Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex

by Lesley Jepson

  ‘Are you well, Princess?’ asked Elin in French, and Judith managed a nod.

  ‘Just a little homesick, Elin,’ she whispered, not wanting her husband, or worse, Lady Emer to hear. She didn’t know if Lady Emer, despite her derogatory remarks, could speak French, and until she knew the scope of the woman’s influence, she didn’t want to attract more attention than she already had.

  Suddenly a huge snore erupted by her side, and she saw that her husband had fallen asleep, his chin on his chest as he rumbled again. Ralf stood and moved to his side, helping the King to stand with the aid of a couple of other servants. They managed to wake Ӕthelwulf sufficiently that he could, with Ralf’s help, walk down the step of the dais and through the door at the rear of the room.

  ‘Forgive my father, Lady. He feels his drink more quickly than he used to.’ One of the men who had been seated beyond Ralf got to his feet and took her hand. He was tall, with an auburn cast in his dark hair, bright sardonic eyes and a well-shaped mouth hidden behind his beard. ‘I am Ӕthelberht, third son of your husband, my father.’ He brushed her knuckles with dry lips, then turned and held out his arm.

  ‘My two youngest brothers you have already met, and they speak very highly of you,’ Judith beamed at the two young boys, ‘and this is my older brother Ӕthelbald.’ She nodded a smile at the dark-haired man towering above her, and recoiled at the venomous look he gave her. He slammed his goblet on the table and spun on his heel, stalking wordlessly away from her in the direction his father had been taken.

  A flush of embarrassment crept up his younger brother’s neck, and he shrugged apologetically. ‘You’ll get used to us, Lady. Our father has been away for more than a year, and Ӕthelbald has held the kingdom together in his name. Relinquishing power is difficult for him, particularly as our oldest brother has his own kingdom in Kent. Our sister is with her husband at their court in Mercia, so you will meet her when they come for the Witan in a few weeks.’

  Judith had to concentrate hard on what Ӕthelberht was saying. While his Latin was good, the accent he used made some words almost intelligible, and she was afraid of misunderstanding. She smiled and nodded, and resumed her seat.

  ‘Witan?’ she asked, uncertainly pronouncing the unfamiliar word.

  ‘Council meeting, Lady. All the Ealdormen and Lords will attend. To discuss the defence of the kingdoms.’ Ӕthelberht took his father’s seat and handed Judith her wine with a smile.

  ‘Thank you. I shall look forward to meeting them.’ Judith took another tiny sip and looked out over the people in the hall, moving about and talking to their friends, laughing and drinking. Always drinking.

  ‘Lady, the King has retired.’ Lady Emer’s voice cut through all the noise from the body of the room. ‘It is only proper that you should also retire to your rooms. The King might stay in the hall without his wife, but the King’s wife should not linger without her husband.’

  Judith rose in one fluid motion and turned to face Lady Emer. With a swift flick of her eyes, she communicated to Elin that she should lift her train, and both Ghislaine and Alys hurried to help. When her skirts were properly lifted, and in no danger of dragging through the muck and mire on the hall floor, Judith fixed Lady Emer with a hard look.

  ‘I remind you again, Lady Emer, that I am the Queen. I represent my husband, and should I wish to remain after he has retired, then I shall do so. However, I too am tired from my journey tonight, so I shall withdraw.’ She looked up at the Archbishop and step-son with a small smile and a nod.

  ‘Until tomorrow, Lords’

  ‘Lady.’ They all bowed, even Ӕthelred and Ӕlfred at the far end of the table, watching their older brother with huge eyes.

  Judith walked serenely down the centre of the room, and as she did so, all her husband’s oath-men and their wives dipped their head or bobbed their knee, with a whispered ‘Lady’ as she passed. She made a point of not making eye contact with any individual; her mother had always taught her to smile and nod at everyone, but keep her eyes over their heads. The guard opened the massive doors before she reached them, and she and her ladies passed through the portal to her suite of rooms.

  Judith heaved a huge sigh of relief. Being a swan was tiring, to say the least.

