The Winter Mantle (15 page)

William grunted. 'And if I had agreed to his request, what would you have said?'

Adelaide spluttered, the sound declaring without words what she thought of the notion.

'I would have been bound by the decree of your will, whatever your decision, sire,' Judith murmured and felt herself wilting beneath the blaze of his stare.

'So you have no especially fond regard for Waltheof of Huntingdon?'

Her stomach churned. 'I am grateful to him for saving my life.'

'But it goes no deeper than that.'

'No, sire.'

There was a long and thoughtful pause. 'It seems then,' William said at last, 'that the young man was building a mountain out of no more than a heap of soil. I do not doubt your virtue, niece, but I hope that you will not make a habit of sending me young men of whom you have passing acquaintance to ask for you in marriage.'

'I did not know what else to do,' Judith said.

'Well, the dilemma is easily solved,' Adelaide spoke out angrily. 'From this day forth you do not leave the confines of the bower lest I be at your side.'

Judith was not quite swift enough to conceal a grimace and Adelaide seized upon it. 'Yes, my girl, I have clearly been too lax with you, and that slut of a maid is no protection.'

'I have done nothing wrong,' Judith reiterated, and pushed from her mind the remembrance of being kissed and kissing back at the foot of the stairs in Fècamp.

'Let matters rest, Adelaide,' William said. 'Waltheof has either left the court or is leaving on the morrow, and I made the situation plain to him. He knows that I will grant him no further privileges above those that he has. Judith has received her warning. I know that she will be more cautious in future.'

'So will I,' Adelaide said grimly. Judith's heart sank.

As Judith followed her mother and stepfather to the door there was a clatter behind them. Whirling round Judith saw young Simon de Senlis picking up the banner that his elbow had dislodged and sent tumbling. Judith met the youth's fox-brown eyes and saw the knowledge in them. If he spoke even half of what he knew the scandal would burn her alive. She thought that she could trust him, but she was not certain. At least he was fond of Waltheof. Blurting out his knowledge would not help his hero's cause. She could only hope that he was more discreet than she had been.

As the door closed, William beckoned to Simon. 'I have no need to tell you that what goes forth in these chambers is not to be discussed outside that door,' he said tersely.

'No, your grace.' Simon returned William's dark stare before looking down as custom demanded. 'I know when to hold my tongue.'

William's mouth twitched. 'And when to be as quiet as a mouse so that you are overlooked,' he said.

Simon flashed a glance from beneath his brows, so innocent that William's almost smile became a grunt of amusement. 'I hope that you have not been paying so much attention to your ears that you have neglected your other duties,' he said and held out his hand. 'Bring me that helm.'

Simon duly fetched the King's helm from the corner where he had been oiling and burnishing it. The metal shone with all the colours of the forge, an iridescent bloom of blue-gold on the iron surface.

William examined the work and nodded with thoughtful satisfaction. 'Large ears, quick hands, a close mouth. It seems, young man, that you will go far.'

Simon reddened with pleasure.

'The trick is of course,' William said, still turning the helm in his hands, 'to know when to stop.'

'Who is Waltheof of Huntingdon?' Eudo of Champagne demanded of his wife. His stepdaughter had retired to her pallet, pleading a headache, and Adelaide had let her go without demur - more, he thought, from wanting her out of the way than from compassion. They were standing together in a corner of the hall. It was draughty away from the braziers, but relatively private.

'You must have seen him,' she said impatiently. 'The tall one with the red hair and white bearskin cloak.'

'Ah, yes.' Eudo nodded with a slight narrowing of his eyes. 'A friend of Ralf de Gael of Norfolk to judge from the manner they were laughing together.'

Adelaide sniffed disparagingly. 'They are of an ilk,' she said, 'and neighbours.'

Eudo's lips twitched. His wife obviously had a wasp in her wimple over the Earl of Huntingdon. 'Whoever knew a tall man who was wise or a red-haired one who was faithful?' He flippantly quoted the old proverb.

'Precisely,' Adelaide snapped. 'And it is no cause for amusement.'

Eudo grimaced. His wife had brought him the prestige of an alliance with the house of Normandy but she was a shrew of the highest order. Putting her in her place was not an option when her brother was Duke of Normandy and King of England.

'Has Judith truly been indiscreet with him?' he asked.

'Enough to form an attraction, but not sufficient to cause a scandal. However I should have been more vigilant. There are always foxes prowling around the henhouse in search of a victim.'

'I do not doubt your vigilance,' Eudo murmured and glanced across the hall at William's three sons, who were chasing each other boisterously in and out of the aisles of the hall. Queen Matilda was swelling with yet another pregnancy. All he had thus far of his own marriage were two stepdaughters resembling their mother and the prestige of the bond with the house of Normandy. It would be a fine thing to set a son in his wife's womb. She was not barren, just reluctant. Perhaps a new child would lessen her intensity over her daughters too.

'What of this Waltheof's lands? If he is an earl, might not the match be suitable?'

