‘She was a mere girl then – and I think we none of us knew much of her, not even the Earl for all he loved her.’ They were walking by the river in York where they were going to spend an evening seeking what pleasures might be found, and Hakon paused, staring at the bright water in the light of the June evening. A swallow swooped low over the gently moving surface and was gone.
‘She will hurt him,’ he said suddenly, ‘I know it.’
‘How?’ Ulf asked. ‘How can she? She is his Countess and they have their children, and will have more, I suppose. Is that not what a woman wants?’
‘God knows what she wants.’ Hakon thought of his own gentle-eyed wife with her soft movements and her loving. She was like a rosy apple, warm in the sunshine. The Countess, he thought, was not like that. ‘What she wants she will take,’ he answered at last, ‘and she will not care if she hurts him in the process.’
‘How can you know that?’ Ulf sat down and threw a pebble at a passing moorhen, not to hit it, but for the delight of seeing it scuttle for the bank. ‘You are always thinking you understand what people will say or do.’
‘Well, I see a great deal more than you,’ Hakon retorted, ‘but surely even you can see a hardness about her. She sent that fellow packing the other day – the one who asked for that hut by the church at Stamford – because he had no rent to give. The Earl would have given him a year to pay.’
‘I heard about that, but what you obviously don’t know,’ Ulf added smugly, ‘is that he went to Thorkel Skallason afterwards and Thorkel gave him work in the kitchen in the Earl’s name.’
Hakon grinned. ‘The scald has more sense than the rest of us put together – no wonder he and the Countess don’t agree. But as for knowing things, I’ll tell you that the Earl has made the man a server, so there’s for the Countess who must take her meat from a dish he hands her.’ He gave Ulf a friendly push and Ulf rolled backwards off his hummock of grass. The next moment he was up and, grinning, fetched Hakon a buffet that set him on his back.
Ulf exploded into laughter. ‘And there’s for you! I always said one day I’d be your equal. Will you wrestle with me now?’
Hakon picked himself up, shaking his head ruefully. .There was brawn behind that blow.’ He made a sudden dive for Ulf’s legs and they rolled on the ground together, struggling and laughing until at last Hakon cried, ‘Enough, enough! You are a man now, my little Ulf, and my match. Come, I’ll buy you a mug of ale and your supper.’
A few days later when Waltheof was attending a shire-moot in Tadcaster, the Countess summoned Ulf to her. She was as usual busying herself with the affairs of their various manors and coming across what seemed to her to be an obvious error in the reeve’s accounts she required a messenger and Ulf happened to be the nearest to hand.
He came, sturdy and smiling, always ready to please, and determined for his lord’s sake to serve the Countess well even if he shared Hakon’s feelings about her.
‘You will ride at once to Wintringham,’ she said, ‘it seems it cannot be more than twenty-five miles from here. There is a manor there, Heronsmill, held by a man named Alden. He has paid no tithes this summer and he should have sent a sheep and fodder for twenty horses. Bid him send what he owes. You should be able to return by tomorrow.’
Ulf hesitated for a moment before he replied. ‘My lady, I fear it may take longer for all the land by Settrington is owned by the house of Carl, and the Earl has forbidden us to set foot on it. I shall have to go round west of Malton.’
‘Nonsense,’ Judith said impatiently. ‘No one has a quarrel with a servant about the Earl’s business.’
Ulf flushed, the smile gone. ‘My father, lady, was Thegn of Gelling and the Earl’s friend. I have my own land and am no servant, for all I serve the Earl.’
Judith regarded him amusedly. ‘Have I offended your dignity? Well, be that as it may, your lord’s relations with Magnus Carlson and his brothers are for him to settle and no affair of yours.’ Her tone was firm and as he still hesitated, she added, ‘Off with you and bring me a reply by tomorrow.’
He could see there was no use arguing and anyway, he thought, she was probably right, but he wished that Hakon was here so that he might tell him – only Hakon and Osgood had gone to Tadcaster and Thorkel was in York.
