The Winter Mantle (20 page)

Caen, Normandy, Autumn 1070

Judith sat near the embrasure so that the light spilled onto the hem of the wine-red tunic she was embroidering. It was to be a Christmas gift to her uncle William from his wife. Since Matilda was acting ruler of Normandy in her husband's absence and did not have the time for embroidery, the task fell to the other women of the household.

Judith's needle flew in and out, laying down a lozenge pattern in shades of emerald and sapphire on the background of Flemish twill. An hour since a messenger from England had arrived and was now closeted in the Duchess's private chamber unburdening his news. Judith wondered what tidings he had brought in his worn leather satchel.

There had been several uprisings in England during the past year, all of them swatted down by her uncle like bothersome flies. The most serious had been the rebellion in the North around the time that her brother was born. Waltheof had been amongst the leaders. She had braced herself to hear that he had fallen in battle, but learned instead that he had surrendered to her uncle and had been pardoned. Her relief had sharpened the knife-edge along which she trod until it was impossible to be at peace with herself.

She and her mother had returned to Normandy with the Queen. Waltheof, so Judith gleaned, had stayed firmly on his lands whilst fresh surges of unrest disturbed the country. Agatha had been inconsolable when Edwin of Mercia had been killed whilst hiding out with rebels in the fenlands. His brother Morcar had been captured and thrown into prison. Waltheof, however, remained free.

Sometimes she would think of him while engaged in needlework. She would wonder what he was doing, how he was faring. Was he the same? Had he found an English wife to complement his estates - her uncle's conquest must have left many bereft heiresses — or did he remain unwed? She had knelt with a distraught Agatha to pray for Edwin's soul, and had been ashamed to discover a secret well of pleasure. Now that Edwin was no longer a contender for a Norman wife, perhaps there was a chance for Waltheof.

The notion filled her with restlessness. Suddenly the sewing, which she usually enjoyed, was tedious. Setting the needle in the fabric, she rose and went to the open shutters. Outside it was cold and overcast, the window arch yielding a vista of dull, grey cloud. Placed where he could obtain the best of the light, but out of the draught, her small half-brother Stephen gurgled in his cherrywood cradle. He had Eudo's cleft chin and blue eyes and all the women doted upon his plump rosiness. All but herself. She turned from his gummy smile with tightening lips, refusing to be wooed. In the eleven months since his birth it had become clear how much more value Adelaide set upon her son than she did on her daughters.

The curtain rings clattered vigorously across the doorway and her mother stalked into the room. She was breathing heavily and her fists were anchored so tightly in the fabric of her gown that the skin was bleached across the knuckles.

'Cease your daydreaming,' she snapped, her voice so harsh that it could almost have been William's. 'There is news from England and your aunt Matilda wishes to speak with you.'

Judith touched the sudden swift pulse at the base of her throat. 'What about?' she asked as she turned.

'That is for your aunt to say,' Adelaide replied stiffly. 'I am only your mother. My word evidently means nothing.'

Judith lowered her eyes and moved away from the window.

Passing the cradle, she gathered her skirts so that the hem did not so much as flick the glossy wood. A wail rose from the depths and a small arm flailed. At once a maid rushed to pluck the baby from his bed and jog him in her arms. Adelaide gave a brusque nod of approval and for a moment her eyes softened. Then she recalled her purpose. Heeling around, she stalked from the room, leaving Judith to follow her to the Duchess's chambers.

Judith made a deep curtsey to her aunt, who sat on a cushioned bench before a glowing brazier. Nearby a nurse was dandling Matilda's youngest child, the two-year-old Prince Henry, in her lap. It galled Judith that wherever she went in the ducal chambers she had to endure the sight of adored boy babies.

Matilda patted the bench, indicating that her niece should come and sit beside her. The Queen's fair complexion bore the pinkness of recent anger, making Judith wonder what had happened between her mother and Matilda, who were usually-firm allies.

'Child, you are to go to England.' The Queen placed her hand over Judith's in a proprietorial gesture that subtly excluded Adelaide.

'England?' Judith's gaze widened. 'Has the Du… King sent for us?' They were to spend Christmas at the royal court, she thought. That was why her mother was so agitated; she loathed sea crossings. It also meant she would have to join her husband, whom she tolerated much the better for the distance between them.

Matilda shook her head. 'Not for all of us, child,' she said, 'but certainly for you and your mother. Your uncle has arranged for your marriage to Waltheof of Huntingdon on the feast of Saint Stephen.'

Judith was aware of staring at her aunt and being unable to move, as if a huge hand had pinned her down. 'My marriage?' she repeated in a stunned voice.

Matilda snapped her fingers and one of her ladies fetched a goblet of wine and pressed it into Judith's numb fingers. 'Drink, first.' Her aunt gestured to the cup.

Judith raised a trembling hand to her mouth and sipped. She barely tasted the good red wine, but when it reached her stomach it burned. 'I thought…' she swallowed. 'I thought Earl Waltheof was considered an unsuitable match.'

