The Winter Mantle (5 page)

Sunlight splintered through the shutters and pierced Waltheof's closed lids. Groaning softly he rolled away from the stab of red light and came to rest against the hip and thigh of his sleeping companion. For a moment, he was disoriented by the sensation of another body beside his and then he remembered. He had been drunk, but neither to the point of oblivion nor incapacity.

Outside a rooster was crowing and he was aware that the sound had been threading through his slumber for some time. There were other noises too, the creaking of a passing cart and the gruff bark of a dog, the swish of a birch broom on a beaten floor and two women shouting to each other across a courtyard.

The girl at his side stretched and pressed back against him. Luxurious heat flooded Waltheof's groin. He was always receptive in the early mornings with the haze of sleep still clogging his senses. Rolling her over, he parted her thighs and, thinking only with his body, took his pleasure a second time.

She was lithe and petite, with dark hair tumbling to her waist and eyes as black as sloes. It was her colouring that had attracted him, and the sultry way she had looked at him in the tavern. The other whores had made a blatant play for his attention, sitting in his lap, stroking his beard, but he had been indifferent and they had sought customers more eager. Edgar Atheling had disappeared up the stairs with two of them. Edwin and Morcar had plumped for a pair of identical Flemish twins with plaits the colour of retted flax and complexions of new cream.

The dark girl's initial aloofness reminded Waltheof of Judith, and in his drink-blurred state it had been easy to close his eyes and imagine that the body he was possessing was that of the Duke of Normandy's niece. Now, in the sobriety of the morning light, he saw that apart from her colouring there was little resemblance. The sultry aloofness was contrived, as much a technique of selling herself as was the enthusiasm of her fellow whores.

She whispered words in his ear that he was certain Judith would not know, urging him on, clawing his spine. Waltheof groaned and gave himself up to the surge of climax. The whore gasped and writhed. That too, he thought hazily, must be an act. How could it be any other when she must have known so many men and her pay was dependent on satisfying her clients?

He rolled off her and lay regaining his breath, listening to the sounds of the city of Fecamp awakening and beginning to bustle.

'I please you?' She eyed him through the tangle of her hair and propped her chin on her hands.

'Yes, you please me.' Waltheof sat up and flipped her another silver penny from his pouch.

Clasping her hands at the back of his neck, she kissed him with enthusiasm. 'You will visit again?'

'Perhaps,' he said, not wishing to disappoint. Suddenly he wanted to be out of this room with its stale odours of wine, sweat and copulation. Easing away from her, he donned his shirt. Last night she had told him her name but he could not remember it - didn't want to.

She appraised him through her lashes, and sucked her index finger. 'Have you left a woman behind in England, my lord?'

'Why should you think that?' Waltheof asked with a sidelong glance.

'The way you hesitated before you made your choice - as if you had a conscience or thought you should not be here.'

He gave a snort of grim amusement. 'You are perceptive.'

She eyed him questioningly.

Without bothering to lace his shirt Waltheof drew on his tunic. Braies and chausses swiftly followed. 'Are you always so inquisitive about your customers?'

'Only the handsome ones with large pouches.' She stretched sinuously like a young vixen and smiled at him. 'And I have seldom seen one larger than yours, my lord.' Her gaze rested suggestively on his groin.

Despite his irritation. Waltheof had to laugh. Leaning over, he slapped the girl's pert rump. 'I am glad to hear it.' Without giving her the chance to probe further, he went out of the door and quickly down the outer stairs.

Peering into the main room he saw it was empty save for a woman scraping old wax from the candle prickets and a couple of William's hearth knights seated at a trestle sharing a pitcher of buttermilk. Waltheof greeted them courteously enough but with a wry set to his mouth. He and his fellow Englishmen might be permitted to roam abroad, but a Norman guard was never far behind, ensuring that no one attempted to escape. The knights were brawny and, although neither of them wore mail, the swords at their hips were conspicuous.

Of Edgar, Edwin and Morcar there was no sign. Waltheof thought about kicking them out of bed and almost immediately decided against it. The pleasure of the deed would likely not compensate for the ensuing aggravation. Wandering outside he pissed in the midden pit beside the stable, and began a leisurely stroll in the direction of the palace.

