The Winter Mantle (14 page)

Although he felt sick with apprehension, Waltheof managed to find an encouraging wink for the boy and something approaching a smile. 'I see that you are training your chamberlain's son to follow in his footsteps,' he said.

William grunted. 'He's a good worker,' he conceded. 'I take on merit as much as breeding.' He nodded to Simon in dismissal and the boy returned to his work. The limp was noticeable but controlled. 'I know that you take an interest in him, my lord. Be assured that his talents will grant him a good and permanent position in my service.'

'I am glad, sire.' Waltheof took a swallow of the wine and almost coughed as it slipped down his parched throat. William was looking at him expectantly. Waltheof knew how impatient he was with petitioners who did not come straight to the point.

'Sire,' he began, paused to cough again into his clenched fist, and made himself speak. 'I know that you have shown much favour to me in vouchsafing my lands and granting me permission to dwell on them…'

'But you want more…" William said. His dark stare was hooded and impassive.

'Sire. I…" Stumbling would not help his cause. William would see it as weakness. Waltheof thrust out his jaw. 'Sire, I ask your permission for the right to take your niece Judith to wife.'

William neither spoke nor moved but studied him with the eyes of a hawk. Beneath the scrutiny, Waltheof felt as vulnerable as prey in the grass.

It was Matilda who broke the terrible silence. Leaning forward, she fixed him with a gaze no less piercing than her husband's. 'Has my niece endorsed your suit, Lord Waltheof?'

'She has, madam… but within the bounds of propriety,' he added hastily as he saw her expression grow pinched.

'One contradicts the other, my lord,' Matilda said severely. 'If my niece has given you encouragement of any kind, she has been very foolish.'

'No more encouragement than to say that I should seek your permission if I desire to court her.'

'And why should you "desire" to court her?' William's voice was quiet but terrifying. 'Because the sight of her inflames your lust, or because the thought of marrying into my bloodline inflames the lust of your ambition?'

Waltheof's complexion darkened. 'It is naught of lust or ambition,' he declared in a congested voice, furious that William was making his motives sound obscene and grasping.

'Then you should have been a monk indeed,' William sneered. 'All men are driven by their lusts and their ambitions. All men,' he repeated, thumping his chest to emphasise the point. 'It cannot be love, since you do not know the girl well… unless of course you are lying to me, and you and she have been conducting a liaison behind everyone's back.'

'I do not he, sire,' Waltheof said hotly, feeling increasingly angry and humiliated. 'I came to you in honesty and good faith to seek your permission.'

William's eyes narrowed. 'I have given you much, Waltheof. Do not seek to strain the bounds of my generosity.'

'Then you refuse?' Waltheof began to tremble and a red mist crept across his vision.

'I refuse,' William said brusquely. 'You have my leave to go.'

'Will you tell me why you will not give your consent:"' Waltheof's voice was hoarse with the effort of control.

'You would be wise not to push me,' William growled. 'Suffice to say that I have already been more than generous to you, my lord. You ask for too much.'

'So seeking your niece in marriage is too much?' Waltheof's upper lip curled back on a sneer. 'Is my English blood not to your taste?'

William looked him coldly up and down. 'It is naught of blood,' he said. 'But of merit and suitability. That is my last word on the matter. I hope I do not have to summon my guards.'

Waltheof swallowed and clenched his fists. Some final thread of self-preservation prevented him from using them. Turning on his heel he managed to leave the room with a modicum of tattered dignity, but once outside in the cold corridor he smashed his knuckles against the wail, tearing the skin, bruising to the bone, and let out a roar of anguish and rage so wild that it might have belonged to the white bear whose pelt lined his cloak.

'Last word!' he snarled in English. 'I will ram his last word down his throat until it chokes him!'

He strode into the hall where folk were preparing to bed down for the night. Waltheof should have been amongst them; he had his own sleeping space near the dais. Already members of his retinue were rolling out cloaks and blankets. 'Do not bother,' Waltheof snapped. 'We are not staying.'

'My lord earl?' His shieldbearer Hakon looked up at him in surprise.

'Go and tell my grooms to saddle our horses. We're leaving.'

'But…'

'But nothing!' Waltheof snarled. 'Do it!'

