Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex

by Lesley Jepson

  Landing after what seemed an interminable crossing, Gozfrid saddled the horses that had travelled with them and they asked directions to the capital. The grey clouds threatened as they rode, spitting sharp darts of rain now and then, before parting to show a little watery sun and then gathering once more, darkening the land as if it was already nightfall.

  The weather still hadn’t improved when Baldwin and Gozfrid rode into the centre of Winchester, looking for a tavern that might offer them some hot food and a dry place to sleep. Baldwin didn’t want to arrive at the palace wet and dirty from the journey. He was his father’s ambassador on this occasion, and he wouldn’t let him down.

  They saw dim rush lights outside a long, low building with stabling for horses at the rear, and they rode into the muddy yard with relief. A ragged urchin came forward to take their mounts, and Baldwin grinned as he flicked a piece of hack-silver towards the boy.

  ‘Food inside?’ asked Gozfrid in Latin, and the lad simply gazed blankly at them, shrugging his thin shoulders before turning away to the shelter of the stable with their horses.

  ‘We’ll follow our noses, Goz,’ laughed Baldwin, trying to avoid the worst of the puddles that dotted the yard. The friends walked around the front of the tavern and ducked their heads beneath the low lintel of the door. The room opened before them, busy to be sure, but not overwhelmingly so. They walked up to the trestle table that held the barrels of ale, and spoke to the round-faced, portly man who was serving tankards of the malty, brown brew to the customers.

  ‘Can you tell me about the Queen, Landlord?’ Baldwin spoke Latin, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the customers. The landlord gazed back, wide eyed, and shrugged.

  Gozfrid pointed at the barrels and then at himself and Baldwin, holding up two fingers. The innkeeper beamed and quickly pushed two brimming cups across the trestle. Gozfrid mimed eating, and was rewarded by another good-humoured nod. The man turned away and spoke to a woman behind him in a language Baldwin recognised from the battle of Ballon. He sighed and tried again.

  ‘Can you tell me about the King?’ he asked slowly, wondering if he would have any better luck if he spoke French; somehow he doubted it. They might have to wait for a clergyman to enter the tavern, who may be able to translate for them.

  The innkeeper nodded enthusiastically, and said ‘Rex,’ then mimed closing his eyes with his head back and his hands pressed together in prayer.

  ‘He’s dead, Goz. We have to find her, and we have to find someone who speaks a language we understand.’ Baldwin’s tone was filled with impatience.

  The woman appeared from behind the trestle with two steaming bowls in her hands, which she set upon a vacant table near the door. She felt in the pocket of her skirt and produced two heels of bread and two bent spoons which she set beside the bowls. With a gap-toothed grin she nodded them into their seats. Baldwin gave her a silver coin, and she bobbed her knee in gratitude and hurried away, secreting the money in her capacious pocket.

  The door beside them opened, and in strode a short, stocky man swathed in a fur cloak. He walked up to the landlord, who spoke urgently to him as he tipped his chin towards Baldwin and Gozfrid, who were eagerly bolting their stew. The man approached Baldwin’s table and dipped his head respectfully, speaking in Latin and with a wry smile on his face.

  ‘The landlord says you were asking about the King, Lord. He says he can’t understand your words, but he recognised the word for king.’

  Gozfrid kicked out a stool for the man to sit down, and Baldwin washed his fare down with a swallow of ale.

  ‘Thank God. The landlord seems to be telling us the old King is dead?’ Baldwin framed it as a question, and received a sad nod in return.

  ‘That’s right, Lord. He died a se’nnight ago.’

  ‘I am Baldwin D’Audacer, son of the adviser to King Charles of Frankia. This is my friend Gozfrid. We have travelled to bring letters to the Queen. She is well?’

  ‘Aye, Lord. I am Adal, steward to her Majesty, and I can assure you she is safe, Lord. Unhappy, but safe.’

  Baldwin shot him a swift glance. ‘She mourns her husband?’

  Adal snorted, then nodded his thanks as the landlady brought him a tankard of ale. He took a long swallow then levelled a hard look at Baldwin.