Nevertheless as he rode out on the eastern road he had a pleasurable sense of importance. His mother had ruled Gelling during his minority but now, although he asked for nothing better than to stay in the Earl’s household, he thought perhaps he ought to go home and look to his land. Others managed to rule their manors and still attend the Earl, so why not he? And to have a wife, as Hakon had, to go home to and lie with honestly, instead of tumbling a tavern woman for pleasure, surely that would be good? He would ask the Earl about it soon, and whistling a little tune, he turned his face into the sunshine.
On the following afternoon Thorkel returned from York and went in search of Ulf. When he heard the errand on which the lad had been sent, a heavy frown settled on his face and he sought out the Countess. She was sitting on a stool on a grassy slope behind the hall, a piece of embroidery in her hand. She looked up as he came over the grass and their eyes met. If she had been a man, he thought, they would have crossed swords by now.
‘I hear, lady,’ he began without preamble, ‘that you sent Ulf to Wintringham yesterday, that you told him to go by Settrington. I cannot credit that, knowing the Earl’s absolute command to us all to avoid . . .’
She held up her hand. ‘Messire Skallason, this is none of your business. It is time you all learned that I stand in my lord’s place when he is absent. And if he were here . . .’
‘If he were here,’ Thorkel interrupted, ‘he would never have permitted Ulf to go. By God, Madame, you have taken too much upon yourself this time.’
She sprang to her feet. ‘How dare you speak thus? I should have you whipped for such impertinence.’
He laughed, flinging his head back in a manner that enraged her further. ‘I am my own man and I owe you nothing but what I give for love of my lord. Nor am I a scullion to be beaten at your will.’ The laugh faded as he said gravely, ‘I tell you, you do not know these northern people, you do not understand what a blood-feud is here. If they lay a hand on him I would not be in your place when the Earl returns. Ulf has been as a son to him.’
He could not have said anything more unfortunate for he had touched her upon a raw spot. At the word ‘son’ a wave of colour flooded her face. Her hands clenched and for a moment he thought she might strike him.
‘Go – go, insolent fellow. I’ll not have you in my house. The Earl shall dismiss you . . .’
‘Ask him to do so, by all means.’ Thorkel’s pale eyes were snapping, the scar on his cheek standing out vividly. ‘I have no fears on that score – but I fear for Ulf. He should be returned by now.’
She turned away, controlling herself with an effort. ‘He is probably dawdling, gossiping to some serf girl, no doubt. However, I have no wish to discuss it further with you and the Earl shall hear of your behaviour.’ She looked at that moment a living embodiment of her uncle.
God help my lord, Thorkel thought and left her abruptly, striding away across the grass and round the house to the gateway where he could see the road to the east. He sat there for a long time, but Ulf did not return that night, nor the next day. Supper was eaten in icy silence and on the morrow Thorkel, without a word to the Countess, rode out towards Tadcaster.
Not two miles from York, to his relief, he met the Earl and his riders and in a few brief words explained what had happened. He saw the frown of anxiety, the spurt of annoyance, the quick suppression of anything that might smack of disloyalty to the Countess.
Waltheof said: ‘We will ride a little way along the road and no doubt we will meet him. I expect the boy was delayed.’
Hakon spurred up to him, his cheerful face unusually grave. ‘Lord, let me go ahead. If any ill has befallen him . . .’
‘We will go to Aldby first,’ Wal
theof said firmly. ‘He may be returned by now.’
They rode the rest of the way in silence. He refused to countenance his own mounting anxiety, but it was there as surely as was his annoyance at Judith’s interference. There were times when he could not understand her, when she was wholly unlike the Judith he had kept in his head for three long years. Only his love, passionately loyal, would not allow any doubt.
A rough track separated the road to Aldby from the road to York and they had reached this and were rounding the bend of it when Thorkel said suddenly: ‘Look – a rider!’
There was a horse some way ahead of them, moving slowly, the reins slack, the rider seeming either asleep or unconscious for he was lying forward across the horse’s neck.