  ***

  Chapter 21

  Ӕthelbald felt the table hit his forehead, and heard his friend burst into high pitched laughter. Gingerly opening one eye, he gazed at the wood beneath his cheek and realised his head had fallen forward onto the table which was wet and sticky with mead and ale, dampening his beard against his skin. Still his friend laughed and he made a conscious effort to sit up. The motion made his head spin and he wished he could lie down. But he was the Ӕtheling, the crown prince of Wessex, and he ought to set an example.

  Beside him, his friend Eanwulf filled his tankard and pushed it towards his hand.

  ‘Drink, Lord. It will help your head.’ Eanwulf nodded with a grin and raised his own mug, swallowing the contents and spilling much out of the sides and down his jerkin. Ӕthelbald took a deep breath and gazed around, trying to remember where he was.

  The familiarity of the hangings over the stone walls, and the dripping candles in the sconces told him he was in his own rooms of the castle, and his glance fell on the figure of his other friend Ealstan occupying the huge chair in front of the hearth, fast asleep with a dripping cup dangling from his fingers. Ӕthelbald’s wolfhound was busy licking up the pool of spilt mead from the floor.

  ‘You spent time with the lovely Lady Emer, Lord? Before the banquet?’ Eanwulf grinned suggestively, and Ӕthelbald nodded slowly, his head feeling heavy on his shoulders.

  ‘I’d need to be drunk before I went to see her, Lord, not after I came back.’ Eanwulf drained another mug and laughed as Ӕthelbald tried and failed to grasp the handle of his own tankard.

  God above, he was drunk, and he knew he should get some sleep. It was always the same when he had seen Emer; she would persuade him into her bed, and despite his better judgement, he would allow himself to be seduced by her, then he would feel guilty bedding the woman who had shared his father’s bed and come to his rooms and get roaring drunk. But the headache in the morning wouldn’t prevent him from repeating the experience.

  Then having to sit through the banquet to celebrate his father’s marriage had made him drink even more, and the food hadn’t been enough to counteract the alcohol he had consumed. A celebration! It was no celebration for him; his father’s new wife was a lovely child, who would grow into a spectacularly beautiful young woman and then produce a new heir for his father.

  This marriage could cost him his kingdom, and he chose to spend his time reluctantly swiving his father’s cast-off mistress and getting drunk with his friends. It would have to stop. He should be stronger. He was heir to the King, after all.

  But that wasn’t all he was. Ӕthelbald gazed across at Eanwulf, who grinned back and lifted his cup in a toast. He must try and be stronger.

  ***

  Chapter 22

  Judith shifted in her bed and her eyelids fluttered open. She lay still for a moment and gazed about her chamber, listening to the soft sighs of Elin beside her, and Alys on the pallet in the corner.

  Judith imagined that other arrangements would be made for her ladies when she became a true wife to her husband, but for now she was pleased they were with her. Ghislaine had gone to her own chamber after helping her get ready for bed, but she knew the child would hurry to join them as soon as she woke. Glancing at Elin, she wondered how long the older girl would share her bed before she found a man of her own.

  The noise of the castle coming awake filtered through the doors and up from the yard. Apart from a slightly fuzzy head, Judith felt no effects from the wine of the previous
evening. But she was so hungry, she could hear her stomach growl. She wondered what these people ate to break their fast, and who would be in attendance this morning.

  Sighing, she swung her legs from the bed and the motion disturbed Elin, who sat up abruptly, looking around the room as if they had been invaded by thieves. Alys stirred, rubbing sleep from her eyes and gazing about with a blank expression.

  The heavy door burst open and in hurried Ghislaine, dressed for the day and with a bright smile on her face, followed by a servant carrying a large wooden tray. The girl pointed to the table in the corner, and the servant divested himself of the tray, bowed hurriedly and went swiftly from the room. Ghislaine giggled and leaped onto the bed beside Judith.

  ‘I sneaked into the kitchen this morning, Lady, and had a word with one of the cooks. She gave me some warm bread rolls that are properly cooked, and found me some butter and cheese from the still-room. And there is a jug of cold milk if you would like to drink it?’ Ghislaine beamed, and then laughed as Judith flung her arms about her as thanks.

