The Winter Mantle (10 page)

'You know for sure that we are to sail?' Waltheof demanded.

De Gael nodded. 'I look through the right keyholes,' he said with a feline smile. 'And listen at the right doors.' With a pleasant nod and a ruffle of Simon's hair, he moved on.

Waltheof halted and stood gazing into the fog, his head turned in the direction of the harbour. Simon thought that he looked like a hound testing an elusive scent.

'What is England like?' he asked.

'What?' With a bemused shake of his head Waltheof focused on the boy.

'England,' Simon repeated, resting on his stick. 'What is it like?'

Although Waltheof smiled, the expression was wry and sad. 'I am not sure that I know any more,' he said, and after a moment began slowly to walk. 'Changed for ever. Nothing will ever be the same again - no matter how we wish it to be.'

Limping along beside him, pain stabbing through his leg, Simon knew exactly what he meant.

Judith crossed herself, rose from her knees, and with downcast eyes and modestly folded hands left the church. Sybille followed a few paces behind, her pose echoing that of her mistress.

From the edge of her eye, Judith was aware of Waltheof rising too, signing his breast and following her out. His presence loomed behind her, large as a bear in the porch. Without looking round she stepped out into the swirling, dank air. The fog had thickened as the day progressed and now it was like wading through a fleece.

She heard his footfall and it sent a shiver down her spine. The instinct of all creatures to fear shadows from behind. Then he fell into step beside her and the threat changed its form.

She had not seen much of him since their encounter on the stairs. Her mother had been suspicious and shrewd enough to confine her to the bower. Although Judith had chaffed she had also found relief within the safe walls of the women's quarters. Rules were rules, and, while she was tempted to break them, the orderly domesticity of her surroundings and her own strict sense of duty kept that temptation within bounds.

It was only in church and beneath the eyes of others in the great hall that she and Waltheof exchanged words. He had made no approach to her uncle concerning marriage or even courtship. She would have heard. Perhaps he did not have the strength of will or courage to take the necessary steps. Perhaps he was all words and no intention.

She slanted him a glance, aware that she should not be speaking to him. 'So you are to sail to England with my uncle?' Her breath clouded in the air and mingled with his.

'I do not have a choice, my lady,' he said. 'Where he goes, so do I - until he chooses to release me.'

'Will you help him put down the rebellions of your countrymen?' she challenged.

'I will act as my conscience dictates,' he replied evasively.

'If you are not my uncle's ally, then you are his enemy. There can be no middle path.'

'I would rather make friends than enemies,' Waltheof said quietly. 'But it is difficult to know which is which.'

'Is it?' Decisive herself, Judith felt a surge of impatience. 'If you cannot see what is before you, then you might as well be blind.'

'Stumbling in the mist you mean,' he said with a grin to which she did not respond.

'You are foolish to make light of the matter. My uncle can fulfil your ambitions, or he can cast you in the abyss. But the road you choose is your responsibility.'

He looked slightly taken aback, chagrined almost, and it was a strange expression to see on the face of so large and vital a man.

Waltheof cleared his throat and stooped slightly, bringing his height closer to hers. 'Judith… are you wroth that I have held off from asking for you?'

She tightened her lips. 'Why should I be wroth?'

'Because perhaps you thought I was reneging on a promise.'

'In truth the matter has dwelt little on my mind,' she said. It was a lie, but pondering the matter had led her towards her mother's viewpoint. 'I may be innocent, but I do know that a man's words are often driven by his lust.'

'Not mine!' He looked indignant.

'Indeed?' She gave a scornful toss of her head. 'And what have you told your dark-haired whore at Madame Hortense's who will do whatever you desire for a silver coin?'

She expected him to bluster and deny her accusation, but although his complexion grew as red as his hair he answered her candidly. 'Nothing of late,' he said gruffly. 'I have not seen her in many months. Besides, Edwin has her now.'

Judith was taken by surprise. 'Edwin?'

He spread his hands in an open gesture. 'I lay with her no more than two or three times, so she had to find custom elsewhere.'

Judith almost smiled, imagining Agatha's expression could she be listening now. 'I was given to understand that she was your permanent mistress.'

He made a face. 'No. I went to her in lust and the aftertaste was bitter because she wasn't you.'

Judith drew a sharp breath through her teeth. She was affronted, but at the same time his words excited her.

'I meant no insult,' Waltheof said quickly. He reached for her hand. 'If I have not asked your uncle for permission to be your suitor it is because I have been waiting the right moment.'

'Then perhaps you are one of those men who will wait for ever.' She snatched her hand from his for they were close to the ducal apartments now and could not afford to be seen thus.

'It is not that…" He gnawed his underlip. 'I am afraid that he will refuse me… and then the matter will be finished.'

'Unless you ask, you will not know, and he will bestow me on someone who does have the courage to approach him,' Judith said scornfully.

He recoiled at the remark as if she had struck him. 'I may lack many things, my lady, but do not missay my courage,' he growled.

