Of the Ring of Earls (Conqueror Trilogy Book 1)

by Juliet Dymoke

  Ivo shrugged. ‘Then the holy men should tend them more carefully.’

  Judith stood up. Her slender figure was rounded now with pregnancy but there was nothing clumsy in her movements and in her husband’s eyes she had developed a fresh beauty with prospective motherhood. She was half laughing, half annoyed, as she glanced at him. ‘My lord, Messire Ivo is our guest. Surely the rights and wrongs of the Abbot’s claims would be better argued at the Shire court?’

  For one moment he did not answer. The annoyance of finding Ivo in his hall when he had expected Judith to be alone and waiting for him was warring with his Saxon creed of hospitality. He was not likely to forget the Norman’s behaviour when he himself had been a guest in Normandy.

  ‘I am Earl of these shires,’ he said at last, ‘and the monks have my protection. However as you say, wife, these are not matters for the supper table. Pray excuse me, my lord Ivo, while I wash off the dust of our roads.’

  He bent to kiss Judith and calling for Outy went away to his chamber. Thorkel followed him and in silence waited while Outy brought water and laid out a fresh tunic and mantle for his master.

  Then he said, ‘I wish the evil fiend from the marshes would rise and take friend Ivo from our boundaries.’ Waltheof splashed his face with water and rubbed it vigorously. ‘While I live, he’ll not bring his brigand’s ways into my earldom.’

  Thorkel leaned against the door. While he lived – aye, he thought, but what will happen when he and the few Englishmen of birth are gone? Norman hands reached out to grasp, to change, and yet, he thought, there was something in this land, in the things the past had left behind to grow, in the lives of their holy men, their art, their poems, that the Norman did not have, that he, Thorkel the scald, had recognised and which had held him here for more than ten years, and which must survive.

  That night lying in the privacy of their bed, Waltheof asked Judith what had made the Norman come.

  ‘Ivo? He is our neighbour, is he not?’

  He could not help noticing a slight tensing of her body, nor a certain guardedness in her tone. ‘Well, let us hope, my heart, that he does not make a practice of it.’

  She was silent for so long that he thought she had fallen asleep, but presently she said, ‘Am I to have no Norman friends about me?’

  He was startled. ‘How could you think I meant that? Dear love, I have Norman friends in plenty myself – you know that. Richard de Rules is as welcome here as any man. But not Ivo. Have you forgotten it was he and his kinswoman who betrayed us to William in Normandy?’

  ‘That is in the past,’ she answered and he wished that he could see her face in the darkness. Her complacent dismissal of that betrayal astounded him and sometimes he wondered, for all his love, for all their overwhelming physical desire for each other, how much he knew of her. These months of intimacy with her had given him a happiness he had never dreamed of with Elfgive. Judith’s passion matched his own and her response to his love-making never ceased to delight him; she seemed to know how to draw him to the heights of ecstasy, but it puzzled him that after their loving, when he was filled with tenderness, when he wanted to pour out all his gentle care for her, that she could turn her agile mind to more practical matters, such as the necessity to build more guest accommodation at Northampton. He wished she did not prefer this to his other homes. She thought Ryhall too small, Belmesthorpe too dark, Connington too remote, and he saw little of his beloved Ryhall now, though he insisted that they spent the month of May there when the hawthorn was in bloom and the meadows by the river rich with deep grass, the woods carpeted with bluebells.

  But when he had her in his arms at night, loving her until he was light-headed with joy, what did it matter in which house they lay?

  He drew her close now. ‘I have missed you these last few days. The austerity of an Abbot’s guesthouse is not so palatable once a man has a wife. I suppose we have to tolerate Ivo, but do not expect me to condone the things he does.’

  She moved her head into the curve of his shoulder. ‘And now it is he who is in the guest room and I who am here with you. Is that not enough, my husband?’

  He gave a little laugh and put his lips to hers. Sometimes he thought he must drown in a joy of her kisses and as he held her close he felt a movement of the child in her womb, the tangible proof of their loving.

  ‘I worship you,’ he said, his voice barely audible. ‘Judith, my heart, I am the most blessed of men.’ He did indeed feel himself to be so and in the morning managed to see the lord of Holland on his way with tolerable politeness.

  That evening Judith had retired for the night and the men in the hall were already laying out their pallets on the benches or on the floor when Ulf came up to the high seat where the Earl still sat with Thorkel. His young face was anxious.

  ‘My lord, there is a man outside who begs to speak with you. He would not come in.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He would not say that either, lord. His hood was about his face so that I could not tell who he might be, but his voice made me think we know him.’

  Waltheof rose and went out. Thorkel followed him at a distance, his watchful eye on his lord as the latter went down the outer steps and into the courtyard.

  The stranger stood by the gate, his mantle about him, his hood drawn close, and Waltheof peered at him in the darkness.

  ‘Well, fellow, I am the Earl. You wished to speak with me?’

  The stranger gave a laugh and pushed back his hood. ‘No fellow, Waltheof, but an old comrade.’

