Of the Ring of Earls (Conqueror Trilogy Book 1)

by Juliet Dymoke

  Her women, thoroughly frightened, were gathered about the bed watching their mistress, and it was Athelais who took charge, sending them for what was needed.

  Presently Thorkel returned with the midwife. ‘Yes, yes, my lady,’ she said after one look at the Countess, ‘you’re on your way. Never fret now,’ as Judith moaned with another spasm, ‘the pain will bring life and joy with it. One of you,’ she nodded towards the women, ‘hold her hands, and you men – we don’t need you now. Off with you, my lord Earl, while I deliver your child.’

  She bustled him from the room and outside in the hall he stood uncertainly, wondering what to do, aware that the sweat stood on his forehead, that he was shaking from head to foot. Anxious groups stood about, talking in low voices, while the servants were clearing away the broken dishes and removing the trestles.

  Richard came up and took his arm. ‘Come, my friend. There will be little sleep for us tonight and wine is what you need.’ He pushed Waltheof into the high seat and Thorkel came to fill the cups for them. Waltheof drank. ‘Jesu!’ he said and drank again.

  It was dawn before the child was born. Waltheof paced in the courtyard, away from those sounds which seemed to rend his own body. The night was haunted by spectres, by the memory of Edwin’s head rolling across the floor, by the faces of the men who had done this thing, by visions of Judith and the child lost because of it, until he was half out of his mind.

  At last as the first light came into the sky, Ulf appeared on the top of the steps, his face shining.

  ‘The woman says you may go in, my lord. The Countess is delivered.’

  He sprang up the steps and even as he entered the hall he heard a thin reedy wail. At the door of the chamber he saw Outy standing sentry, his face creased into a broad smile. He held the door open for his lord.

  Inside the room was dim at first and he was aware of nothing but the pale oval of Judith’s face. Crossing the room with a swift step he knelt beside her. He could see she was exhausted, beads of sweat on her forehead, her dark hair spread on the pillow, her eyes seeming larger than usual, and for a moment he could not speak, only press her hand to his lips in utter thankfulness that she lived.

  She gave a deep sigh. ‘I wanted a son. Are you disappointed, my lord?’

  He had not thought yet of the child, only of Judith, but now he turned to see the midwife holding out a bundle.

  ‘See, my lord Earl.’

  He rose and looked down into a little puckered face, the eyes tight closed, one small fist clenched. This was his flesh, bone of his bone, and of the blood of Siward. The woman laid the child in his arms.

  ‘You have a fine daughter, lord.’

  He held the little thing carefully and with one finger touched the silky head, the strands of blond hair. He sat down in the bed and laid the child beside Judith in the crook of her arm.

  ‘Disappointed?’ he said and could scarcely keep down his joy. ‘Judith my love, no more welcome child was ever born. How shall we name her?’

  ‘I thought Matilda for the Queen – she will stand her godmother.’ Judith’s eyes were closing now with weariness and as the baby gave a cry the midwife leaned over to take her.

  ‘There now, my pretty, never fret. Let your mother rest. And you, my lord, your lady has borne up bravely, but she must sleep now.’

  He took Judith’s hand in his again. ‘Dear heart, rest. I will come back later.’ He kissed her gently, smoothing her hair with the other hand. ‘Sleep, beloved.’

  She was already only half conscious, but he heard her whisper again, ‘I wish it had been a boy.’

  He rose and went to stand by the cradle. The baby too was asleep and as he looked down at her he had no desire for her to be other than she was.

  Out in the hall he called for wine and ale. He saw Richard and Thorkel both smiling, and all his assembled household with them, Osgood proud as if it were his own wife delivered, and Ulf as always living entirely for his lord’s well-being. He flung wide his arms. ‘Let every one on this manor be feasted. Fill your cups, my friends, and drink to me and mine, for a daughter is born to the house of Siward.’