  ‘She didn’t have time to mourn him, Lord. The Ӕthling demanded the Archbishop marry him to the Queen over his father’s corpse.’ Adal shook his head in disgust. ‘She is still Queen, but it is Ӕthelbald on the throne.’

  Both Baldwin and Gozfrid sat in stunned silence. The noise of the tavern seemed to recede like a tide as Baldwin considered Adal’s words. That the heir had married the Queen was shocking in itself, but Baldwin’s heart almost broke for Judith, married to a man who inspired fear, no matter how mistaken that fear was. It was not to be borne.

  ‘Dear God. My poor Princess,’ Baldwin spoke quietly, seemingly to himself, then brought himself back into the present and turned to Adal. ‘I have letters for her, from her family, as well as communications from the Frankian court for the King. Might I see her?’

  Adal smiled sympathetically. ‘I could arrange that, Lord. If you stay here for the night, I will send an escort for you in the morning, to bring you into the castle. It is locked for the night now, Lord, or I would take you straight away.’ Adal buried his nose in his tankard and drained his cup.

  ‘As long as she is safe,’ muttered Baldwin, as he scooped up more stew from the bowl. He decided to ask Adal to organise their overnight accommodation with the landlord, so he could spend time mulling over what comfort he might offer Judith when he saw her.

  If she was truly married, there would be little comfort he could offer to either of them.

  ***

  Chapter 63

  Adal was as good as his word, and the following morning one of the palace guards arrived at the tavern to accompany them up the hill and into the palace courtyard. It was a relief to Baldwin that the guard spoke Latin, as well as the local dialect.

  A stable lad took the reins of both horses, and Baldwin felt in the leather satchel beneath his saddle for two packets of letters. One was the official correspondence from his father and other advisers to the King, the other, letters for Judith from her mother and brothers.

  The sound of hooves clattering into the yard through the gate behind them made him turn, and he saw Ӕthelbald ride up, accompanied by the man he recognised as Eanwulf. Baldwin felt the muscle in his jaw flex as his teeth clamped together in frustration, and both he and Gozfrid watched silently as both men dismounted. Another groom appeared and led the horses of the King and his companion away into the vast maw of the stable,

  Ӕthelbald strode towards him, pulling the riding gauntlets from his hands. Baldwin observed the King’s outfit, his fur-trimmed cloak and padded linen jerkin with clasps of wrought gold topping woollen trousers tapering into sturdy leather boots, and couldn’t help comparing it with his own. He wore soft leather breeches that ended below his knee, and his chausses were bound with leather straps to his boots. Baldwin’s leather jerkin was secured over his shoulders with broad buckles, and his cloak, although padded and made of densely-woven wool, had no trimming of fur or anything else. He looked like a travel-worn soldier, and Ӕthelbald looked like a king.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ The terse tone held no fragment of recollection, and Baldwin realised the King had not recognised him. He dipped his head in a semblance of respect, determined not to bow as he would to his own King, and nodded to the packet of parchment in his gloved fist.

  ‘I have brought letters from the King of Frankia, Lord. And some for the Queen from her family, her mother and brothers.’ Baldwin tried to keep his tone respectful and even, despite the growl he heard from Gozf
rid at his lack of ceremony when addressing the monarch.

  Baldwin stood motionless, trying his best to keep his expression blank and his eyes clear as Ӕthelbald scrutinised him.

  ‘Don’t I know you?’ Ӕthelbald compressed his lips uncertainly and narrowed his eyes as Eanwulf appeared at his shoulder and assessed Baldwin in his turn. Baldwin deliberately dropped his shoulders and held out the bundle of letters to the King, which Eanwulf snatched eagerly from his grasp.

  Baldwin unclenched his jaw long enough to speak, ‘Lord, I fought alongside you in the shield wall at Ballon.’ He tried not to bunch his hands into fists, and felt Gozfrid’s hand on his bicep behind him, unseen by the King; he took a deep breath and forced a smile.

  ‘Of course, that’s right. I remember now.’ Ӕthelbald grinned at Baldwin and swept his arm towards the palace door. ‘It is good to see you again. I insist you join us for our meal, to repay the hospitality we enjoyed when we were in Frankia.’