  ‘When we have eaten something, I want to dress to go and see the King,’ announced Judith as she buttered some bread and placed a piece of cheese on top. Popping it in her mouth, she nodded at the rest of the food as an invitation to her ladies to help themselves. Although they had eaten more than she the previous evening, she hardly thought they had eaten enough.

  ‘He will be with his Council, Lady. Perhaps hearing petitions. He has been away some time, and there will be a great deal to catch up with.’ Ghislaine chewed a morsel of cheese as she spoke.

  ‘You will show me the way, Ghislaine. He will hear my petition this morning.’ Judith poured herself a cup of milk and drank greedily. Then she met Ghislaine’s eyes. ‘And then you will take me to speak to the cook.’

  ‘Princess, you have only been here a day. Do you think you should…?’ Elin’s words of warning trailed away when she saw the look on Judith’s face.

  ‘I need to start as I mean to go on,’ stated Judith flatly. ‘I need the King’s permission, certainly. But once I have his approval, I shall make sure we get edible food for our meals, even if the rest of them don’t mind eating charred or bloody meat and bread burnt black.’ She turned and looked at Ghislaine.

  ‘Does the Queen have a Seneschal?’ Ghislaine regarded her with a puzzled frown, and Judith tried another phrase. ‘A steward? Someone to organise her household?’

  ‘No, Lady. The King’s wife was the daughter of Oslac, who used to organise the King’s household until he followed his daughter to the grave. Then Lady Emer took over, and she….’ Ghislaine blushed and avoided Judith’s eyes.

  ‘And she…what? When Osburtha and Oslac both died, she took over the household and what else?’ Judith observed the look on Ghislaine’s face. ‘She took over Osburtha’s wifely duties too?’

  Ghislaine nodded silently, and Alys gasped in shock. Elin simply raised an eyebrow and said, ‘That explains why she is so disrespectful to you, Princess.’

  ‘That, and my youth, and my heritage. But I will always be a Princess of Frankia, regardless of what she feels about me. And I shall be Queen here.’ Judith turned with a sigh, wishing she could ask her mother for advice, yet knowing what Ermentrude would say. She squared her shoulders.

  ‘I must dress appropriately to meet the King, and I need to look both mature and modest.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘I will wear the mulberry zaiton gown, and the dark yellow kirtle.’ Alys hurried to find the requested garments and pass them to Ghislaine, who gazed in wonder at the richly glowing fabric.

  ‘Lady, what did you call this?’ The girl stroked the shiny material with a tentative finger, and Alys whispered, ‘Zaiton, from the East. The Chin make it, along with silk.’

  ‘Ssatin,’ murmured Ghislaine, and Alys nodded. ‘Near enough. It’s hard to say, and it doesn’t really translate into Latin.’

  ‘Elin,’ Judith pulled the kirtle into place over her hips, wriggling to make sure her silk chemise was smooth against her skin beneath the thicker yellow fabric, ‘find me the crenelated coronet my father had made for me. When Alys has done my hair, I shall wear that. No-one shall forget who I am.’

  For the first time, Judith realised why her father always wore his circlet. No-one would mistake him in a room, regardless of what he wore, and no-one viewing him from a distance in a group would take him for anyone other than the King.

  She decided that her own circlet would become part of who she was. Covering her hair be damned; she refused to wear fabric around her face and beneath her chin, as if she were preparing to take the veil. She hadn’t escaped her fate at Senlis to become immured in Wessex. She would take charge of her own court, dress modestly as befitted a Queen, but be stylish and cultured, as befitted a Princess of Frankia. And Lady Emer Cuikishe and Archbishop Ceolnoth could go to the devil.

  Smoothing the mulberry fabric of her skirt, Judith decided on the girdle she had embroidered herself, with the golden thread and purple beads, with a heavy gold and amethyst cross at her throat. She smiled at Alys as she sat on the stool for the young girl to dress her hair.

  ‘I want to wear the circlet all the time, Alys. So if you roll my hair at the sides, so it has something to cushion it, it might not get too uncomfortable. Then weave it at the back, and use the pearl combs to keep it in place, and braid the rest for the daytime. I don’t want it getting in my way.’