  A week after the child’s baptism a messenger arrived from London bidding the Earl of Huntingdon attend the King. Waltheof left Judith reluctantly, but she was rapidly recovering her strength. The baby was strong and suckled well and he left Judith nursing her, with Athelais and all his household to watch over her.

  ‘I find it hard to tear myself from my hearth,’ he told her and kissed the baby’s head lightly. ‘This little wench has entwined herself about my heart already.’

  But as he rode away he thought that Judith was not yet reconciled to bearing a daughter instead of the son she had longed for. At times there was a hardness about her that he did not understand.

  He found William returned to Westminster. Roger FitzOsbern, now Earl of Hereford, greeted him cheerfully and conducted him to dinner with a swagger he had not had when his father had been alive. Waltheof asked him what had happened when Edwin’s killers brought their trophy to court.

  ‘I’ve seldom see the King angrier,’ Roger said frankly. ‘He could hardly bear to look on the Earl’s head. As for the men, the Earl’s own men at that, if they hoped for reward they misjudged their man. They are all banished the realm, and good riddance too.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Waltheof agreed, but he would rather have seen them dead for such a deed.

  It was late in the afternoon when he was summoned to the King’s presence. William was alone in a solar that faced towards the Thames; the leaves were falling now and lay golden on the grey water as the tide carried them down river on this November afternoon.

  Waltheof knelt to the King and then took the stool William indicated. He thought he seemed unusually grave and wondered if he was thinking of Edwin’s murder, but William spoke first of Waltheof’s daughter, promising gifts for the little maid. Only after this did he ask if the Earl knew of Edwin’s murder.

  Waltheof told him the truth openly. ‘If it had not been for Judith’s pains coming upon her I think I would have slain his killers.’

  ‘I would not have blamed you. I am not an easy man to have for friend, Waltheof, but I would have been such to Edwin had he wished it. Well, he chose to be faithless. Now he too is gone – and I have lost this year the dearest friend I ever had.’

  He sat down by the table, his hands clasped together, his eyes glittering with sudden tears. This was a William Waltheof had never seen, never guessed at. ‘I grieved for FitzOsbern,’ he said at last.

  ‘A foolish, mad enterprise,’ William banged his fist on the table, ‘chasing off after a woman at his age. But his heart always ruled his head, a rare thing in our family.’ A glimmer of humour crossed his stern face, ‘And one I have never been guilty of.’ The tears remained unshed. ‘But I did not ask you here today to talk of my grief. You know that I have sent Earl Morcar to Normandy?’ William picked up a parchment from the table. ‘I have decided I must have a man in his earldom that I can trust.’

  He paused for a moment and Waltheof sat riveted to his stool waiting for the King to continue.

  ‘Your cousin, Gospatric, for all he submitted to me, is gone to Scotland, deserting his lands, and Bishop Aethelwine too chose to become a rebel. So something must be done for those northern shires. Well, Walcher of Lorraine goes to Durham as Bishop. He is a good man and a wise administrator – with an Earl whom he may trust to assist him, some sort of order may be restored there.’ He paused, unrolling the parchment. ‘Is the task to your liking?’

  ‘You mean – I am to have Northumbria?’

  ‘You shall be Earl there and bear your father’s title – as I said to you, if I remember, when you first came to me at Berkhamstead. Will you hold for me?’

  In that moment Waltheof’s mind went back, far into his childhood to that day when he had stood by his father’s deathbed. He could see that giant figure now, armed and helmed even with the hue of death on the strong face, and hear the mighty voi
ce commanding him to bear well the name of Siward. He remembered his terror as that figure came crashing down and Outy’s strong arms that were the only comfort left. Now, after more than eighteen long years of waiting, his father’s title that had always been his by right had come to him by William’s might. Yet for one moment a surge of the old bitterness rose in him. He had Northumbria, yes, but much of that earldom was waste now. Was it an empty title? Was he to be Earl only of a burned and ruined land?

  Acutely William said, ‘You will have much to do there. The people paid for their rebellion, but there is good land left. Go to Durham with Bishop Walcher and take your inheritance.’ And as Waltheof was still silent he repeated his question. ‘Will you hold for me?’

