‘Highness, what does the word ‘connard’ mean?’ Ghislaine beamed across at Judith, who dropped her needlework in her lap, looking with a shocked expression into Ghislaine’s smiling eyes.
‘That’s a very rude word, Ghislaine. Wherever did you hear it?’
Ghislaine lowered her gaze and felt the flush creep up her cheeks. She had known it wouldn’t be complimentary, but she hadn’t expected Judith’s appalled manner. If she had known it was that bad, she might have asked Alys when they were alone.
‘Well, I just heard it, Highness,’ muttered Ghislaine, shrugging her shoulders without lifting her head.
‘From whom?’ Ghislaine cringed inwardly at the tone in Judith’s voice, and she took a deep breath.
‘Gozfrid,’ she whispered, wishing with all her might that Judith would either answer her question or simply let the matter drop with no further comment.
‘Why would he use that word with you? Whom were you discussing?’ The tenor of Judith’s questions had changed subtly into curiosity rather than disapproval, and Ghislaine lifted her hot cheeks and shrugged again, trying to keep a serious expression on her face.
But talking about Gozfrid and her conversation with him made her remember how handsome he was, how his fair hair curled almost to his shoulders, how blue his eyes were, and…. She dragged her mind back to focus on the Queen, and she tried her best not to giggle.
‘Well, Highness, we were talking about your husband. Gozfrid said he was jealous by nature, and that you had a brother with a similar disposition, Highness. And then he said that word, and I knew it wasn’t very complimentary, honestly I did.’ The girl coloured again as her voice trailed away, ‘But I just wondered what it actually meant, that’s all.’
Ghislaine gazed frankly at Judith and saw an imperceptible shadow of humour pass through the Queen’s eyes and a tug at the corner of her lips. After a moment, Judith tilted her head with the perfect composure that Ghislaine wished she could show, and replied in a calm, measured tone that betrayed no emotion.
‘It is a very rude word for your back passage.’
Ghislaine burst into raucous laughter, then clapped her hand over her mouth as her shoulders shook. When she could speak, she dragged a breath and turned her amused gaze to the Queen.
‘Highness, you mean arsehole?’ Another giggle bubbled in her throat. ‘Oh, Highness,’ she breathed in relief, ‘I imagined it was so much worse than that.’
***
Chapter 73
From time to time, Judith was pleased that the two young princes sought out her company, and she was always glad to see them and offer some respite from their lessons. Both boys worked hard for their tutors, although it had to be said that Ӕlfred was the more diligent of the two. Ӕthelred was easily distracted, but Ӕlfred had the ability of a much older child to focus. Judith hoped that, at some point in the future, Ӕlfred would have some land of his own to rule. He would make an excellent king, thoughtful and just.
‘May we join you, Highness?’ Ӕthelred peeked around the door to the solar, his face split with a beaming smile. Judith returned his grin with a friendly nod.
‘Of course, Lord. We are always pleased to see you.’
The princes entered the room and found a stool for themselves, bringing them in front of the ladies who were plucking a tune from their lyres. Judith glanced up from her embroidery and raised an eyebrow.
‘Do you want to play the lyre, Lords? Alys will teach you if you wish.’ Judith smothered a smile as Alys’ face flushed at the thought of teaching the princes.
Ӕthelred nodded eagerly, but Ӕlfred shook his head, ‘Archbishop Ceolnoth says music is frivolous, Highness. He says we should learn how to please God with our prayers.’
Judith sighed inwardly, irritated by the knack the Archbishop seemed to have of trying to crush all the pleasure from other people’s lives, while living as opulently as he could himself. His hypocrisy angered her, and she searched her mind for an appropriate response that didn’t culminate in a snort of derision.
‘Archbishop Ceolnoth is a very wise churchman, Lord, whose knowledge about clerical matters in boundless.’
A giggle, and the word ‘endless’ covered by a cough made Judith glare a quelling look at Ghislaine, who had the grace to blush and lower her eyes to her stitching.
Judith turned her lips up in the semblance of a smile. ‘Boundless!’ she stated firmly, then shook her head and tried to inject some sincerity into her tone; after all, she was speaking to two boys who might themselves one day become kings. ‘But he is not a king, Lord. A king must know not just what God wants, but what his people want.’
