The Winter Mantle (34 page)

The Countess sewed until she reached the end of her thread, snipped it with a set of silver shears, then sat back and sighed. 'These last few months I have been at peace,' she said bleakly. 'I do not think that I could bear the strife.'

'My lady?'

She gave a small shake of her head. 'When I married Waltheof of Huntingdon, I believed that I could change him, but I might as well have been drawing water with a sieve. He is what he is - and I am what I am.' She rose from the tapestry frame and eased the small of her back with the pressure of her palms. 'Very well. I will come to Winchester, and I will have my say.'

'Is Papa coming home?' Matilda demanded, clearly having understood some of the conversation. Her little face was suddenly bright and eager.

'Papa home, Papa home,' echoed her little sister. 'We shall see,' Judith said in a curt tone that put an end to the matter.

In the private royal chambers at Winchester, King William raised his niece from her deep curtsey and formally gave her the kiss of peace. Judith faced him. Although her expression was calm, her stomach was almost clamped to her spine with apprehension. They were not alone. Apart from the usual quota of servants, the room was occupied by her stepfather, her mother, Lanfranc of Canterbury, and several magnates high in her uncle's counsel. A formal gathering… or a court preparing to sit in judgement.

William gestured her to be seated. 'Have you seen or spoken to your husband yet, niece?' He gave her an interrogative look as she took her place on the oak bench beside her mother, who drew in her skirts to make room.

She shook her head. 'No, sire, and I do not wish to,' she said.

William eyed her thoughtfully. 'Why not?'

Judith had been debating her reply to this question all the way to Winchester and was still no nearer an answer. If she said that she did not wish to see her husband because he upset her equilibrium, her uncle would think she was being ridiculous.

'Well?' William demanded.

She looked down at her hands. When she had sat down, they had been folded in her lap. Now they were clenched. 'Our marriage ended on the day he returned from Ralf de Gael's bride-ale, and told me what he had done,' she said.

She was aware of her mother's sharp glance, and the sudden heightening of tension among the others.

'And what did he tell you?' William asked gently.

Judith swallowed. She could feel the words sticking in her gullet. Should she speak or hold her silence?

'Your duty is to the house of your birth,' her mother muttered under her breath. 'You betray your blood if you do not speak out.'

Her husband or her blood. It was simple when couched in those terms, but still she hesitated. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice locked in her throat and she had to cough to clear the way. 'He said that Roger of Hereford and Ralf de Gael were plotting with the Danes to overthrow you and that he had taken an oath not to stand in their way.' Now her hands were not only clenched, but her nails were digging half-moon marks in her skin.

'You are sure of this?' William said.

'Yes, sire, I am sure. I told him that he was a fool and that he had been used, but he did not want to listen. When I took him to task, he threatened to beat me. Even so, I told him that he must come straight to you and seek forgiveness, but he said that he could not because he had given his oath to Ralf de Gael. After that, I knew that I could no longer be his wife.' She bowed her head and felt the heat of tears behind her lids. But she did not shed them. 'It is true that he went to Abbot Ulfcytel of Crowland Abbey and Archbishop Lanfranc in troubled conscience, but I believe that he was also biding his time and waiting to see if De Gael's rebellion would succeed. When it did not, he came to you to confess.'

There was silence except for the soft settling of charcoal in the brazier and a shutter cracking in the wind. Then William slowly exhaled. 'It is as I thought,' he said, 'although I would leif as not believe it.'

'No backbone,' Adelaide declared scornfully. 'I knew that from the beginning. He is like that great bear pelt he wears. All shine and glamour, but no substance.'

'Rather a weak reed, madam, easily led astray.' Lanfranc's tone was conciliatory.

'The words make small difference,' she snapped. 'It is the deeds that count.'

'I have no place for a weak reed.' William rose to pace the chamber, his tread heavy and deliberate. 'Once again he has proven untrustworthy and my patience is frayed.'

'What then will you do with him?' asked Eudo, thumbing the cleft in his chin. 'Clearly, you cannot restore him to his lands. By all accounts he has committed treason. You cannot hold Roger of Hereford in a dungeon and let Waltheof of Huntingdon go free. From the lips of his own wife, your niece, you have received the words of his guilt.'

Back and forth, William paced, restless with the anger that did not show on his face. 'I have no choice but to punish him,' he said.

'Is that wise?' Lanfranc spoke out. 'He is popular with the English people, and the rebellion has been nipped in the bud. Waltheof claims that he was not intending to be an active participant.'

'Do you take his part?' William rounded on the churchman.

Lanfranc spread his arms, showing the full linen sleeves of his under tunic. 'No sire, I merely point out that you should consider carefully. I do not deny that he has caused you much trouble, and that he should be punished…'

'Agreeing to stand aside makes him as guilty as being a participant,' William growled. 'I know full well that if the Danish ships had come sooner, he would have been on the shore helping them to beach their keels.' His regard chopped to Judith. 'Is that not so niece, or do you say differently?'

Judith bit her lip. 'It would depend how much he was swayed by others. I think that he has tried to live by our ways, but has found it very difficult.'

'If Waltheof is so beloved of the English people,' said Eudo silkily, 'then let him be judged by their laws, not our Norman ones. That would show how willing you are to compromise and not impose upon the English way of justice. Of course,' he added, 'Roger of Hereford must be judged by Norman law because he is a Norman.'

William bit on his thumbnail. 'That seems sensible,' he said slowly. 'How does English law deal with such cases?'

Since everyone gathered was Norman, no one knew offhand, although Judith thought that from the gleam in his eyes her stepfather might have an inkling. However he said nothing.