'It seems that your uncle has changed his mind,' Matilda said neutrally. 'He wishes to reward the young man's loyalty.'

'Loyalty!' Adelaide spat. 'After what happened in York?'

'He has not been involved in the uprisings since - and some of them were perilously close to his borders,' Matilda said flatly with a narrow glance at her sister-in-law that warned her against speaking out. 'The King feels that Waltheof is owed a reward - that binding him more closely to our house will ensure his future co-operation. Your stepfather is in full agreement.'

Adelaide made a strangled sound that told without words what she thought of such an endorsement.

Matilda locked stares with her. 'If William deems this match with Waltheof of Huntingdon to be provident, then nothing will stand in his way. Neither you, nor I, nor a winter sea crossing,' she said with iron finality. She looked at Judith and there was the slightest softening of her mouth corners. 'I do not think your daughter will be displeased by her uncle's decision.'

Judith shook her head, certain that she was going to wake up and discover that this was all a strange dream induced by eating too many cheese wafers close to retiring. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to feel? Marriage to Waltheof. Once she had dreamed of it, but now the memory was as distant as the summer on this raw November morning. 'It is my duty to do my uncle's will,' she heard herself say.

'Pah!' Adelaide folded her arms tightly beneath her bosom. 'Your uncle thinks that wedding you to an English earl is a worthy ploy, but he will live to rue the day he did not marry you to a Fleming!'

'Adelaide!' Matilda said in terse warning.

Judith's mother compressed her lips. 'You will need cloth for a wedding gown,' she said without pleasure, 'and warm robes to keep out the winter chill.' She clucked her tongue. 'I suppose you will have to take linen for sheets and napery too.' The tone of her voice suggested that she thought Judith would be living a primitive existence bereft of all comforts.

'I will send for the mercer this very day,' Matilda murmured soothingly. 'As Judith says, it is our duty to do my lord's will, and we must fulfil it to the best of his expectations. Let her go in the full array due to the niece of a king and the daughter of a countess. She shall have the best of everything, and you must have new robes too.'

Adelaide's lips remained pursed but her posture relaxed slightly.

Judith looked at her aunt. 'Did… did Earl Waltheof say anything?'

Matilda reached to the ivory casket on the coffer beside her and threw back the lid. 'Your uncle says that Earl Waltheof agreed readily to the contract. He awaits your arrival in England with eagerness and in token has sent you this ring.' She held out to Judith a small circlet fashioned from plaited bands of gold.

With shaking hands, Judith took it from her aunt. Waltheof had one the same; she had often seen it gleaming on the middle finger of his right hand. Aware of the older women's scrutiny, she slipped it on her own right middle finger. It fitted perfectly and shone with a dull lustre against her skin.

Matilda nodded and smiled. 'He has chosen well,' she said. 'My own betrothal ring hung off my finger like a quintain hoop.'

'We shall see,' Adelaide said darkly. 'Rings that fit a young girl at the start oft grow too tight in the wearing.'

Matilda frowned at her sister-in-law and sighed with irritation. 'Making doom-laden predictions serves no purpose,' she said curtly. 'We must be practical. Travelling chests need to be packed and arrangements made.' Leaning over, she gave Judith a dry kiss on the cheek. I am happy for you, niece.'

Adelaide made no move to embrace her daughter. Instead she swished over to one of the clothing chests, banged open the lid and began to sort through the linens within.

Matilda gave Judith's newly beringed hand a sympathetic squeeze. 'All will be well,' she murmured. 'A little time to grow accustomed is all that is needed - for us all.'

Judith nodded and finished the wine. The first numbness of shock was beginning to wear off. It was true. She was going to England. She was going to marry Waltheof and become Countess of Huntingdon and Northampton. But the thought that blossomed most brightly amongst the several that began to chase around her mind was that she was no longer going to be ruled by her mother but was now able to make rules of her own. She would be mistress of the household and able to do as she pleased. Without stifling, without censure.

A tinge of colour returned to her cheeks, and her eyes began to sparkle as she realised that this news meant her freedom.

Shears in hand, Waltheof's chamber attendant Toki hesitated. 'You are sure about this, my lord?' Waitheof grimaced. 'I am not sure at all,' he said, 'but do it. It is not as if the results will be permanent if I change my mind. Make haste. It would be unseemly to be late for my wedding.' His laugh shook slightly. He could still not quite believe that William had granted him Judith in marriage. For a month he had been pinching himself. But it was true. This morning was the feast of Stephen, and before the hour of prime their marriage was to be blessed by Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, and celebrated with a mass inside the abbey church of Westminster.

Behind him he heard Toki sigh heavily and felt the crunch of the shears as they came together. Seated on the bench, his hands braced on his thighs, his head held very still, Waltheof watched the locks of hair fall around him like tongues of flame. His father had been flax-white of hair, his mother plain brown, but the copper trait had run in her line and she had bequeathed it to him. Perhaps tonight he would in turn bequeath it to a child of his own. The thought made him shift restlessly on the bench and caused Toki to swear.