Another Norman wearing the quilted gambeson of a man-at-arms rose unobtrusively from a bench outside the kitchen buildings and followed him into the street. Waltheof gave a rueful half-glance over his shoulder and considered evading his shadow among the warren of lanes leading away from Fecamp's harbour, but it went no further than a thought. Rather like the notion of kicking his companions awake, the strife it would raise was not worth the bother of the mischief. If he did attempt to lose his guard, doubtless King William would confine him to the palace and double the scrutiny.

As he walked, Waltheof noticed two merchants urging a string of horses towards the ducal residence and cast an appreciative eye over the animals. No common nags these, but livestock bearing the hot stamp of Spanish blood in their sharp ears, arched necks and elegant, compact build. They had lost their plush winter fells and their coats shone with the polished gloss of spring, bright bay, blue roan, grey and a dun the colour of sunlit sand.

Waltheof followed the traders into the courtyard and watched an official direct them to the stable compound.

'They're for Duke William. My father says so,' Simon de Senlis greeted him, a pile of tack draped over his shoulder. The star designs of worked silver on the buckles and browband of the bridle looked familiar to Waltheof, but he could not recall where he had seen them before.

'I suppose he lost many good mounts at the great battle,' he said.

The boy gave a dismissive shrug. 'Those horses arc for riding, not war. Lady Judith is to have her pick because her mare is lame.'

Waltheof glanced down and met the lad's ingenuous tawny-gaze. 'And just when is she to do the choosing?'

'Now.' Simon hefted the tack, which had begun to slip. As the sun dazzled on the silver mountings Waltheof remembered that he had seen them on Judith's black mare on the day of the rescue. Falling into step beside the boy, he was very glad that he had not lingered at the tavern to rouse his companions from their wine stupor. He was also suddenly conscious of his dishevelled appearance. While he was not well acquainted with Judith, he knew how much store she set by presentation.

He raked his hands through his hair, beat at his tunic and straightened his somewhat skewed leg bindings.

Simon eyed Waltheof's hasty attempts at sprucing. 'You don't look as if you've been out in the town all night,' he said kindly.

Waltheof tried to frown but couldn't. His lips twitched. 'And how would you know where I've been?'

'I overheard you discussing it at supper last night. I don't speak English above a few words, but I heard one of you mention Madame Hortense's.'

Waltheof cleared his throat. 'I see,' he said.

'My brother goes there sometimes,' Simon said with a knowing look. 'It's a brothel.'

Waltheof did not know whether to laugh or admonish. 'At your age I did not realise such places existed,' he said somewhat grimly, wishing in part that he still had his innocence. 'But then I suppose I did not have an older brother to corrupt me… well I did, but he died.'

'I am sorry.' It was the automatic and polite response, but there was curiosity in the lad's gaze. It was probably that insatiable desire for information that had led young Simon de Senlis to find out about brothels amongst the more worthy subjects for study.

Waltheof shook his head. I never knew him. He was the son of my father's first wife and almost a man before I was born. He should have worn the bearskin cloak of the house of Siward. My father entrusted my own education to the monks of Crowland Abbey.' He almost smiled. 'So you see I have come rather later than you to the knowledge of brothels.'

'I don't know
everything
about them,' Simon said seriously.

'You don't want to,' Waltheof answered with an amused grunt. 'Keep your feet on the narrow path of righteousness. That way you'll have nothing to regret.'

'Do you regret going then?'

It was with relief that Waltheof saw the stables looming and the tethered selection of palfreys. 'Not at the time,' he said, "out it is like drinking - the night's carousing has to be paid for by the morning's malaise.' He swatted good-naturedly at the lad. 'Now, stop bedevilling me. You don't need to know the answer to such questions until you're older — much older.'

He watched Simon disappear with the bridle into the stable's dark interior and, shaking his head, went to look at the palfreys that the coper had brought for Judith's inspection.

'I fancy the grey myself,' said an amused voice behind him.

Waltheof turned from examining a bay gelding and gazed round at the handsome young man who was leaning nonchalantly against the stable wall, arms folded. Ralf de Gael was a Breton lord whose father had settled in England during the Confessor's reign and acquired the earldom of Norfolk by peaceful means. Waltheof knew and liked Ralf; he was amiable, debonair and had an understanding of English ways missing in most Normans.