  ‘Edwin!’ Waltheof stared at him in astonishment. The Earl of Mercia, he saw, looked thin and pale. There was a petulant droop to the mouth, lines of disappointment and cynicism now in the handsome face. ‘What in God’s name are you doing here and thus?’

  Edwin leaned wearily against the gate with folded arms. ‘I came to see if you would aid me.’

  ‘Aid you? In what way? And where is Morcar? Are you alone?’

  Edwin shrugged. ‘I am alone except for about twenty men outside in the woods. Morcar is at Ely with Magnus Carlson and some others, fool that he is – for there’s a death trap if ever I saw one.’

  ‘So I thought.’ Waltheof was finding it hard to see the gay courtier in this sullen, discouraged man. For all Edwin’s faithlessness in the past they had once been in arms together. ‘Why is Morcar gone there? You had made your peace with William.’

  ‘Peace!’ Edwin scoffed. ‘William broke his word to me. He gave you a bride and refused me mine, even though you raised a rebellion against him with more effect than I had. William will give me nothing and I owe him nothing. But Morcar was mad to go to Ely. William will crush them there as a nut under his heel. I told Morcar he was a fool – there were hard words between us, so I go north. Perhaps there, if you would add your name . . .’

  ‘No,’ Waltheof broke in harshly. ‘For the love of God, Edwin, think! If William can march and fight as he did the winter before last, we have no weapons left to beat him with. We have tried, but it is over.’

  ‘Ah,’ Edwin sneered. ‘I see how it is now. You have a Norman wife, you have submitted body and soul to the invader and you care nothing for England and the rest of us. You are a traitor, a nithing . . .’

  He stopped for Waltheof had seized him by the shoulders. ‘Hold your tongue! I am no traitor and it is for love of England that I am now William’s man. Holy Cross, do you want to see all the country ruined as Northumbria is? I will not bring more suffering on our people nor will I betray the King for he has been generous to me.’

  ‘But not to me,’ Edwin flashed back. ‘I loathe him. If I could have stuck a dagger in his back . . .’

  ‘Aye,’ Waltheof retorted, ‘that you might have done, but not come out to aid us at York, face to face with the Normans.’

  ‘I was never a coward!’

  They glared at each other in the darkness. Thorkel watching from the steps, kept his eye on Edwin’s right hand – he had never trusted the Earl of Mercia.
r />   It was quiet here now. Only the men on guard paced, and in the hall most lights were dowsed.

  At last Edwin said: ‘I go north. I see you will not come – indeed,’ he gave a dry laugh, ‘I hardly thought you would.’ His hands fell to his sides. He looked utterly weary and Waltheof thought – this is the first time I have ever seen him do anything without Morcar. It was as if his strength was gone. He looked at Waltheof, no pride left.

  ‘Will you give us some food? We’ve been in the woods for weeks on poor enough fare.’

  Waltheof hesitated, saw the sunken cheeks, the pinched look about the mouth.

  ‘You shall have food,’ he said swiftly and called Thorkel over, ‘but I advise you, indeed I beg you to go north with all speed, for William is on his way. Go to Malcolm, perhaps, with the rest of the exiles. There is nothing for you here.’

  ‘That is apparent,’ Edwin retorted bitterly. Then he forced a smile. ‘You are right, of course. You have fared better than I, my friend – small wonder that you do not want to give it up.’

  ‘I see things as they are,’ Waltheof said with a stab of irritation.

  Edwin laughed, but his laughter jarred. ‘So would I, if I had what you have. Well, I’m grateful for the food.’

  Thorkel had roused the steward and between them they had filled two panniers with food, adding a jug of wine. Edwin shouldered them and went towards the gate. There he turned and looked at Waltheof, at the house, at the obvious prosperity of the place, and there was an odd, wistful expression on his face.

  ‘Farwell, my lord,’ he said at last, ‘I think we shall not meet again.’

  Waltheof, still smarting from his previous remark, came forward impulsively, his hand held out. ‘God speed you,’ he said, and gripped Edwin’s arm. ‘Go while you can. I’d not see you shackled.’

  Edwin’s smile was twisted. ‘I’d rather lie in the ground.’

  Then he was gone through the gate and into the darkness beyond.

  Waltheof went back to the hall, and the comfortable warmth within. He too had a feeling that he would not see Edwin again. Yet he was wrong, but wrong in a manner that would have horrified him had he known of it.

  William came north with his usual speed and within a week had the rebels entirely cut off at Ely, apart from the exit by the river that flowed to the sea. It was Richard de Rules who rode in to tell Waltheof of the end.

  ‘It seemed the monks had little stomach for the battle,’ he said, ‘for one of them came out by night and showed the King’s men a way in through the marshes. Hereward is fled by sea with some others. Morcar is taken. He and Siward Barn are to be sent prisoner to Normandy to join Ansgar at Beaumont-le-Roger.’

  Morcar had outworn William’s patience, Waltheof thought as he poured ale for his guest. There had to be an end to the number of times William would pardon. ‘What of Magnus Carlson? Was he taken too?’

  ‘As far as I know he was not among the prisoners. He must have escaped by sea. Bishop Aethelwine is seized and put in custody with the Abbot of Abingdon. There are many slain and,’ Richard broke off abruptly, but honesty forced him to go on, ‘many punished by – other means.’