'You would see your stepdaughter wed to an ignorant Viking?' Adelaide's bosom heaved with indignation.

Eudo shrugged. He was not going to remind his wife that her own mother was the daughter of a common tanner. That would have been tantamount to treason. 'I would see her content,' he said.

Adelaide gave him a scathing look. 'I doubt that Judith could be content with such a man,' she said glacially. 'He has no sense of what is fitting.'

'But she would be a countess. Mayhap we should investigate how large and prosperous his earldom is.'

His wife raised a scornful eyebrow. 'We can do better for her than Waltheof of Huntingdon,' she snapped.

Eudo inclined his head as if conceding the point, but he was not taken in by her dismissal of the notion. There had definitely been a spark of interest in her eyes. He was a patient man and the notion of adding an English earldom to his family's concerns was an attractive one.

Across the hall there was a loud commotion as William's eldest sons Robert and Richard caught their brother Rufus, flung him to the ground and sat on him while Robert de Bêlleme attempted to stuff floor rushes into the victim's mouth.

Eudo watched the ensuing struggle with folded arms and did not attempt to intervene. He was fond of the older boys, who were high-spirited, boisterous youths, but he had never been able to warm towards the third son. William was considering Rufus for the Church and the boy was being educated at Saint Stephen's in Caen, although he had been released from his lessons to come to England and see his mother made queen. Rufus was a plump, unprepossessing child with sandy-white hair and lashes that put Eudo in mind of a pig. He seemed to squeal like one most of the time too.

'Christ, someone send that boy back to the cloister,' muttered Robert of Mortain, coming to join Eudo and Adelaide. 'Fie screams like a girl.'

Eudo gave a pained smile of acknowledgement. Robert of Mortain was a maternal half-brother to William and Adelaide. Eudo did not particularly like him, but he respected him, and they shared antipathy towards their youngest nephew. Both were content to stand by and watch his brothers bounce on him as if he were a cushion while de Bêlleme attempted to prise open Rufus' tightly clenched jaw.

However someone else was willing to step in. One of William's senior pages, who was passing through the hall carrying two sharpened spears, approached the fracas, stooped, and murmured to the bullies. Looking irritated and petulant, they got off Rufus and let him go, although De Bêlleme gave him a sharp kick in the ribs. The older youths swaggered from the hall, leaving their victim choking and blubbering on the floor. The page stooped to comfort Rufus and after a moment helped him to his feet.

Mortain lost interest and turned away. 'If he cannot fight his own battles now, he will never amount to anything,' he growled.

Eudo nodded agreement and turned away too. He had promised to buy Adelaide some gold strap ends for a girdle she was weaving, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that she was growing impatient.

Gasping for breath, his complexion blotched, Rufus looked up at his saviour. 'Did my father really want to see them?'

Simon shook his head. 'No, my lord, but it seemed the best way of stopping them without provoking a fight.'

'You should have st… st… stuck them in the ribs,' Rufus said, his grey-flecked eyes bright with vehemence and tears. 'They'll be after y… you when they realise you've tricked them.' He dragged his sleeve across his nose, leaving a shiny trail on his cuff.

Simon shrugged. 'I can take care of myself,' he said with more confidence than he felt. He had no particular fear of William's older sons, but Robert de Bêlleme was a different cauldron of pottage entirely. 'Best not linger here though. I'm going to the armoury to get these spear tips honed - if you want to come?'

Rufus nodded. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I won't forget this.' Giving another loud sniff he extended his hand to Simon. His fingers were heavy and soft to the touch, still clammy with the cold sweat of fear and struggle, but Simon betrayed not a twitch of distaste. He knew what it was like to be viewed as flawed. Rufus might stammer, might be an ugly and clumsy child, but for all his awkwardness he had a swift brain and a generous heart. If he said that he would not forget, then it was true - both in matters of friendship and enmity. His elder brothers, for all their outward strength and boasting, did not have the staying power of a pair of grasshoppers.

Companionably, side by side, one lame, the other walking with his customary clumsy wallow, they headed towards the armoury, and Rufus insisted on carrying one of the spears.

The fenland stretched away to the horizon, grasses bleached to shades of gold by the blaze of the early September sun, the meres and pools glinting like eyes as they caught the light. The song of reed warblers drenched the air and flies hovered in the ripples of heat rising from the reeds and sedges. Through the shimmer Waltheof watched Crowland Abbey's herd of white cows graze the rich pasture. Autumn might be on the horizon, but it was still no more than a distant speck and the sun still had power to burn.

'You are content, my son?'

Sweeping his hair off his brow, Waltheof studied the small monk standing at his side. Abbot Ulfcytel looked no older than he had done fifteen years ago when Waltheof had entered the noviciate, but he must be at least three score by now. The skin was still smooth, and, although the existing lines had deepened with time, there were remarkably few new ones.

'I wish that I could say that I was,' Waltheof murmured. 'Indeed, I sometimes wish that I were one of those cows with naught to concern me but the grazing of the meadow.'