Waltheof shook his head. 'It has a mean eye,' he said.

Ralf unfolded his arms and came off the wall. 'My father was staller to King Edward,' he said. 'He could tell a good horse from bad just by glancing.'

Waltheof shrugged and grinned. 'That does not mean to say that you have inherited his talent.'

'Trust me, I have.' Returning the grin, Ralf sauntered to the bay. 'No grace,' he said. 'Whoever sits on this will resemble a sack of oats on a pack pony. The grey has by far the better breeding. Look at the way it carries itself.'

'That may be so, but it still has a mean eye,' said Waltheof, thinking that Judith could ride a woodcutter's scrawny donkey and still look like a queen.

Ralf clucked his tongue in disagreement. 'I am sorry to doubt your judgement, but I do.'

The horse coper, who had been half listening to their banter, suddenly dropped to his knees, snatched off his cap and bowed his head. Waltheof and De Gael turned, saw King William approaching with his sons and Judith, and quickly did the same.

'It seems that word has gone ahead,' William remarked, gesturing the young men to rise. His expression was good-humoured but sharp.

'I saw the horses arriving, sue.' Waltheof reddened as he remembered that he had been returning from a brothel at the time. Judith stood with her cousins. She was dressed for riding in a gown of heavy green wool and carried a small whip in her hand. She looked so fetching that he could have devoured her whole.

'And I saw Earl Waltheof studying the horses and joined him, sire,' said Ralf smoothly. 'We were discussing their merits.'

'And do you have an opinion?'

'A difference of. I say the grey, Waltheof says the bay.'

'Reasons?'

As always Waltheof was struck by William's blunt economy with words. Not a shred of time was wasted in getting to the point.

'The grey's got breeding, the bay's a nag.'

'The grey is perhaps the finest animal to look upon,' Waltheof acknowledged, 'but I believe that the bay has a better temper. And none of them are nags.'

'Indeed not,' ventured the horse coper with a bow for Waltheof and a glare at De Gael.

William stepped forward to examine the horses. His sons followed, learning at their father's side how to judge soundness and conformation. Judith joined them, listening intently to their conversation, absorbing everything although it was not directly addressed to her. She cast her eyes over the bay, but it was the grey that she clearly favoured. The coper trotted the beast up and down the yard to show off its loose, fluid action, the muscles rippling like water under silk and the mane flowing like a black waterfall on the crested neck. The bay had a longer stride, more of a lope, and it carried itself quietly, without the high pride of the other.

Judith paused at Waltheof's side so close that his elbow almost grazed hers and he could see the individual strands of hair shining in the braids that hung below her veil.

'I admire spirit, Lord Waltheof,' she said. 'I like to ride a horse that knows it is alive.'

'Even if it bucks you off and cracks your skull against the stable wall?'

She slanted him an amused, slightly scornful look. 'I am as accustomed to riding as any of my cousins.' She indicated the Duke's sons. 'The last time I was thrown I was a babe of three years old upon my first pony. You need not concern yourself for my welfare.'

'It was fortunate that I did a few days since,' Waltheof said quietly.

She lifted her chin. 'I was not in danger.'

'Oh yes, you were,' Waltheof muttered and wrapped his hands around his belt because he was itching to span them at her waist and could not trust himself.

'But not from my horse.' She fixed him with a long, level stare in which he read challenge and invitation. Daring him. Holding him off. Then she turned to her uncle.

'I like the grey too,' she said in a clear, determined voice and smiled up at William. 'Can I try him?'

Simon de Senlis fetched the tack and her chosen mount was harnessed. It stamped the yard floor restlessly and kicked at its belly with a sharp hind hoof. Sometimes it was a sign of colic, but Waltheof suspected that in this instance it was irritation at the placing of a saddle.

Young Simon grasped the headstall while Judith set her foot in the stirrup and her cousin Robert boosted her across its back. She drew the reins through her fingers and commanded the squire to let go. The grey took several short, stiff-legged leaps but Judith swiftly brought it under control, using hands and heels to exert her authority. Waltheof watched with keen pleasure. She looked superb upon that champing, spirited horse, and as her eyes met his in triumph he found himself smiling in defeat.