  Waltheof knew only too well what he meant. William’s ways were not Saxon ways and he could not pretend to like them. ‘What else?’ he queried.

  ‘Malet is dead,’ Richard said in a low voice. Their friendship had been of long standing. ‘You know he was deprived of his offices after the fall of York? Well, he came on this campaign to try to retrieve his good name, but an enemy arrow caught him in the dusk when we came up through the marshes. Poor William, he didn’t even have the chance to die in a fight.’

  ‘God rest him,’ Waltheof said. He had liked Malet. ‘Let us hope this is an end to fighting.’

  ‘I think it must be. There is no one left who opposes the King. Except- – have you heard news of Edwin?’

  There was a little silence. ‘None since he fled north,’ Waltheof said and was glad that at that moment Judith came into the hall for supper followed by Athelais and her other ladies. Richard bowed over her hand and then greeted Athelais.

  ‘You have been fighting again, Messire de Rules?’ she asked and there was an edge to her voice.

  ‘I am the King’s man,’ he replied sharply. ‘I do what he asks of me and always will – as my friends know.’

  He laid emphasis on the last words and she flushed. Once she had thought, despite her anger with him, that she might have been mistaken, that he might have kindness in him, but the eyes that looked down at her now where very blue and cold. He was more serious these days, she thought, his dress richer in tune with his position, his clean shaven face and smooth dark head reflecting the neatness and practicality of the man himself. But he had only to look at her for a nervous fluttering to start in her stomach, and when they were seated at the table she wished that he had not been next to her. For most of the meal he talked with Judith who was very near her time now, but once he asked Athelais if she planned to make her home permanently with the Earl and Countess.

  ‘I understood you had relatives in the north,’ he said. ‘I would have thought you might have preferred that to being so near Deeping.’

  Her colour darkened. ‘Does my presence remind you of your small right to what you hold? If so, I’m afraid you will have to live with your conscience, Messire, for I’ve no intention of leaving here to ease it.’

  To her surprise he gripped her hand hard beneath the table. ‘If my conscience were all that was my concern the answer would be easy.’

  Then almost immediately he released her, but before she had time to try to understand what he meant, there was a commotion by the outer door and every head turned to see what was happening.

  Three travel-stained men came into the hall. They were roughly dressed and the leader wore a sheepskin flung about his shoulders. He had small hard eyes and a jagged scar across his forehead, cleaving one eyebrow.

  ‘Greetings, Earl Waltheof,’ he called out. ‘We are on our way to King William and beg shelter for the night.’

  Waltheof surveyed them with reserve. ‘You may have it. Sit and eat.’

  The leader, however, came up to the high table and all saw that he held something in his hand, wrapped in a cloth. ‘Aye, the King will be pleased to see us, my lord. I think he will pay well for what we have here.’ He pulled away the cloth and lifted the thing high in the air. ‘See – the traitor Earl!’

  There was a moment of appalled silence. Waltheof stared in horror and the dead eyes of Edwin stared back at him from the bloodless head held by the hair. The lips were drawn back in a grin and for a second Waltheof turned so sick he thought he must vomit.

  Then Judith screamed and he went blind with rage. Setting a hand on the table he leapt over it so that cups and dishes went flying. Seizing the man by the sheepskin he flung him down the hall and at the same time Osgood and Thorkel, galvanised into action, ran for the other two men with half a dozen men-at-arms tumbling after them. There was pandemonium in the hall as Waltheof grappled with the leader; the fellow dropped the head and it rolled in front of them, so that reaching for it he went sprawling with the Earl still clinging to the sheepskin until it was ripped from his back. Yelling vituperations he retrieved his prize and clutched it to him.

  ‘The King will pay,’ he bellowed, ‘you dare not stop me – he was a wolfshead, a traitor . . .’

  Waltheof hit him hard across the mouth and flung him toward the door and the outer steps. The man fell again, slithering down into the courtyard still clinging to the head, and Waltheof jumped after him. This time he had him by the throat and would have crushed the life from him but for a cry from above.

  ‘My lord, come! The Countess . . .’

  It was Ulf, pale with fright, and leaving his men to eject the struggling, cursing strangers, he turned and ran for the steps, leaping up them and back into the hall.

  There he found Athelais and Richard bending over Judith. Richard had a cup of wine in his hand. Judith w
as ashen, her eyes closed, and as he came up the hall she put her hands to her swollen belly and cried out again.

  He pushed through the household men and women gathered anxiously about their lady and knelt beside her, taking her hands in his. ‘My heart, they are gone. It is over. Look at me, Judith, my love.’

  She opened her eyes then and he saw they were dark with pain. ‘The child,’ she said in a whisper.

  He lifted her into his arms. Jesu! If those men had harmed her or the child, he would seek them out and kill them with his own hands. Sending Thorkel for the woman who was to attend the lying-in he carried Judith to their bed and he and Athelais undressed her gently and covered her with the bedclothes. She was shivering now from reaction to the grim scene, and he knelt beside her, holding her hands, and whispering any words of comfort that came to him.