The Winter Mantle (30 page)

'When you cannot behave like a man of noble blood!' she retorted. 'Our daughters are born to high station and yet you bring them to the stables and the outhouses; you encourage them to speak to servants and soldiers as if such people were of their rank - and in English!' She made a gesture of contempt.

Waltheof drew himself up, but even his full height was not large enough to contain his fury. 'So greatness of stature lies in ignorance,' he bit out. 'You are condemned out of your own mouth, my lady. You are nothing. While you are kneeling at your pious devotions, perhaps you might do well to dwell upon the fact that our Lord Jesus Christ came from a family of humble carpenters!' Turning on his heel, he stormed out. He would have been within his rights to strike her, and that made him walk away all the more swiftly. It was common knowledge that William of Normandy was not averse to beating his own wife when she overstepped the bounds of his tolerance. He knew of men who kept hazel switches poked in the thatch for just such a purpose, and others whose belts bore the bloodstains from the welts they had raised on the flesh of their wives and children. But he was not one of them. Even now, he told himself through clenched teeth, he was not one of them.

In the bedchamber Judith closed her eyes and swallowed, fighting the nausea of her pregnancy. She drew slow, deep breaths until her thumping heart slowed and her belly settled to a queasy churn. Turning her attention back to the prie-dieu, she tried to take solace in prayer but was thwarted by Waltheof's words about the Saviour being a common carpenter. Finally she genuflected, rose, and retired wearily to bed.

Matilda watched her father prepare to ride out. It was a cool, September morning with low mist wreathing the ground and dew making clear jewels of the spider webs strung in the eaves and across the wattle fencing that divided the stable yard from the garth. But Matilda had no eves for the beauties of nature this morning. Only for her papa, who was going away with his friend and leaving her behind.

He gathered the reins, set his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg across Copper's broad back. His thin-legged black hunting horse, Jet, was tethered on a leading rein and there was also a fat, bay packpony laden with baggage. The soldiers of his retinue were mounting up, laughing and talking amongst themselves in close male camaraderie. Ralf de Gael was resplendent in a tunic of flamboyant crimson wool edged with metallic braid. Across his chest he wore a baldric and attached to it was a polished hunting horn, chased with silver.

'Your papa will not be gone for long,' Sybille said soothingly, but her grip was tight on Matilda's hand, ensuring that the little girl did not dash out among the horses.

'I want to go too.' Matilda's lower lip trembled.

'When you are older,
chérie
.' Sybille gently brushed her hand over Matilda's copper-bronze curls.

Waltheof collected his reins. Matilda thought that he was going to ignore her but he raised his glance and his eyes lit upon her and Sybille where they stood against the stableyard entrance. Heeling Copper's flanks, he rode across to them.

'I will take her,' he told Sybille. Leaning down, he scooped Matilda in his arms and drew her onto his saddle before him.

For a wonderful moment, Matilda thought that she was going with him. From the back of the horse her view was altered and she could see everything without having to crane. Her father's arm was strong and warm, holding her in the saddle, and she could smell the sweet, herbal scent emanating from his blue tunic. Leaning back, she nestled her bright head against the thick white fur lining of his cloak.

'I promise to be home soon, sweetheart,' he said, giving her a light squeeze.

'I want to come too,' Matilda pouted.

'This time you cannot, but when I return I promise on my oath to take you out on Honey as often as you want.'

'Now,' Matilda said, and the horrible feeling began welling up in her again as it had done yesterday when she had started screaming and been unable to stop.

'Shall I take her, my lord?' Sybille hastened to the saddle, holding out her arms, her eyes filled with anxiety. Matilda prepared to scream and kick.

Waltheof shook his head. 'It is all right,' he said. 'I will ride a little way down the road with her. One of the men can bring her back in a moment.'

Sybille nodded and, although she was chewing her lip with anxiety, stepped away. Waltheof clicked his tongue to the horse and urged Copper to a trot that took him away from the other riders. When De Gael moved to catch up, Waltheof gestured him back.

'Now then,' he said softly to Matilda, leaning over so that his beard tickled her ear, 'whether you scream or not, I must go. I know that you want me to stay, but I cannot. I am not going to ask if you understand, you are only a baby but…'

'I'm not a baby!' Matilda cried and wriggled round in her father's arms to give him an indignant blue glare.

He smiled and gave her a whiskery kiss on the cheek. 'No indeed, you are a big girl,' he said, 'and I want you to be a big girl now and wait patiently until I come home.'

Matilda wrinkled her brow. The dreadful feeling of unrequited rage still lurked in the background, but her father's talk of her being a 'big girl' had given her a device to control it. She folded her soft pink lips into each other in an unconscious gesture that belonged to her mother and managed a nod. The reward was another hug and kiss from her father, and she rode on his saddle all the way through the town. People stood at their doorways to watch them go by. Women curtseyed; men bowed or tugged at their hair. There were several cries of 'God bless you my lord and the young mistress!' and her father responded by shouting a response in English and throwing a small change of silver to the recipients. The warm feeling returned to Matilda's stomach. The silver-throwing ceased as they rode past the castle and the dour-faced guards in their rivet mail hauberks. The salutes were grudging and unfriendly. Her father turned his face away and, even though she had no understanding of why, Matilda knew that something was wrong.