Waltheof set spurs to Balleroy and with Hakon and Thorkel behind him galloped down the road. Hearing others coming the horse halted, throwing up his head and whinnying, and his rider began to slide from the saddle, saved only by fingers twisted in the long brown mane.
Waltheof sprang down and ran to him. It was Ulf, but an Ulf he hardly recognised. There was blood everywhere, on his clothes and the saddle and on the horse’s coat; his face was spattered with it and terribly bruised, one closed eye surrounded by livid marks, a weal as if from a whip on one cheek. There was a knife wound in his chest from which most of the blood had come.
Waltheof let out a great oath and put his arms about the boy, disentangling his hand from the mane so that he slithered free. He laid him on the ground and knelt beside him, his hand inside the bloodsoaked tunic. Thorkel and Hakon were beside him now; Thorkel white and silent and Hakon clenching and unclenching his fists.
‘Does he live, lord? Does he live?’
Waltheof nodded and bent his head close to Ulf’s. ‘He lives, but only just. Get some wine, one of you.’
Someone brought a costrel and thrust it into his hand and he forced a little between the swollen lips. Ulf stirred and his eyelids fluttered. He swallowed and sighed, and then his eyes opened. For a moment there was pain and fear in them, but when he saw the Earl relief came. ‘Lord,’ his voice was barely audible, lord, I thought – I would never reach home.’
Kneeling, Waltheof lifted him into his arms and held him. He was shaking with rage and grief, but he kept his voice calm. ‘You are home now. Can you tell us what happened?’
‘Aye tell us.’ Hakon flung himself down beside them. ‘Who did this to you? Jesu, but I’ll make them pay.’
Ulf looked up at his lord. ‘I went to Wintringham as the Countess ordered – but I found the manor burned – everything gone, even the chapel – robbed. She bade me hurry back so – I went by Settrington and there . . .’ he coughed and spat away some blood, ‘I met with Edmund Carlson and some of his men. They – boasted they would see you did not live so rich. I think they only meant – to make some sport with me – because I was your man, but . . .’ his voice trailed off and there was a little silence.
The men stood around, looking at their battered comrade lying in the Earl’s arms, the same emotion gripping them all. It was hot and dusty in the road and the horses swished their tails restlessly against the flies, but another heat was rising, a fire that was almost physical in its intensity. Hakon was trying to staunch the blood from the chest wound and he glanced at the Earl. ‘Is he dying?’
‘I think he cannot live,’ Waltheof answered in a low voice. He wanted to cry out his fury at this senseless brutality, to bear the beating himself rather than see Ulf lying thus in his arms. He put the costrel to the bruised lips again and presently the eyelids flickered open.
‘My lord,’ there was an urgency in the stumbling voice, ‘my lord, I must tell you . . .’
‘Gently . . .’ Waltheof gave him a little more wine and when he spoke again his voice was stronger.
‘They took me to their hall – they told me – it was Magnus’ men who killed Earl Edwin . . .’
‘What!’ Involuntarily Waltheof’s grip tightened. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes – they said it was because he left Earl Morcar – because he would not fight – at Ely.’ He coughed again and then went on, ‘I told them they were – murderers – to slay Edwin – and then they set on me – they said things about you that I would not bear – but I could not fight them all . . .’
‘The knife,’ Hakon asked urgently, ‘who threw the knife?’
‘It was Magnus, I think. I don’t know – so many of them, laughing . . .’ An anguished look came over the disfigured face. ‘Oh God, let me get at them – devils – devils!’ He was trembling now, clawing wildly at Waltheof’s hands, back in the hall where the sons of Carl had tortured him for their sport.
‘Christ!’ Thorkel said, his hand on his sword hilt. His face was stiff with a still killing rage, but Hakon kneeling beside Ulf was half crying with fury.
‘What shall we do, lord? We cannot let them live, not after this.’
‘No, by God’s wounds!’ Osgood swore. ‘Shall Alfric’s son go unavenged? Lord, let us go to Settrington, let us end this once and for all. I saw your grandfather slain – and now this boy.’