Waltheof's behaviour was so out of character that Hakon stood his ground. 'My lord, there is a curfew. No man may go abroad after dark, and the horses are bedded down for the night. Should we not wait until dawn?'

I have William's leave to go,' Waltheof ground out. 'I will not stay a moment longer than I must.'

Still Hakon hesitated. He was almost twenty years older than Waltheof and had known his father well and served him with loyalty. Such credentials gave him the leeway to ask, 'Does this bode ill for us? Have you quarrelled with him?' He looked pointedly at Waltheof's bleeding knuckles.

Waltheof bit his lip, his restraint precarious. 'No to both questions,' he said in a choked voice. 'I'll tell the grooms myself. See that everyone else gets the order.'

Without giving Hakon further opportunity to argue, Waltheof strode out.

The air was moist and mild, a night for lovers. A night for fools. Cursing, Waltheof drew deep breaths filled with the almond scent of May blossom. Perhaps at the back of his mind he had known that William would refuse. Perhaps that was what had made him hold back for so long. Without having the brutality of the answer, it had been possible to dream. He knew in his heart that Judith would not fight the decision. Her uncle's word was the rule by which she lived, and, although she was strong-willed, that will was devoted to serving her family.

The red tide of his fury and disappointment dissipated in the gentle, scented air, leaving a weight of dull misery. Sucking on his grazed knuckles, Waltheof turned towards the stables. The grooms came sleepily from their loft, and with looks askance and much wordless grumbling kindled lanterns and set about the task of harnessing the mounts belonging to Waltheof's entourage.

Waltheof set about saddling Copper, his chestnut. It gave him something to do other than wallow in dark thoughts. His work was interrupted by the sound of rustling from a nearby stall, and on investigation, he discovered his skald and Judith's maid Sybille lying in a lover's nest of piled straw. Her light brown hair tumbled around her shoulders in disarray and her lips were red and kiss-swollen.

Usually Waltheof would have laughed, but tonight all humour had flown. 'Does Lady Judith know where you are?' he demanded grimly of the girl.

Sybille faced him squarely. 'No, my lord, and there is no reason to tell her since it is no concern of hers.'

'It would be if she knew. You do her reputation no good by-sullying your own.' He scowled at Thorkel, who was looking at him with wounded astonishment. 'I am going home to Huntingdon tonight. Go or stay as you choose.' He led his chestnut out of the stall into the open air. Christ, it was so easy for them, the minstrel and the maidservant. Envy was a crimson wire in his chest.

The grooms were swiftly harnessing other beasts and his men were beginning to arrive from the hall with their travelling satchels and accoutrements. No one spoke, but their expressions were eloquent.

From his eye corner, Waltheof saw Thorkel murmur to Sybille before the girl slipped away through the darkness.

'William refused you then?' the skald asked, coming to Waltheof's side.

'It is none of your business.'

'When you are an earl, it is everyone's business,' Thorkel contradicted, his words dovetailing with Waltheof's thoughts of a moment since. 'Whatever has caused your anger, it will be all over Westminster come the morrow.'

'Well, I won't be here to listen,' Waltheof said savagely. He glared at Thorkel. 'William says that he has shown me enough favour. He says that I fail on merit and suitability.' He spat the last word as if it were poison.

'Ah,' said Thorkel.

'And since he is of that opinion, I am of no mind to stay.'

'You do not believe he will change his mind in time?' Thorkel asked. 'Sometimes when men have surprises sprung upon them, they react as if they have been thrown a live rat.'

'I doubt that William will change his mind between night and day,' Waltheof said bleakly. 'Better for us both if I leave.' He glowered at the Icelander. 'Stay if you wish. I am sure that Lady Judith's maid will continue to give you all the "comfort" you need.'

Thorkel shook his head and smiled wryly. 'Mistress Sybille is indeed engaging, but I have no mind to stay at court. Doubtless Earl Edwin or Morcar would offer me places in their retinues, but I would rather ride with you to Huntingdon than dwell in lust and luxury here.'

Slightly mollified, Waltheof gave a brusque nod. 'As you wish,' he said and swung into the saddle.

Overlooked in his corner, Simon hardly dared to rub the oiled cloth over the surface of the helm lest the slight whispering noise recall his presence to William and Matilda. Moments ago the King had summoned an older squire and sent him to fetch Judith. The air bristled like the atmosphere on the edge of a thunderstorm. Something bad was going to happen.

