The Winter Mantle (19 page)

The drizzle of two days ago had been replaced by a bone-deep cold and the ground had begun to freeze. Waltheof had stuffed his boots with extra fleece and wore his quilted gambeson as much for warmth as protection. Any last shred of hope that the Norman army might turn back from a serious winter campaign was destroyed as he rode through their camp. Seeing the industry and discipline, he realised how naive he had been in ever thinking that he could pit his abilities against William's.

Waltheof dismounted and handed the reins to his groom. Richard de Rules arrived to escort him to William's tent. 'I am glad you came, my lord,' he said with relief in his eyes.

Waltheof shrugged. 'I had no choice, did I?'

De Rules cleared his throat. 'I must take your sword and your knife,' he said apologetically. 'They will be restored to you when you leave.'

Waltheof handed his belt and scabbard to the chamberlain and turned to lift his axe from its strap behind the saddle.

'That too,' De Rules said, eyeing the weapon sidelong.

Waltheof shook his head. 'That I will yield only into the hands of the King.'

'You cannot go into his presence so armed. I have seen your skill with that thing, and heard of your prowess at York. One blow and no one could stop you.'

Waltheof flushed. 'You doubt my integrity?'

'No,' De Rules said quietly, 'I do not, but I would be failing in my duty if I did not see foremost to the safety of my liege lord.'

Waltheof clenched his fists around the smooth ash wood of the haft. He had spent hours cleaning the blade and honing out the pits and nicks scarring the steel from its contact with wood and mail and bone. Now the edge gleamed with silver fire. 'I will yield this only to the King in token of my surrender,' he said. 'It is my pride. I will let no other man do so.'

Richard de Rules had not become the King's chamberlain by chance alone. Quick wits and tact formed a large part of his usefulness. 'I understand your reluctance, my lord,' he murmured. 'But you must understand my responsibility. Perhaps for your pride you will let no other man carry your axe — but what of a boy?'

'A boy?' For a moment Waltheof was nonplussed, but then he saw Simon standing in the background and took De Rules' meaning. 'Very well,' he said. 'Let your son be my axe bearer.' He beckoned Simon forward. Wide-eyed, the lad came to him, his stride awkward but controlled.

Waltheof presented him with the weapon. 'Bear this as if it had been in your family since the time of your grandfather's grandfather,' he said.

Reverently Simon gripped the haft, holding it as Waltheof had shown him, one hand immediately beneath the socket, the other halfway down. His fingers were thin and fine but possessed a tensile strength that made them competent to the task. 'I will not let you down, my lord,' he promised, and set his mouth in a resolute line.

'I know that you will not,' Waltheof said. Drawing a deep breath to sustain himself, he gave his attention to De Rules. 'I am ready,' he said, and gestured Simon to go before him like a standard bearer. It seemed entirely fitting to Waltheof that his axe bearer should be lame for the entire campaign had been flawed from the start.

William's tent was little different from the others pitched along the banks of the Tees. It contained only a campbed, a trestle table and a travelling chest. Austere, functional, much like the man himself. A ceramic hanging lamp was suspended on chains from the wooden support running across the top of the canvas and the ground was covered in a thick litter of clean straw.

William sat at the trestle table, his broad shoulders swathed in a scarlet cloak lined with sables, and beneath that a quilted, embroidered gambeson. Surrounding him were his senior battle commanders and they were obviously in the midst of planning their campaign.

On seeing Waltheof William rose to his feet and pushed aside the wax tablet upon which he had been sketching diagrams. Men turned and stared, eyes narrow in speculation and hostility. Feeling as if he had stepped into the lair of wolves, Waltheof fell to his knees in the heavy yellow straw and bowed his head.

'My liege, I yield myself to your mercy,' he said formally. 'And in token of this, I give to you the axe that was my father's and his father's before him. My life is yours.'

Beside him, Simon knelt too and held out the weapon on the palms of his hands. Waltheof imagined himself seizing the axe and arcing it round and down to cleave William from crown to breastbone like a flesher splicing a bacon pig. The vision held such clarity that he was sure the others must see it. His palms were suddenly slick with sweat and his breathing shallow; nausea churned his gut.

He was on the verge of breaking, of snatching the axe and leaping to his feet, when William stooped and took it from the boy, setting his own firm, square hands to the haft and taking up the stance of an executioner.

'You yielded once before,' William replied coldly, 'and you swore me your oath of loyalty. When a man puts his hands between mine and promises to serve me, the vow is binding unto death.'

Waltheof swallowed. 'I know that, sire.'

'Then why did you turn oath-breaker, Waltheof Siwardsson?

It seems to me that all of your countrymen are faithless.'

'I had no choice but to take the oath to you,' Waltheof said, a hint of resentment creeping into his voice. He wasn't faithless, no matter that it seemed that way to William.

'But you had the choice to hold to it or break it,' William said silkily. 'And you chose the second way.'

'The Danish people are my kin. I have no blood in common with Normandy. I thought…'

'You thought that if you could shake off my rule that the Danes would embrace you as one of their own and give to you the lands and riches that were your father's,' William said scornfully. Hefting the axe, he turned it contemplatively in his hand.

'No!' Waltheof's eyes flashed. 'It was a matter of kinship… of belonging. You made it clear that you desired no such bond with my blood.'