Behind them Ralf of Norfolk had been bowing to the townsfolk and flirting with the women. Now he rode up alongside her father.

'You should do something about those soldiers of De Saye's,' he said. 'I would wring respect out of them with my hands to their throats if I were you.'

Her father's complexion darkened. She knew that he was angry, but she did not know why, or at whom. With a warning look at Ralf, he shook his head. Then he leaned over Matilda. 'Time for you to turn back now,
deorling
,' he murmured. 'Sybille will be wondering where you are, and your mother will be growing anxious.' Lifting her in his strong arms, he handed her across to one of the following escort.

Matilda's chin wobbled but she didn't scream. Her reward was her father's smile. 'There's my brave girl,' he said. 'I'll be back before you know it… I promise.'

Matilda craned her head around her escort's strong arm and stared after her father until he was lost to sight. On the way home, although she waved to people and they waved back, it was not the same.

It was late, but Judith was restless and unable to sleep. Leaving the bed she knelt at her prie-dieu and clasped her hands before the figure of the Virgin, but tonight the motions of ritual and prayer had no power to soothe her troubled mind. Waltheof had been gone for ten days, intent on celebrating the marriage of Ralf de Gael to Emma FitzOsbern. He had sent no word, and Judith had sent none to him. For a while the silence had been a blessed relief, but now she was beginning to worry. His nature was such that he had to touch and talk. For him not to communicate at all was unusual. It was true that they had argued before he left, but they had argued before and always he had returned, contrite, bearing gifts, seeking her forgiveness. However, at the back of her mind lay the niggling fear that her approval no longer mattered to him. During the last few months, he had ceased to crop his hair and shave his beard - indications that her influence over him was waning.

Sighing, she rose from the prie-dieu. The statue of the Virgin was just that - a statue carved of oak and painted by the hand of man. Tonight the spirit of the Holy Mother of God chose not to descend and blanket Judith in a silent blue cloak of peace. She poured herself a cup of wine from the flagon on the coffer. One sip caused her lips to pucker. Calling one of the maids on duty, she thrust the flagon into her hand. 'This wine is sour,' she snapped. 'Fetch a clean measure immediately and I will have words with the steward in the morning.'

'Yes my lady.' Bleary-eyed, clumsy with sleep, the girl shambled off on her errand.

Judith paced the chamber, lighting candles in the corner, chasing the shadows from their hiding places. In the antechamber she heard one of the children cry out in her sleep. Matilda she thought, with feelings of impatience and guilt. Since Waltheof had gone the child had not been sleeping well - and in the daytime she was much quieter than usual. Sulking, Judith had thought, and had been sharp with her. Yet, as she scolded the child, she had felt a disturbing awareness of repetition. Thus had her own mother scolded her.

A masculine voice crooned softly to the child. Judith set her hand to the curtain but before she could part it to investigate it was drawn aside by Waltheof, the refreshed flagon clutched in his hand.

'I met the girl on her way to you with this,' he murmured. Entering the room, he drew her after him and dropped the hanging. 'Matilda's settled back to sleep; I don't want to wake her.'

Judith eyed him in surprise and growing consternation. She would not have expected him to ride in at such a late hour unless there was trouble. He looked as if there was. Purple shadows ringed his eyes and his jaw was tightly grooved above the beardline. He seemed to have aged ten years since their last encounter in this room. 'What have you been doing?' she hissed. 'What's wrong?'

'I should have expected no less a welcome,' he answered bitterly. Flagon in hand, he went to the coffer and poured the deep red wine into a goblet. 'I have been doing nothing,' he said as he took a long drink, 'and I very much suspect that it will be my downfall.' Abruptly his legs gave way and he sat down on the bed.

'Meaning?' Judith's hands went to her hips. An unpleasant smell of stale wine and sweat rose from his body. His tunic was badly stained and so well worn that it could have stood up on its own.

'I fear,' he said, 'that I have committed treachery against your uncle.' He drank down the rest of the wine and put his head in his hands.

'What?' Judith's heart began to pound like a drum in a cave.

Waltheof swallowed. He started to look at her, but he could not hold her eyes and his gaze slipped like a footstep on ice. 'Ralf de Gael and Roger FitzOsbern are planning to welcome Cnut of Denmark to our shores and offer him the prize of kingship,' he said. 'They have turned their backs on William for what he has done to the English and Breton people.'

'Jesu!' Judith stared at him in growing horror.

'Even now, there is a Danish fleet assembling to sail to England. Ralf and Roger have overwhelming support from the Bretons both in England and in Brittany.' His throat worked as if swallowing bile. 'They have asked me to bring my own force to the endeavour.'