  Waltheof rose and knelt before the King, his hands palm to palm. The past was dead and for good or ill he had what he had always wanted. ‘I will hold for you, sire.’

  William laid his hands lightly on either side of his, and gave the parchment to him. ‘I will invest you as Earl of Northumbria tomorrow.’

  Outside, still dazed, he found Outy waiting to show him their sleeping quarters. The old man began to grumble at the size of the tiny apartment allotted to his lord, but Waltheof cut across his complaining.

  ‘I am to have my father’s earldom.’

  Outy’s normally expressionless face went suddenly scarlet. ‘My lord!’ For a moment he stood bereft of speech. Then he said, ‘God be praised – Siward Digera will rest easy now.’ He regarded his master long and silently. ‘Lord, you are become one of the greatest men in England. Do you still have need of old Outy?’

  Suddenly released from the emotion that had seized him in William’s solar, Waltheof laughed, ‘Now, why should I not? Am I a different man from half an hour since?’

  In one sense he was not, but nevertheless he knew that everything had changed, for the mantle of Siward had fallen on him at last.

  CHAPTER 2

  Magnus, second son of the house of Carl, sat on the rocks above the road wrapped in gloom, his mantle about him for all it was a warm May day. His own men dared not speak to him, so black was his mood for in his rages he would strike anyone to the ground and he was more given to them these days.

  He was watching the road from the north, scouring the distance for any sign of the rising dust that might indicate a body of horsemen, but at the moment the horizon was clear, the rolling moors stretching away to meet the blue of the sky. Here however the ground was disturbed by high outcrops of rock breaking from the rough scrub like an upheaval from the bowels of the earth. The stony road dipped and twisted between the hillocks and here where he sat the rocks provided perfect cover.

  He pulled a costrel from his belt and drank, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. After a while his eldest brother, Somerled, asleep beside him in the sun, woke, stretched and yawned.

  ‘Any sign yet?’

  Magnus shook his head and passed the wine to him.

  Somerled took a long pull at it. ‘You are sure they will come this way?’

  ‘That packman who came by last week was certain of it. They were to leave Durham on Monday, so they could scarce have got here before today.’

  There was a sudden slithering of stones and Edmund, the third brother, came up to join them followed by a reluctant and frowning Cnut.

  Magnus scowled back. ‘Why did you bring him?’ He jerked his head towards Cnut.

  Edmund shrugged. He was a burly man, the largest of the four, with a heavy reddish beard. He threw himself down beside his brothers. ‘If I had not, the whelp would have run yapping to the Earl.’

  Cnut flushed. ‘I would not. Am I a traitor to betray my own kin? But you are mad to rob Holy Church.’

  ‘Holy Church?’ Somerled scoffed. ‘Do you call it robbing the Church to relieve a Norman Bishop of the taxes he had no right to take?’

  ‘Some taxes are just,’ Cnut said obstinately. ‘And the Earl has done his best to see . . .’

  ‘Waltheof?’ Magnus broke in furiously. ‘Oh, aye, we all know you never lose the chance to tell him you mean him no harm and would love him more than your own brothers, but he is our enemy, a blood enemy – yours too.’

  ‘I would have no enemies.’ Cnut sat down on a rock, his hands clasped loosely between his knees, his eyes on the far horizon. ‘Our fathers and grandfathers killed each other, I know, but let it end, for the love of Our Lord.’

  ‘Oh, send the boy to a monastery,’ Edmund said, his eyes half shut as he lay on his back, ‘God knows why we did not let him go years ago.’

  ‘He’ll not go until the feud is wiped out,’ Somerled answered, tight-lipped. ‘We are all in this.’

  ‘I’ll have no part in it.’ Cnut’s voice was quiet but determined. ‘I have told Earl Waltheof it is not of my making. Little more than eighteen months he’s been Earl here and done more good than Morcar ever did in all the years he was earl . . .’