'Did you know about this attraction?' William demanded.

His wife shook her head. 'If I did, I would have quashed it at once,' she said. 'And I am sure that Adelaide would have done so too. I know that she was in Earl Waltheof's debt for saving Judith from that bolting horse in Fècamp - we all were - but it went no further than that.'

'Obviously it did,' William contradicted grimly.

'Certainly not in my sight,' his wife said on an indignant note. 'Adelaide is the most conscientious of mothers - you know she is. It could be that Waltheof has overstated his case — perhaps mistaken a word in passing as proof of a deeper interest.'

William grunted and chewed on a thumbnail. 'Perhaps,' he said sceptically.

In his corner Simon remembered the clandestine meetings that had taken place between Judith and Waltheof in Fècamp. The tales he could tell if he chose. Almost as if fearing the words would spill out of their own accord, he tightened his lips.

'So you would not consider a match between Waltheof and Judith at all?' Matilda asked into the heavy silence. 'Do you truly believe that he is unsuitable?'

William stared into the brazier and said nothing for a time. Then he looked at his wife. 'Waltheof is young and rash - acts before he thinks. I like him, but he is untried in battle and in diplomacy. His heart rules his head, and that is not a good trait for a man of authority.'

'Indeed not… my lord.' Matilda's voice held a note of amused irritation and Simon was surprised to hear William chuckle gruffly in response.

'I do my best to hide my single weakness,' he said. 'And I am glad that you aid and abet me.'

'And if I did not?'

'I think you know the answer.'

There was another silence, ended by a knock on the chamber door.

'Enter!' William raised his voice to command, thereby sparing Simon the need to rise and show himself.

A guard opened the door and ushered Judith, her mother and her stepfather into the room. Judith was as white as a new cheese. Adelaide looked impatient and irritated, Eudo of Champagne bewildered.

'Why have you sent for me at this late hour?' Adelaide demanded of her brother, and gave him such a perfunctory obeisance that it was almost an insult.

William gestured her to a bench positioned near the brazier. 'Perhaps you should ask your daughter that question.'

Adelaide refused the offer of a seat and her gaze darted between William and Judith. 'I do not know your meaning.'

Leaving her mother's side, Judith knelt before her uncle. 'Waltheof of Huntingdon has asked your permission to seek me in marriage, hasn't he?' she said.

'What?' Adelaide's voice started low and finished on a new octave. Her eyes widened and blazed. Leaving her astonished husband, she crossed the room and stood over her daughter with hands on hips. 'Have you been conniving with him behind my back?'

'Peace, Adelaide.' William raised his right hand, palm outwards. 'Since it has reached my ears, let me be the one to deal with it now.'

Dusky colour heated his sister's cheekbones. She prided herself on running an orderly household and her brother's terse comment suggesting that she had been lax was galling. 'If you have brought shame on this house, I will see you confined to a nunnery,' she hissed at her daughter.

Judith swallowed and raised her chin. 'I have done nothing of which to be ashamed.'

William narrowed his lids. 'And yet you knew without my speaking of the reason why I have sent for you. Does that not suggest that you and the Earl of Huntingdon have already made your own arrangements?'

Judith held her uncle's gaze. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. She knew that if she relaxed her spine for one moment, she would melt in a boneless heap of terror. 'There were no arrangements, sire,' she said, and wondered what Waltheof had said to William. Waltheof had no skill at dissembling. She could only pray that he had not mentioned that interlude in Fècamp.

'So why should he come to me with hope in his eyes?' William demanded.

Judith gazed at him mutely, not knowing what to say.

'Answer me, or by God, I will indeed do as your mother suggests and see you closeted in a nunnery!' William thundered, slamming his fist on his thigh.

'I…" She chewed her lip. 'I know that Waltheof had a certain regard for me, but I did not encourage him. He… he did broach the subject of marriage and I said that he would have to approach you…'

'And how long ago was this?'

'He first spoke of the matter in Normandy. I thought perhaps he had forgotten, but when I saw him again he said that he still intended to seek your permission…' She clasped her hands together until the knuckles showed white. 'I have kept my distance and obeyed my duty.'