  Alys beamed and nodded, her small fingers quickly separating the heavy dark strands and brushing them smooth before rolling and weaving as requested. Elin brought the coronet, and once the back of Judith’s hair was pinned in place, she settled it on Judith’s head as comfortably as she could, making sure the golden cross was to the front.

  Slipping her feet into dainty calfskin slippers, Judith rubbed the wedding ring, still in place on her thumb. Ӕthelwulf’s name was on her ring; she was his wife, the Queen of Wessex.

  Now it was up to her.

  ***

  Chapter 23

  The Council room was in the older part of the palace, abandoned by the Romans when they left. Smooth stone walls held up a partly tiled roof although as the tiles broke, thatch was used for the repair giving a patchwork look to the ceiling. Ralf thought of the smooth tiles of the roofs in Frankia, and wondered what the Queen thought of her new home.

  The floor was mostly the original marble, although cracked and chipped in places and showing the wear of thousands of feet. A fire burned in the fireplace set into the wall, beneath a chimney that functioned and the King’s hound snoozed before its warmth. The glazed windows let in a reasonable amount of light when the weather was fine, and a few stray sunbeams shone on the gathered nobles.

  Ralf had assisted the King with getting dressed, although the monarch seemed much better this morning. His conversation had been concise and relevant, and Ralf hoped he would manage to keep his wits about him when in the council meeting; it promised to be a very ill-tempered gathering, and the King becoming vague and confused wouldn’t help matters.

  He brought a cup of ale and pressed it into the King’s hand silently, to a nod of gratitude as Ӕthelwulf finished explaining his plans to his sons.

  ‘I cannot believe what I am hearing, Father. That you would carve up your kingdom like a joint of venison for that Frankian slut is beyond belief.’ Ӕthelbald slammed his hand on the table in frustration and strode off, stomping to the trestle table and pouring himself a goblet of thick red wine. His brother Ӕthelberht put a hand on his shoulder, but was shrugged off.

  ‘Judith brings oath-men sworn to her father to help our cause, and you won’t speak of her in such terms,’ growled Ӕthelwulf to his son’s back. ‘It is decided, and I shall inform the Witan that Judith shall be gifted lands from the crown for her own us
e and income.’

  Ӕthelbald hurled his wine cup into the fire, and the coals smoked and hissed as he turned to face his father, trembling in fury.

  ‘And what of me, Father? I have held this kingdom together while you were off on your ill-advised pilgrimage, collected the rents, ensured the borders were safe. Now you are back, all that work is in the wind and you give away our inheritance on a whim.’

  ‘Ill-advised?’ Ӕthelwulf’s growl had turned to a roar. ‘Going on pilgrimage to have your brothers affirmed in the service of our Lord could never be ill-advised. And it is I who am King. I shall determine what is prudent here.’

  ‘You think disposing of our kingdom to a foreign power is prudent?’ shouted Ӕthelbald, his voice equally as loud as that of his father. ‘Isn’t that why we fight? To keep our kingdom safe from foreign invasion? You might as well abdicate Wessex to the Danes.’

  ‘How dare you suggest such a thing?’ roared Ӕthelwulf, and Ralf brought him a fresh cup of ale as the older man’s voice cracked in fury.

  ‘Lord, we fight to keep our kingdom safe for God from the pagan.’ Archbishop Ceolnoth’s smooth tone addressed Ӕthelbald with servility, but his interjection allowed the King to recover his voice.

  ‘The Queen brings oath-men to fight with us against the forces of darkness encroaching on our land. Gifting her some land of her own will ensure they stay loyal; surely you can see that?’ The King swallowed the ale in one gulp and glowered at his son over the rim of the cup.

  Ӕthelbald met his father’s gaze levelly, but Ralf noticed that he modified his tone towards his father.

  ‘The thing I see is that you are losing your mind, father. You give land away, yet deny me lands of my own to rule. I thought I had earned your trust.’ Ӕthelbald’s voice trailed away to a whisper, and he turned his head to gaze into the fire.