Viking Betrayed (Viking Roots Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  King Louis

  The overland journey to Rouen was uneventful and Judith appreciated the reassuring presence of an escort comprised of a horde of Montdebryk knights. But anxiety gnawed at her innards, as it had since Magnus had informed her of the archbishop’s mention of a physical examination.

  “I’ve heard of women tearing their hymen by doing nothing more than riding a horse,” she confided to Beatrice.

  Her maidservant avoided her gaze. “I’ve heard of such things too, but I’m sure—”

  Her maid’s pout led her to believe she was uncertain if Judith and Magnus had made love. It occurred to her she’d never kept secrets from the woman who had more or less raised her.

  “I’ve traveled great distances jolted in a wagon,” she said in an effort to fill the silence. “What if—”

  Beatrice merely shrugged.

  Judith resolved not to fret over such a possibility, but she was exhausted by the time they rode into the cathedral city.

  She longed to feel the comforting strength of her beloved’s arms, but the archbishop’s presence in the cavalcade demanded they keep away from each other. Cathryn had suggested as much, and she and Magnus had agreed privately it would be nigh on impossible to keep their hands off each other if the least opportunity presented itself.

  Judith and Katarina were assigned to an opulent chamber in the duke’s lavish fortress. They had decided to share Beatrice as their maid.

  Magnus’s sister was agog as Beatrice began unpacking their gowns. “They say the young king of the Franks rode into Rouen yesterday,” she gushed, sprawled atop the enormous bed. “By all reports he was greeted by welcoming crowds and a splendidly attired Duke Vilhelm.”

  Judith thought back to the last time she’d seen the duke. “I wonder if he wore his famous sword?”

  Beatrice arched a brow.

  Katarina eyed Judith as if she’d lost her wits. “Of course he would wear it.”

  “Come choose a gown for the banquet,” Beatrice said to her mistress.

  Judith sauntered over to the chests. Beatrice whispered in her ear. “Have you forgotten we are foreigners in the midst of Normans fiercely loyal to their duke, son of the fabled Rollo who led them out of Norway?”

  Judith patted her maid’s hand, grateful for the reminder. She’d begun to consider she was part of this Norman family, but danger lurked in assuming too much. She perched on the edge of the mattress. “I know nothing of this King Louis,” she said, aware of Katarina’s propensity to show off.

  Katarina sat up. “He’s young, and handsome, they say. And unwed.”

  Beatrice winked.

  Now Judith understood the girl’s interest. “Tell me about him,” she coaxed.

  Katarina pummeled the bolster then lay back against it. “He’s the son of King Charles, the one they called Simple who was king when the Vikings came to Francia. It was Charles my father almost tipped off his horse after the battle for Chartres.”

  If Judith remembered correctly, Charles the Simple was also a descendant of Charlemagne. “But he was deposed, wasn’t he?”

  Katarina folded her arms across her breasts. “Yes, by scheming nobles when poor Louis was only two. His mother was the daughter of the king of England. She fled there with her son.”

  “Herbert of Vermandois was involved in getting rid of King Charles,” Beatrice said, reminding Judith of Adela’s shrewish delight at her leaving Bruggen.

  “Louis grew up in England?” she asked.

  Katarina fluttered her eyelashes. “It’s why they call him Louis Transmarinus, from across the sea.”

  This was getting interesting. “How did he regain his throne?”

  “My father says it was thanks to jealousy among the nobles of Francia. When King Raoul died, Hugh the Great, Hugh the Black and Herbert of Vermandois wanted to ensure none of the others claimed the throne, so they invited Louis back from exile.”

  Judith hadn’t paid attention to any of these events when they were happening a few years ago, but she recalled more of it now. And once again, mention had been made of Herbert, Arnulf’s father-by-marriage. Perhaps she needed to learn more of this young king. “He doesn’t have much power from what I understand.”

  Katarina pouted. “He rules the town of Laon, and other places in the north, but my father says this alliance with Normandie signals his intention to extend his power.”