Waltheof held Ulf close, calming the agitated hands. He was trembling himself, all his old love for Alfric calling out for vengeance. He remembered Alfric’s words, ‘If I should fall, care for my son,’ and his own reply, ‘he shall be as my own.’ And how had he kept that vow? Ulf lay battered and bruised, dying in his arms because he was a man of Siward’s house and the house of Carl had vented its spite on him.
A black rage engulfed him, sweeping him away in its tide. This tragedy had happened because he was who he was. Every insult Magnus had ever flung at him urged him on, the memory of Edwin’s sightless staring eyes, the horrifying bloodless head, and most of all the boy in his arms, cried out for satisfaction.
He could barely see for the tide of rage, of blood-lust that flooded him, burning every nerve in his body, blotting out everything but a primitive savage instinct.
‘Kill them,’ he said between clenched teeth, ‘kill them! Burn their house – leave nothing . . .’ and not one of his men had ever heard him speak thus.
They flung themselves towards their horses, seizing reins and mounting, but Ulf cried out, his eyes wide.
‘Not Cnut – not Cnut – he tried to stop them . . .’
Waltheof got to his feet, lifting him in his arms, holding him close, shuddering. ‘Let Cnut live – but no one else, not one.’
Then they were gone, even the normally calm Thorkel galloping headlong, and Waltheof was left in the dusty road, the sun hot as his rage, with Ulf in his arms and only Outy standing beside him, ready if he were needed, his craggy face riven with grief.
Slowly they walked towards the house, Outy leading the horses, Waltheof carrying his burden. As he entered the hall, servants came running, fetched a bench, cushions, water and towels. He knelt, laying Ulf gently down and washing the wound himself, but the lad was dying and he knew it.
‘One of you, fetch the priest,’ he said and lifting his head, saw Judith standing on the other side of the bench. Her face was pale, her hands clasped together.
‘This is your doing,’ he said, and it was as if he had struck her.
She did not reel from the blow, nor cry out, but stared at Ulf, the expression in her dark eyes hard to read. Then she bent and took the cloth from the wound. Ulf moaned a little; it was clear that nothing could be done. Judith replaced the linen and stood back. She did not speak.
Ulf opened his eyes then and saw her. ‘I tried,’ he said. ‘The manor was burned . . .’ his gaze wandered from her stricken face back to his lord’s bent over him. ‘I told them I was your man,’ a faint proud smile crossed his face, ‘as my father was.’
‘I would not have expected less from you, child,’ Waltheof said and his voice shook. ‘The priest is coming – try to recollect . . .’
Ulf looked oddly surprised. ‘Oh – I did not realise – it does not hurt now.’ He looked up at Waltheof, his smile widened and then his head sank against
the Earl’s chest, even as the chaplain came hurrying down the hall.
Waltheof knelt there, knowing he was dead but unable to move, to lay him down. It was Outy at last, helped by the priest, who gently eased him from the Earl’s arms.
For long hours he sat by the body, listening to the priest’s prayers, watching the women do their work, yet hearing and seeing nothing. His household came and went talking in whispers. Once Judith put her hand on his shoulder and bade him come away but he did not heed her. The black rage had gone, leaving him drained. Outy brought him a cup of wine but he shook his head. He sat, surrounded by ghosts, by memories of this hall when Harold had been King, when Alfric had sat by his side and they had feasted at Harold’s wedding to Edwin’s sister – so long ago. It seemed a lifetime. He remembered Alfric’s laugh, and the wide smile his son had inherited; he thought too of Leofwine, the beloved friend, as he had not thought for a long time and whom no one, not even Thorkel or Richard had replaced. He thought of Gyrth and the others who had been his youth-companions .Of the killing raid on which he had sent his men he did not think, it was as if some paralysis had seized him, a defence of nature against something too terrible to be borne.
Of the Ring of Earls (Conqueror Trilogy Book 1) Page 29
