-going than he, for he could never bring himself to be hard on a tenant in real need.
As he and Thorkel rode home the next day, his head was full of figures. Oswin Grimkelson, Outy’s brother, had most of his hay in and promised to send his tithe to Ryhall within the week, Cronan of Gerdelai still owed three cheeses, and the widow Emma had wept and said she could not send the two baskets of peas which were her rent, for her crop had been poor and the crows had stolen the fresh pea pods. He had told the reeve to strike off her debt, for he was sorry for her. Judith would tell him he had been too indulgent, and she would want to know all the details of the tally. It was odd how intently she studied every aspect of their lands, and he remembered how in the garden at Fécamp she had spoken so passionately of the importance of land.
Thorkel was silent beside him, thinking of the changes wrought since last September, but glancing at his lord he could not deny Waltheof’s joy in the marriage, nor the contentment that showed on the familiar features.
‘Messire de Rules has put that land by Heron’s horn to the plough,’ he said at last. ‘Old Hugh never thought it was any use, but it looks as if there will be a fair crop there this year.’
Waltheof nodded. Richard’s interest in Deeping and his kindness to the monks at Croyland was a constant source of pleasure to him; despite Richard’s new duties as Chamberlain to the King he was at Deeping as often as he might be, but since the death of William FitzOsbern he had taken over more duties at court than he had had hitherto. They all regretted the loss of FitzOsbern, killed in a useless fight in Flanders assisting the widowed Countess, a fight in which her son, Arnulf, once thought of as a spouse for Judith, had also fallen. Waltheof wished Richard would bring up the subject of marriage with Athelais again, but he did not, neither did Athelais herself, now one of Judith’s ladies and part of their household. She seemed quieter these days, more withdrawn and he could not fathom what went on in her mind. But then, he told himself, he understood little enough of women; he only wondered now how he had tolerated the loneliness in his hall before Judith had filled it with her warm and vital presence.
It was towards evening when he arrived in Northampton and in the courtyard of his house saw a dozen strange horses tethered. He glanced at Thorkel who shook his head and together they went u
p the outer steps to the hall. There, standing by Judith’s chair, leaning over it and laughing in a confidential manner, was Ivo of Taillebois.
Judith looked up as her husband entered. ‘My lord, welcome back. As you see we have a guest. I have bidden him stay to supper and sleep the night under our roof.’
Ivo stood up. He appeared arrogant and at ease. Fresh from his talk with Ulfcytel, Waltheof merely inclined his head. ‘Such hospitality is here for any traveller, Ivo of Taillebois, but I may as well tell you that I have been hearing of your encroachment on the property of the monks of Croyland and they have stood my friends these many years.’
Ivo had a wine cup in his hand and he drank casually before he answered, but his dark eyes were watchful. ‘A fuss over a few virgates of land that should have been mine anyway.’
‘The Abbot says otherwise, and whoever should hold the land, you had no cause to drive off, let alone kill their beasts. They bore the Abbey’s mark.’
Of the Ring of Earls (Conqueror Trilogy Book 1) Page 25