  Judith wondered if Bryk Kriger had indeed discussed such matters with his daughter, or if she was merely good at listening, or perhaps overhearing. “I suppose we can’t worry our heads over any of this,” she said lightly.

  Katarina frowned. “My father also says some powerful nobles are angered our duke has meddled in the affairs of Francia. They still see us as unwelcome pirates.”

  An inkling of dread insinuated itself into Judith’s heart. Beatrice stared, her face betraying her distress. Surely the girl wasn’t referring to—

  “Your brother Arnulf is apparently livid about it.”

  Magnus left the Council feeling agitated. “Our duke is certainly pleased,” he remarked to his father as they strode through the corridor.

  Bryk put a finger to his lips. “Wait until we are out of earshot. There are spies everywhere.”

  “Spies?” Dag exclaimed.

  “Men who will sell information they may overhear to the highest bidder,” he explained. “There are many strangers in Louis’ retinue. Someone already insinuated to me we have a woman in our company who is not to be trusted.”

  Magnus pulled his father to a halt, anger constricting his throat. “They mean Judith, I suppose. Who accuses her?”

  “Again you speak loudly where anyone can hear, my son,” he rasped. “Be circumspect. There was much talk of the danger Arnulf of Flandres represents. Vilhelm obviously hates him. They are still at loggerheads over Montreuil. There are bound to be those who do not trust Judith. And never forget Herbert of Vermandois who has spies everywhere, even here in Rouen.”

  Magnus raked both hands through his hair. “By Odin, the sooner I can make her my wife, the happier I will be.”

  They resumed their walk until they were outside the fortress gate, where they leaned over the low wall of a bridge to watch the fast-flowing Seine below.

  “What’s your opinion of Louis?” Bryk asked.

  “Seems young,” Dag replied.

  Magnus spoke his mind. “Devious and greedy.”

  “You are both right,” their father said. “We must be watchful.”

  The music was delightful, the food delicious, the fashions intriguing, the noise in the massive hall deafening, but Judith wasn’t enjoying any of it, her mind preoccupied with the appointment she must keep on the morrow with the Archbishop of Rouen.

  Even the flamboyant young king of the Franks held her attention for only brief moments, though she noted the set of Bryk Kriger’s clenched jaw when Louis made a great show of kissing a blushing Katarina’s hand and lingering in conversation with her.

  It appeared from their easy camaraderie Vilhelm and Louis had formed a firm friendship.

  She wished she hadn’t worn a gown that showed too much of her cleavage. Seated across from her, a sullen Magnus was almost drooling, drumming his fingers on the wooden table.

  It had been made clear he was not to accompany her to the archbishop’s residence, and he wasn’t happy. Only Beatrice would be permitted to go, though Montdebryk knights would form an escort. Bryk had assigned Dag to lead them.

  The normally friendly Cathryn seemed distant. Judith supposed her mind was on her other sons who were reportedly on their way from Ponthieu. Troops from the Cotentin had relieved their brigade.

  Every time anyone mentioned Montreuil, Magnus bristled. There must have been discussion of her brother at the Council meeting, but he had told her nothing.

  She was relieved when Bryk sought out their host and requested permission for his family to retire since his wife was tired. Magnus escorted Judith and his sister to their chamber and bid them a
curt goodnight.

  Katarina pouted when they were inside. “I was enjoying myself,” she whined. “Louis is handsome.”

  Judith indicated Beatrice, asleep on a pallet in the corner. “No need to wake her. We can help each other disrobe.”

  Katarina hid a yawn behind the back of her hand. “Imagine if he asks me to marry him,” she said dreamily.

  “Imagine,” Judith parroted, deeming it unkind to remind the girl she didn’t have a drop of royal blood in her veins and was thus unlikely to ever become the bride of a king.

  Examination

  Magnus paced the chamber he shared with Dag until he feared he might go dizzy. He counted and recounted the paces from one wall to the other, from the door to the other wall, and from corner to corner.

  It seemed hours since his brother had left to escort Judith to the archbishop’s house. He wished he’d had a chance to see her before she left, to reassure her. He’d acted like a child the previous evening at the banquet. She’d needed his support, but he’d grown morose and angry.