She saw that she had wounded him but lacked the ability to conciliate. The words stuck in her throat, refusing to be born. 'Then do not insult my pride,' she said, before sweeping on into the apartments.

Usually after attending prayer she felt calm and refreshed, but now her hands were shaking and there was a pounding ache at her temples.

'You were harsh with him, my lady,' Sybille said.

Judith rounded on her maid. 'When I want your opinion I will ask for it!' she spat. 'You think I was harsh? You do not know the meaning of the word.'

'Neither does he, my lady,' Sybille murmured, not in the least set down by her mistress's fury. She had long since grown impervious to the cold words and hauteur, aware that there was a softness within Judith's brittle shell. 'He is truly gentle, and such men are as precious as gold. You should treat him with more care.'

Judith's eyes narrowed. 'Hold your tongue if you would keep your position with me. That is a command. One more word and I will have you whipped and dismissed.'

'Yes, my lady,' Sybille said in a tone that told Judith precisely what she thought of such tactics.

Judith turned her back on her maid and paced swiftly into the hall. Someone had put damp wood on the fire and the billows of smoke seemed no less thick than the fog she was leaving behind, but Judith walked with relief into the pungency. Waltheof disturbed her. She wanted to lay her head on his broad chest and listen to the thud of his heart, and at the same time she wanted to repudiate him. Torn between the two, she made up her mind that he was not worth the turmoil and decided that she would forget him. With the decision came a feeling of relief, coupled with a sudden, inexplicable urge to weep.

Exeter, Winter 1067-1068

Waltheof handed Osric Fairlocks a cup of mead. 'Drink this,' he said with sympathy. 'It will warm your blood.'

The young man took it hesitantly and raked his free hand through his flaxen hair. He was not old enough to grow a beard and his face had the tender smoothness and bloom of late adolescence. There was fear in his eyes, although he was doing his utmost to conceal it. That afternoon he and eleven other hostages had been brought to the Norman camp in token of Exeter's promise to acknowledge William as king and cease hostilities. Osric, whose father was a prosperous merchant, was the youngest hostage and Waltheof had taken him under his wing.

Outside the tent the January day was as raw as a battle-pitted blade. Nightfall was closing on the horizon and rain had begun to spit in the wind. 'William is harsh, but he treats his hostages well,' Waltheof reassured the youth and led him to a large brazier burning in the centre of the room. 'You will not want for anything.'

'Except my freedom,' Osric said, his complexion reddening.

Waltheof nodded, 'There you have it. That is indeed the hair shirt we all wear. But if the city yields on the morrow, you at least will be free to go home to your kin.'

The young man regarded him out of pale blue eyes, startling in their clarity. 'Are you free to go home, my lord? Could you leave here on the morrow and not be hunted down?'

Waltheof twitched his shoulders as if shifting a burden that chaffed. 'Not yet,' he said, 'but I hope to do so very soon.' William had bestowed on him the full titles of Earl of Huntingdon and Northampton and confirmed him in his lands before the entire court at the Christmas feast. The freedom to take charge of those estates had not been forthcoming, though. Instead William had bidden him join this campaign in the West Country. It was the same for Edwin and Morcar; they too had been confirmed in their lands and then forced to stay at William's side. Edgar Atheling had been left in London under guard, but he had no lands from which to rally support and he was still little more than a boy.

He gave Osric a glance filled with wry warning. 'No one crosses the lines that are drawn by King William.'

'And if they do?'

'I have never met a man so sure of himself, or so ruthless.' Waltheof finished his mead and replenished his cup. 'He is feared, and rightly so.'

'You know that King Harold's mother and his sons are in the city?' Osric said with nervous defiance.

'I had heard the rumour. If they have their wits about them they will make shrift to leave tonight before the gates open on the morrow.'

'And if the gates remain closed? What will happen then?'

Waltheof shook his head. 'You do not want to know, lad,' he said bleakly.

'My father and the elders say that we should open the gates to William rather than see the city burn, but many others say we should resist.' Osric's jaw jutted with a hint of challenge. 'We have stout walls, good fighting men and plentiful provisions. William may find that he is king in London, but not king here.'

'And yet, knowing the danger, you agreed to be a hostage?'

Osric gave him a pained look. 'I had no choice. As my lather's firstborn son, it was my duty.'

Waltheof said nothing, for there was no point in frightening the lad and he knew from his experience with Judith how overriding a sense of duty could be. He hoped for Osric's sake that sense prevailed and the citizens of Exeter opened their gates on the morrow.

Waltheof swirled the mead in his cup and watched the reflections break and shimmer on the surface. What would he do if this were Northampton or Huntingdon? Would he yield to the invader, or fight to the last drop of blood in his body. 'I am William's man now,' he said aloud, the remark intended to bolster his own resolve rather than make a bold statement for the pale-haired youth at his side. 'For better, or worse.'