‘And what do they want, Highness?’
Judith thought for a moment, and laid her needle aside. She thought about how her father ruled his land, and how her mother had helped the poor of their district. And of her great-grandfather. She rubbed the ring on her thumb with her knuckle and remembered the kindness of Ӕthelwulf.
‘They want somewhere safe to sleep, Lord, and to raise their families. Which is why they choose a strong war lord or king to serve.’ She smiled and raised her brows, tilting her head for emphasis. ‘They want food for themselves and their families, which is why a wise king makes sure there is grain stored for the lean times and not just for the harvest.’ Judith paused, thinking for a moment as the two princes gazed at her in wonderment.
‘And they want amusement. They want to dance at the harvest, or at weddings. Even our Lord Jesus Christ went to a wedding and turned water into wine so they could have more enjoyment. And some of the wisest kings of scripture, Solomon and David, enjoyed playing music.’ She took another breath, ‘So music isn’t frivolous in the sight of our Lord. He wants us to praise Him in every way we can, and He has given us music to be part of that praise.’
Judith beamed at them, relieved she had delivered a speech that could not be reported in any other light than a supportive one should somebody decide to tell Ceolnoth. She gazed at Ӕlfred in surprise as he withdrew a piece of parchment from his jerkin, along with a nub of charcoal.
‘What are you doing, Lord?’ she asked curiously, and she received a determined look in return.
‘Writing down what you have said, Highness. So if I ever get some land of my own to rule, I will remember what constitutes a wise and popular king.’
Judith dimpled at the boy as the charcoal flew across the page, noting her words. The door opened and there stood the princes’ tutor, beckoning them back to their lessons. With a sigh, the boys stood, made a respectful bow to Judith and then dutifully followed their tutor through the door. Judith nodded at the girls with the lyres, and one of them began to sing a country tune as the other picked out some merry notes on her strings. Feeling eyes upon her, Judith turned to the side, meeting Lady Emer’s hard gaze.
‘Do you have something you wish to say, Lady Emer?’ Judith’s voice was firm, although beneath the linen in her hand she rubbed her knuckle across the ring on her thumb to give her strength.
‘I doubt King Ӕthelbald will appreciate you giving his brothers advice about ruling a kingdom, Highness. It is inappropriate for you, a mere girl, to offer such advice about kingship, not to mention God.’ Judith watched the woman’s veil tremble with her indignation, and her lips form a tight disapproving line, and she felt her spine straighten and a feeling of calm come over her roiling stomach.
‘And how will he know, Lady Emer, all that way away in Sherborne? Unless,’ Judith raised one eyebrow, ‘you take it upon yourself to write and tell him?’
‘I won’t need to write and tell him, Highness. The Archbishop will do that.’ Emer’s voice held a slight note of triumph that Judith’s transgressions would be noted. Judith huffed an impatient brea
th and levelled a look in Emer’s direction.
‘And how will the Archbishop know, unless you tell him, Lady? Persuade him to make mischief on your behalf?’ Judith forced an unconcerned shrug and returned to her needlework. ‘You may tell whomsoever you wish, Lady. I shall tell Prince Ӕthelberht myself, and he may admonish me if he chooses, but I doubt that he will.’ Judith looked up quickly, and both narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice.
‘And I advise you, Lady Emer, to tread carefully. I am still Queen in this court, despite what you might wish, and I could have you banished to your estate in the country if I decide I can no longer put up with your attempts to make mischief.’
Lady Emer leapt to her feet and bobbed her knee in a brief curtsey.
‘I beg leave to return to my rooms, Highness. I have the beginning of a headache.’
‘As you wish, Lady Emer. If you write quickly, your letter may be ready in time for the messenger to my husband’s court to take before he leaves.’ Judith gazed up at the woman and smiled knowingly. ‘Inform him of whatever you wish, Lady. Your lies hold no terror for me.’
***
Chapter 74
Baldwin, mon amour. Je vis dans la misère parce que tu n’es pas à proximité
Baldwin, my love. I live in misery because you are not nearby.