  There was no cause for concern. The Church was aware of Theodoric’s strange relationship with another man. Anyone who had met Theodoric would realize it was highly unlikely the marriage had ever been consummated. Judith would confirm it. There’d be no need for her to undergo an examination.

  He drew his dagger and slashed at the air, resolved to cut off the hand and gouge out the eyes of any man who dared look at Judith’s most intimate place. That was for him, and him alone.

  He seized Dag when he finally entered the chamber. “Where is she? Was she nervous? Did it go well? How long were you gone? I lost track of time.”

  Dag eyed the weapon. “Settle down. I was only gone an hour. I’m to return in three hours.”

  “Three hours!” Magnus shouted, plunging the dagger into the doorframe. Judith was at the mercy of a powerful and sometimes vindictive Church, and he was powerless to help her.

  Dag wiggled the weapon back and forth, eventually freeing the blade from the splintered wood. He turned the hilt to Magnus. “Let’s go to the kitchens and see if there’s aught to eat. I had to leave before food was served in the main hall.”

  Magnus sheathed the dagger. “Fine. But I am coming with you when you go back for her.”

  Dag shrugged. “No one said anything to the contrary.”

  The familiar touch of Beatrice stroking her hair helped calm Judith, as did the steady beat of her maid’s heart in her ear as they huddled together on a bench in the archbishop’s musty library.

  “Hush. It’s over now,” Beatrice cooed.

  Judith’s tears remained stuck in her throat. It seemed inappropriate to cry in this cramped place stacked with ancient manuscripts, waiting for the Church’s verdict. “I didn’t expect Theodoric to be present,” she confided.

  “Huh,” the older woman snorted. “I can’t imagine why they needed to shame you in such a way.”

  “At least it was only for the first hour. He was sullen and angry. I suppose he blames me for Father Innocent’s banishment. I can’t fault him. He must be lonely.”

  “Phht,” Beatrice hissed. “You are too kind. What happened after he left?”

  “Gonthard and two other clerics kept asking me the same questions over and over with regard to the marriage ceremony.”

  “Why didn’t they ask me?” Beatrice exclaimed. “I was there.”

  “I don’t know,” Judith lied. A woman who wasn’t of noble birth would never be called upon to give testimony in such a proceeding. “I answered to the best of my recollection, and they eventually seemed satisfied.”

  She inhaled deeply. “Then they asked me again if we had consummated the marriage.”

  “Again,” Beatrice declared too loudly. “I can confirm your answers.”

  Fatigue fogged Judith’s thoughts. “I told the truth,” she murmured.

  “Did they believe you?”

  A sob broke from Judith’s throat. “They summoned the physician,” she wailed.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Beatrice cried, tightening her grip around Judith’s shoulders.

  “I cannot speak of it,” Judith said hoarsely.

  “My poor lamb,” her maid whispered.

  “At least he didn’t touch me,” Judith added. “He seemed satisfied simply to look.”

  She omitted mentioning the silent prayer of thanks she’d sent heavenward that Magnus hadn’t penetrated her maidenhead.

  Beatrice rocked her and she realized her servant was crying.

  A loud cough surprised them. One of the clerics who had questioned her stood in the doorway. Judith sat up straight, her heart thudding in her ears.

  “Our deliberations will take at least a sennight,” he announced.

  “A sennight,” Beatrice gasped, earning a stern glare of rebuke from the priest.

  “You are to remain in this house until judgement is rendered,” he continued. “However, you are to have no congress with Theodoric of Abbatis. A chamber has been prepared and you will be taken there shortly.”

  He disappeared before she had a chance to protest. And what good would it do anyway? She stared at her equally dumbfounded maid. “I’m torn between laughing and crying. Congress with Theodoric! But Magnus will be furious.”

  Peace Treaty

  “Stop pacing,” Bryk Kriger hissed between gritted teeth. “Vilhelm and Louis will be here in a moment and I don’t want them to believe my son is a lunatic.”