  Magnus swung up his arm and caught his young brother a vicious blow on the cheek. ‘Keep your tongue from Morcar. He was a good lord to me, and now he’s paying for his loyalty in a Norman prison while Waltheof dines with the Norman Bishop.’

  Cnut staggered a little and then regained his balance, his face red where Magnus had struck it. ‘Morcar was never swayed by anything but his own gain and you know it. At least Waltheof cares for die people here and I’ll not do him harm.’

  ‘No one is asking you to,’ Magnus snapped. ‘All we are doing today is taking money from a Norman that he should not have taken from us in the first place.’ He sat up sharply, a hand shading his eyes. ‘There’s a cloud of dust on the road – -look!’

  They all followed his pointing finger. ‘There – see? Get in your places, all of you. And you, Cnut, if you won’t aid us, keep out of it.’

  The three brothers scrambled down, calling to their men and scattering into the rocks on either side of the track, thus losing their view of the distant road. In a few minutes they were well hidden and Cnut sat rigid, his back to a great stone, staring away to the north. He did not see why men had to be fighting all the time and he thought love a stronger weapon than hate. Yet here, on a bright May day, with the first harebells blooming in the grass at his feet, his brothers and their men crouched in the rocks, swords in their hands, evil intent, spurred on by greed, in their hearts.

  A wagon was coming towards them now, guarded by about eight or ten men-at-arms. It rounded a bend in the road, disappeared behind the rocky outcrop and then came into sight again. With a yell the brothers leapt down from their cover. There was a clash of weapons, the driver fell pierced by a spear, and another guard lay sprawled beside him, his throat cut, while the rest put up some resistance.

  Cnut did not want to look and instead glanced away to the road. Suddenly he sat up, his body rigid. There were more men coming, a whole troop who had been hidden by the bend. He tried to call out a warning, shouting to Magnus and Edmund to come away, but they were on the wagon now, yelling their delight at the boxes of money.

  He ran down the slope, bawling his warning, but even as he did so to his horror he saw the leader of the troop and the gonfanon that waved above his head.

  ‘It is the Earl,’ he yelled, ‘for God’s sake come away – it is the Earl!’

  Magnus did not hear for he was struggling with a determined guard, but Somerled jerked his head up at the words. One look and he jumped into the road, bellowing to his men to draw off.

  A few moments later Waltheof and his troop came crashing down on them, making short work of the men who had not instantly fled. Most, having tasted the Earl’s metal before, scattered in all directions into the rocks.

  Magnus drove his dagger deep into his victim and scrambled up the slope after them, but Waltheof, drawing Balleroy up hard on his haunches, saw his old enemy and flinging himself down ran for the slope. Leaping up it he caught hold of Magnus by the tunic and they grappled together, slipping and sliding among the rough stones. ‘Curse you! Curse you!’ Magnus spluttered, ‘what devil’s w
ork brought you here today?’

  ‘Thief!’ Waltheof flung the word at him. ‘You are all thieves, plunderers, I’ll shackle you . . .’

  Somehow Magnus got his fingers at the Earl’s windpipe and he was half choked before he tore them away. They tripped together over a stubborn bush and rolled towards a jagged rock and then over it. Forced to let go of Magnus, Waltheof fell some ten feet to the ground below, but Magnus saved himself by clutching at some tough heather. He sprang to his feet and ran for the flat ground above where Cnut held his horse. Somerled and Edmund were already galloping away over the heather with what remained of their followers.

  Several of Waltheof’s men ran to his aid, but he was already on his feet. Osgood said: ‘Shall we go after them?’

  Breathless, he shaded his eyes to watch them go. ‘No. They’ve got nothing and sooner or later I’ll have them by the heels for the evil they do. Besides I’ve no time to go chasing them today.’ He glanced around the shambles in the road, the wagon with its boxes open and spilled, the three fallen guards and one of his own men dead from a spear thrust, as well as several wounded. Six of the brothers’ men were accounted for.