'And if that were to change?'

Waltheof met the hard, dark eyes. Devoid of warmth, they probed him and he dared not ponder their purpose. 'Sire, a blood bond is the most binding of all.'

William continued to grip him with his stare. 'How long will your loyalty last this time?' he demanded. 'If I bid you renew your homage, how do I know that you will keep the faith?'

Waltheof bowed his head. 'I have seen the way you lead your men, sire. To go against you is futile. If Sweyn of Denmark had truly desired the North Country, he would have come himself rather than send his sons.'

'Perhaps he thought that the taking would be easy. Like you, he knows differently now.' William raised one fist and clenched it on the statement. His upper lip curled with contempt. 'At least you had the courage to come to me and submit to me yourself. Your companion Gospatric has chosen the Danish way and sent proxies to submit in his stead.'

If he had hoped for an indignant response, he was disappointed. Waltheof knew Gospatric's shortcomings, even as he knew his own.

'I have no intention of giving an opinion when I have my own lacks,' Waltheof said quietly. 'What Gospatric does is for his conscience and manhood to decide.'

William gave a disparaging snort. 'What manhood?' he said, and thrust the axe into Waltheof's surprised grasp. 'Go in peace, Waltheof Siwardsson. Tend your lands, stay out of trouble…'he paused to give his next words significance. 'Mayhap I will after all consider that bond of blood.'

Waltheof's breath caught. He did not know whether to be filled with joy or irritation. How often had Edwin of Mercia had the promise of 'good news' dangled before him without a royal match ever materialising? Waltheof had just sworn to be William's man whether he was rewarded or not. But if that choice should bring him Judith…

He thought he saw wintry humour light in William's eyes, as if the King could read his thoughts.

'Thank you, sire,' he said, and bowed out of William's presence into the raw January morning. The ashwood haft of his axe felt warm under his fingers. He had his lands, he had his life, and the hint of more than such sustenance to come. He felt wildly euphoric and deathly sick and it was all he could do not to vomit against the side of William's tent.

De Rules emerged, a paternal arm curved around Simon's shoulders. When the baron made to approach him, Waltheof thrust out a hand to ward him off. 'Let me be,' he said in a choked voice. 'For the nonce, I can stomach neither your comfort nor your company.'

'I think I would feel the same,' De Rules said, and then, mercifully, walked away, his arm firmly guiding his son.

Simon looked over his shoulder at Waltheof, his stare filled with question and anxiety.

Waltheof swallowed. 'That does not mean I hate you,' he said. 'But my wounds are bloody and you would only rub salt into them.' He spun on his heel and strode towards the horse lines.

Simon watched him leave, then looked up at his father in perplexity.

De Rules' fingers tightened upon the curve of his son's narrow shoulder. 'Let him be,' he said. 'If we were in his place and he in ours, do you think we would desire his companionship of this moment?'

Simon's dark tawny brows drew together. 'No,' he said doubtfully. 'But I wish it wasn't like that.'

'It is the way of the world,' De Rules said, and when Simon looked up into his father's face he saw that his expression was grim and tired.

'So, you will give him Judith?' asked Eudo of Champagne, rubbing his thumb across the cleft in his chin. The notion of bringing an English earldom into the family gnawed at him, the more so since his son had been born. His own lands were negligible, for although he was the son of the Count of Champagne he was living in exile on his brother-in-law's sufferance.

'I am considering it.' William drew the wax tablets towards him again and turned the bone drawing tool end over end. 'He is young and malleable still. If I can anchor him to me, then well and good.'

'And yet before you would not have him.'

William shrugged. 'He burst in upon me with the demand when I had already given him more rein than any other Englishman. He was like a child begging for one more sweetmeat…'

'And who then had a tantrum when you refused,' pointed out Robert of Mortain with a scowl.

William pushed his thumb against the side of the stylus and looked at his half-brother with a brooding dark stare. 'Perhaps that was part of his rebellion, but not the whole I think. Nor do I believe that his request for Judith was one of overweening ambition.'

Mortain snorted. 'A man who follows his cock is unreliable.'

'Perhaps,' William nodded, 'and again perhaps not. I bind men to me with the tools I have. Judith is of an age to wed and
Waltheof harbours as much desire for her as he does for her connections. She has a strong will to compensate for his weakness and powerful family ties to bolster her. I may have denied him before, but it would be folly not to reconsider.'

'And dangerous,' said Mortain.

'No more dangerous than him run loose.'

'Why let him run at all?' Eudo asked. 'Why not confiscate his lands and bestow them elsewhere?'

William gave him a piercing look that made Eudo check and hold his breath, wondering if he had been too eager.

'That would only cause more rebellion and we are stretched enough as it is. Chester is my goal, and ridding the land of the last of Godwinsson's supporters. I do not want to chase my tail back to Huntingdon, and I need your presence here, Eudo. For the granting of a small grace, I have peace with Waltheof. His lands are prosperous. Judith will be a countess and you will be Waltheof's father-by-marriage. I cannot give you Huntingdon outright. I hope you understand that.'

Eudo nodded stiffly and swallowed his disappointment. He had not really expected William to give him Huntingdon, but it had been worth planting the idea. And as William said, he would be Waltheof's father-by-marriage. Likely he could bring some influence to bear.