  Magnus halted. It was true he’d been distraught since word had come five days before that Judith was to remain at Gonthard’s residence. He had tried several times to see her but been ordered to leave. On the last occasion, the archbishop had threatened to have him removed physically.

  He combed his disheveled hair off his face with his fingers. “I apologize. I cannot think straight.”

  His father chuckled. “Lust fogs a man’s brain.”

  Magnus clenched his fists. Arguing with his sire wouldn’t solve anything. “I love her, Papa. Surely you can understand my feelings.”

  Before Bryk replied, Duke Vilhelm strode into the Council chamber, accompanied by King Louis.

  They bowed. Magnus thought it odd the two men were not accompanied by their usual retinue of attendants and bodyguards. This was evidently to be a private meeting.

  “You need not bow, Bryk Kriger,” Vilhelm said. “Your family’s devotion to mine is recognized.” He turned to Louis. “I myself wouldn’t be alive today were it not for Bryk’s nephew, Torstein, and Cathryn Kriger saved my mother’s life during the fight for Chartres.”

  Louis arched his brows but said nothing. Magnus recalled his father’s advice to be cautious in the presence of this young monarch.

  Vilhelm ushered them to the council seats, but he and the Frankish king remained standing. “There are matters to discuss privately,” he said to Bryk. “They are affairs of governance, but they involve Arnulf of Flandres, and hence you.”

  An army of booted beetles marched up Magnus’s spine, but he heeded the warning in the slight shake of his father’s head.

  “We are honored by the confidence you place in us,” Bryk replied.

  Vilhelm bade Louis be seated, then took his own chair at the head of the Council table. “Arnulf has requested we meet to sign a peace treaty.”

  Magnus folded his arms across his chest to tame the hissing viper curled in his gut.

  “What are the terms?” Bryk asked.

  Louis leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. “Herluin keeps Montreuil,” he said as if it was obvious.

  Magnus was secretly pleased when his father ignored the young king and directed his next question at Vilhelm. “Do you trust him?”

  Bryk referred to Arnulf, though Magnus suspected his father also mistrusted Louis.

  As if sensing the undercurrent, Vilhelm gestured to Louis and announced, “His Majesty has confirmed our right to the lands originally granted to my father, Rollo, by his father, Charles.”

  The Senseless! M
agnus thought. But his son is not so simple.

  “He has also recognized my son Richard as my successor.”

  Magnus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The boy must be all of ten years old, and a bastard, the son of a concubine. He wondered momentarily why Vilhelm had fathered no children with his wife, amused by a passing fancy that mayhap the sword had got in the way.

  “This strengthens our borders and our line of succession,” Vilhelm continued, jolting him from his reverie. “Arnulf and his allies have accepted we Norsemen are here to stay.”

  Secret talks had evidently been ongoing, but Magnus noted his duke hadn’t addressed the matter of trust. It seemed unbelievable the Flemish comte had ceded everything so easily. Based on the man’s disregard for his sister’s safety, Vilhelm would need to be wary.

  “Where would such a meeting take place?” Bryk asked.

  “The Comte has suggested Picquigny, on the Somme.”

  “Too close to Flandres,” Magnus exclaimed.

  His outburst earned him a glare from everyone else in the chamber.

  “His Grace will be protected by his bodyguards,” Louis said to Magnus, as if speaking to a silly child.

  “And I will have Judith of Valognes with me, as a good faith hostage,” Vilhelm declared.

  The snake bit into Magnus’s flesh. “No,” he yelled, leaping to his feet. “I will not allow it.”

  Vilhelm scowled. “Sit down. You have no say in the matter. Arnulf will not harm his own sister.”

  Magnus clutched the edge of the table and stared at his duke. “He abandoned her at Saint Riquier,” he growled. “He cares for naught except power.”

  “He has requested she be returned to Flandres.”

  “She doesn’t want to go.”

  Vilhelm drummed his fingers on the table. “She will accompany us. If the Church rules in favor of her annulment, and if she expresses a desire to stay in Normandie, I am confident Arnulf will allow it. He has acquiesced to our demands.”