  Eanwulf stepped forward, placing a hand on Ӕthelbald’s arm. The King looked at the hand, and then up into Eanwulf’s face, suffused with a heated flush as he spoke hesitantly, ‘Lord, I don’t think……’

  ‘Nonsense.’ He shook off the hand. ‘They are our allies, Eanwulf. We shall have a feast for our guests.’

  Ӕthelbald clapped Baldwin on his shoulder, leaving his hand there as they walked across the yard in unison. Baldwin flicked a bemused glance at Gozfrid, then quickly looked away before he laughed outright. Gozfrid was doing his best not to give into a shout of amusement at the darkly jealous looks Eanwulf was directing at Baldwin’s back, as he truculently followed the King into the castle.

  ***

  Chapter 64

  Judith, clad in a gown of shimmering pewter velvet with a silvery silk kirtle beneath, sat in her solar trying to pick out a tune on her lyre, accompanied by Ghislaine and Ӕlswith. A few of her younger ladies were trying to sing some words to the hesitant tune, much to the others’ amusement, and there was laughter echoing around the room as the door opened.

  Ӕthelbald entered, his hand still clasping Baldwin’s shoulder with Eanwulf and Gozfrid following behind. Judith gazed up from the strings of her lyre and froze for a moment, a stunned gasp escaping parted lips.

  The rustle of her ladies curtseying to the King brought her out of her astonished silence and she stood and bobbed her own knee, clasping her skirts with trembling hands. She could hardy breathe for the pounding of her heart, and she waited for her husband to speak first.

  ‘Lady, we have guests from your home.’ Ӕthelbald’s tone was cheerful, but as Judith raised her head and regarded him, she could see a warning gleam in his eyes. “Lady” was more polite than his usual derisive “Madam”, and Judith knew that he was expecting a similar pretence from her.

  She was a Princess of Frankia; she well knew how to behave.

  Judith stepped forward with a beam of welcome, stretching out both hands to Baldwin, who took her fingers and held them to his forehead before brushing the backs with his lips. She thought she might explode with delight, but she kept her expression merely welcoming and her voice low.

  ‘Baldwin. Gozfrid,’ she nodded to the other man, who bowed respectfully, ‘I never expected you here.’ She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from bursting into excited laughter, and concentrated on keeping her feet flat on the floor although she longed to bounce on her toes with pleasure.

  ‘We have brought letters from your mother and brothers, Highness. Prince Lothaire commissioned me to put his letter directly into your hand and no other, under pain of a sword fight should I fail.’ Baldwin raised one eyebrow and gave Judith a broad wink, enabling her to release some of the tension in a trill of genuine laughter. He felt inside his jerkin and brought out the three letters, pressing them into Judith’s grasp.

  ‘Your mother and brothers Louis and Lothaire, Highness. Your father has written to the King, and your brother Charles is nursing a sore backside from sword practice, so he couldn’t sit long enough to write.’ He winked again, and Judith chuckled, clutching the letters to her bosom in delighted anticipation.

  ‘I have invited our guests to stay for the evening meal, Lady, and we can find them a bed for the night, can we not? I am sure that is within the capabilities of your steward.’ Ӕthelbald smiled tightly at Judith, whose eyes were still brimming with merriment. She turned to gaze at her husband and pushed down the giggle that threatened to burst out as she thought of her brother Charles still being knocked on his back by her father’s soldiery.

  ‘Of course, Lord. I shall see to it immediately.’ Judith turned aside and summoned Alys. ‘Go and find Adal, and ask him to attend me here.’ The girl sped off and Judith raised her eyes to Baldwin again, whose gaze still rested on her face. She seemed frozen to the spot, yet she was acutely aware of her husband’s scrutiny. When Ӕthelbald finally spoke, she jumped slightly, and flushed in embarrassment.

  ‘Excuse us, Lady. I am sure our guests don’t want to listen to your attempts at music, and have no interest in embroidery or accommodation arrangements.’ Ӕthelbald’s tone was slightly contemptuous, ‘I shall show them the arms store and the soldiery until we eat.’