'Then let Earl Waltheof be imprisoned the same as Earl Roger until we have the details,' William said. 'For it is not fair that the one languishes in a dungeon and the other enjoys the hospitality of our court.'

'You could unfasten Earl Roger's shackles and confine him to house arrest,' Lanfranc suggested.

'I think not,' William said curtly. 'Indeed, the more I consider the matter, the less forgiving I become. If this rebellion has not succeeded it is only due to the vigilance of my loyal supporters.'

There was silence, although of the relieved and pleased kind. A decision had been reached, apparently to mutual satisfaction. Guards were sent to apprehend Waltheof and put him in a cell.

'I knew no good would come of this marriage,' Adelaide muttered. She and Judith had retired to the women's quarters, where Judith had ordered her maids to see to the repacking of her travelling chests ready for her return to Northampton.

'You cannot claim outstanding success for your own, Mother,' Judith said tersely.

'At least none of my husbands ever committed treason,' Adelaide retorted. 'Eudo and I understand each other's needs very well. That it involves separate households is by mutual and amicable agreement.'

Judith fought the urge to shriek at her mother. Pre-empting the maid, she snatched a gown off the clothing pole and folded it, giving her hands something to do.

'You are leaving without speaking to your husband?' Adelaide gave her a look that was filled with disbelief.

Judith thrust the folded gown at her maid. 'I have nothing to say to him.' The thought of facing him made her feel queasy - the way she did in the first months of pregnancy.

'If he were mine, I would have much to say. I would tell the traitor what I truly thought of him.'

Judith faced her mother. 'Don't you understand?' she said impatiently. 'All that is behind me. I have already told him what I truly think. While he is confined, I am free, and that is all that matters.'

Adelaide hitched her arms beneath her breasts. 'That remains to be seen.' Her tone was ominous.

Judith shook her head. 'My uncle will banish him from England as he banished Edgar Atheling. He can do no other.'

'That will depend on whose word prevails with your uncle. Lanfranc is too tender in this matter, and if your uncle listens to him Waltheof may yet be released.'

Judith looked at her mother with burgeoning fear. 'I pray not,' she said. 'I could not bear it.'

'That is foolish talk. You could and you would,' Adelaide made a dismissive gesture. 'I will do what I can to defray Lanfranc's word, and so will your stepfather. It is a pity he did not give you a son,' she said with a glance towards the apple of her eye, who was playing in a corner with a painted wooden horse.

Judith grimaced. It was ground so often covered that it was staler than trencher bread.

'You must be very careful with your own daughters,' Adelaide warned, wagging an instructive forefinger. 'Do not let them yearn after men who are unsuitable. You must mould them while they are young. You must not let the taint of their father's blood gain dominance.'

'No, Mother,' Judith clenched her jaw on her irritation.

'The older one. Already she is too much like her father. She needs a firm hand or you will have cause for regret.'

'Grant me leave to deal with her as I see fit.' Judith knew that if her mother said one more word, she would hit her. Mercifully, Adelaide seemed to realise the danger in which she stood.

'Indeed, daughter. I can only warn. The discipline must come from you.'

Adelaide left, taking her son, and Judith sat down on the small, truckle bed, her legs trembling. The maid pretended not to notice and busied herself securing the hasp on the travelling chest.

Slowly Judith regained her composure. She sent another maid to tell the grooms to ready the horses. The sooner she was gone from Winchester, the better she would feel. It was as if a great dark cloud was engulfing her, robbing her of her faculties. Had anyone suggested it was guilt, she would have denied it furiously, but denial was not enough. She shied from the vision of Waltheof in a cell. He had always so loved the open air and sunlight.

His misfortune was of his own making she told herself sternly - and she was his misfortune as much as he was hers.

'Well?' Adelaide demanded of Eudo as he drew the curtain across their chamber door. 'What did my brother say?' The men had remained to discuss Waltheof's situation and other matters of state after the women's departure.

Eudo hitched his chausses and sat down on the bench squeezed against the side of the room. Their son was asleep on a feather-stuffed pallet on the floor, his small, wiry body covered with a fur-lined blanket and his blond hair softly gleaming. 'Your brother is still of half a mind to let Waltheof go free for that payment in gold.'

'That is foolish!' Adelaide's light brown eyes kindled with wrath. 'Waltheof of Huntingdon cannot be trusted. I won't have my daughter… my own flesh and blood yoked to such as he. A traitor once is a traitor for ever!' Her voice was pitched low to avoid wakening their son, but there was no mistaking its venom.

'Lanfranc suggested that Waltheof should be banished from England,' Eudo said, watching her warily. 'Your brother seemed interested in the notion.'

'Lanfranc is an old fool!' Adelaide snapped. 'Waltheof would go straight to Ralf de Gael in Brittany to stir up more rebellion, or to Denmark to rouse his barbarian kinsmen.'

'That is what myself and Montgomery told William.' Eudo rubbed his palms together nervously.

'And?'

'William said he would think on the matter.'

Adelaide made an impatient sound. 'There is naught to think upon. Waltheof is a traitor and should be dealt with as such.'

Eudo looked at her, still rubbing his palms.

'What is it?' she demanded. 'What are you not telling me?'

He cleared his throat. 'I spoke to a cleric versed in English law. He tells me that treason carries the death penalty - so if Waltheof is judged by the laws of his own country…' he let the words tail off.

Adelaide stared at him. A red flush began at her throat and crept gradually into her face. 'Does my brother know this?'

'Not yet, but he will do soon.'

They looked at each other, and although nothing was said ambition flared between them like a flash of lightning.

'It is our duty,' Adelaide murmured after a moment, 'to support the decision he makes.' She stooped to watch her sleeping son breathe softly in and out. 'And to make sure that it is the right one for all concerned.'