  ‘Until their baths are ready, Lord. I am sure they will want to bathe before our meal. I will have Adal heat some water and put the tubs in their room.’ Judith turned a smiling face towards Gozfrid, who nodded his gratitude.

  ‘Thank you, Princess. We are damp and muddy from the journey, and an opportunity for a warm bath would do much to restore our spirits.’ Gozfrid grinned as he bowed again, and Judith heard a slight gasp behind her. She turned and saw Ghislaine holding her hand over her chest as she devoured the sight of Gozfrid with her wide blue eyes.

  Smothering a smile, she inclined her head at Gozfrid, before Ӕthelbald turned with a snort and led the two men away. Judith heard a whisper at her shoulder and turned to see Ӕlswith watching her intently.

  ‘So that is who you left behind, pining for you in Frankia, my dear. I compliment you on your excellent taste.’ The older woman twisted her lips in a wry smile and then returned to her lyre before Judith could deny the attraction, just as Alys appeared at the door of the solar with Adal.

  Pushing away the urge to squeal with excitement and dance a jig of happiness, Judith glided towards Adal to issue instructions for a bath and a clean, comfortable bed for their guests. Never had being a swan been so important.

  ***

  Chapter 65

  Baldwin sank into the barrel that had been filled with heated water. It wasn’t particularly comfortable; he realised that the size of barrel that could accommodate Judith or her ladies was nowhere near large enough for him, but he appreciated the gesture.

  He crouched so he could wash his hair with some of the soft soap he had been given, although the lather was nowhere near that which he enjoyed in Frankia. But the warmth, after the vile weather on the crossing, the muddy journey and lumpy straw mattress they had endured the previous night was almost undreamed-of luxury. Baldwin wondered how Gozfrid fared in the next chamber, then heard a splash and a thud and a muttered curse from behind the door.

  Baldwin washed himself as best as he could, standing up when he could no longer tolerate the cramp in his legs, then grabbed the sheet of linen in which to swathe himself after he had climbed from the tub. Shivering in the chilly air after the warmth of the water, he hurried to the fireside to try and blot the water from his hair.

  A brief knock at the external door announced Adal, to see if he needed anything further.

  ‘My friend next door has my satchel with clean clothes, Adal. Could you have them brought in here?’ Baldwin poured himself a cup of wine from the vessel on the table, and sipped it tentatively. Judith had told him in one of her
letters how rough the wine could be, and until he knew how palatable it was, he didn’t want to take a large swig. Adal bowed and disappeared, a moment later returning to the room.

  ‘Your friend says these are your clothes, Lord.’ Adal extended his good arm to display a pale green linen shirt with a darker green velvet tunic and bronze woollen breeches. He laid them on the bed and gazed at Baldwin with an enquiring look.

  ‘Do you need anything further, Lord? You are welcome to explore the palace and the grounds until the evening meal is served. We will eat in about an hour.’ Adal nodded his head respectfully and left the room, latching the door firmly behind him.

  Baldwin swallowed the wine in his cup; it wasn’t too bad, certainly not undrinkable, and finished rubbing his skin dry with the linen. Moving to the bed, he saw hose beneath the breeches, and he donned those, then his breeches and shirt. The tunic he would leave until later. He tapped on the adjoining door and strode into Gozfrid’s chamber without waiting for a response.

  His friend was sitting by the fire, also swathed in a sheet, but in the main part of the room, several servants were soaking up water with huge cloths and squeezing them into the barrel. Baldwin raised his eyebrow and tipped his head questioningly to the hive of activity.

  ‘Bloody thing fell over, Win. I was barely clean, and then I stood up. Damned barrel wasn’t balanced properly for someone with my height, and over it went. Fell like a landed salmon on a river bank.’ Gozfrid snorted his disgust and Baldwin struggled not to laugh. He pressed his lips in a tight line and poured his friend a drink. Goz looked as if he needed one.

  The servants whispered amongst themselves in the language neither man could understand, and a couple of the girls sneaked hurried looks at the strangers, then collapsed into giggles as they mopped and squeezed and mopped again.