My life here is very quiet now. Dull, I am sure you would say. The King – I refuse to call him my husband - you are my husband, my love, in my heart if not in reality – has sent many of the warriors to aid my father, so I imagine that is where you must be, too.
Ralf tells me that there are incursions along the northern borders of my father’s lands again. In Flanders, although that is not the name on the map Ralf shows us. But the Danes come further south, my love, in the country where you are and also here. King Burgred and many of our neighbours repel them back to East Anglia, but still they try and capture more of our land.
You must promise to stay safe for me, my love. If any misfortune befell you, I too would cease to be.
With the war lords not here to be fed, the left-overs that I had arranged for distribution to the poor (instead of the pigs) have dwindled. So I decided to organise the palace kitchens to cook meals for the unfortunates that cannot feed themselves or their children. We have the meat, and rather than let it spoil, I have it cooked in vats, with vegetables and my ladies and the princes all take turns to hand it out. It is important that the princes learn that the decisions they make in their council chambers affect the poorest of their subjects, and that not everyone lives in decent accommodation with adequate food and clothing. Ӕlfred in particular seems interested in their plight, but his own health concerns me somewhat, especially his digestion.
Between you and me, the linen and wool they produce here is hardly adequate for making into clothing in any case, whether you are rich or poor. I have written to my mother to entreat her to send me some more lengths of fabric. I know why most of the warriors wear leather and fur now – at least it doesn’t contain holes even before it has been worn.
Ghislaine is still mooning after Gozfrid, asking me endless questions about him. I beg you to ask him to write her a letter, no matter how short. She would treasure it forever, and it would give us a respite from the constant queries. He could even write it in French, if he chose, as she has been more diligent with her lessons recently.
As you see from my letter, my love, we are very dull. I long for some excitement, or even for something of interest to happen. Ӕlswith has promised us a visit when she is able to leave her kingdom. Her husband is away fighting, and she has much to occupy her, including her children, but I look forward to seeing her soon.
I long to gaze upon your face, my love. I re-live all the moments we shared when you came here until they seem almost unreal in my mind, as if they were simply a delightful dream that shimmers in the dawn light and then is gone. And despite what may happen to me, or to you, know that for the rest of my life, I am yours.
Judith, Princess of Frankia, reluctant Queen of Wessex and heart-fasted Lady of Baldwin D’Audacer, Knight.
***
Chapter 75
The court at Sherborne lacked any culture or pretence of femininity. With no queen in residence, the only females present were the servants. Oath-men visited to petition the King but left their wives and daughters behind at Winchester. Only the most determined of foreign visitors braved the journey across Wessex to see the King; many simply negotiated with Archbishop Ceolnoth instead.
The great hall was often filled with sleeping warriors, many face-down on the table after too much wine, with their hunting dogs squabbling over the dropped bones and detritus of the meal on the floor.
The one place in the enclave Ӕthelbald used as his palace which was scrupulously clean was the suite used by Eanwulf. The floors were swept and bright rugs covered the wooden boards. The tops of the wooden furniture were oiled and polished to a lustrous sheen, and the linens on the bed were always clean. Beeswax candles were in the sconces, rather than smoky tallow lights which stank, and a welcoming fire crackled in the hearth beneath one of the few remaining working chimneys left by the Romans.
After supper in the grimy haze of the great hall, Ӕthelbald would return to Eanwulf’s rooms accompanied by Bishop Ealstan, where the three men would drink and talk into the night before staggering back to their own accommodations to sleep off the effects of the wine.
‘I think I may have to return to Winchester soon.’ Ӕthelbald dropped the statement into the silence, punctuated by Ealstan’s snores. They had already consumed three flagons of wine since leaving the hall, not counting what they had already drunk at the meal. The King knew he would be hung over in the morning, and that Ealstan might not see any daylight at all. The clergyman often only rose from his bed in time for the evening meal.
‘Why, Lord?’ asked Eanwulf tightly, seated on a low stool in front of the fire and petting Ӕthelbald’s wolfhound.
‘I am letting Ceolnoth and Ӕthelberht meet with our allies and negotiate with them, while I avoid my duties and stay here,’ he shot a look at the dozing form of Ealstan, ‘with you.’ His voice dropped to a whisper with the final two words, and Eanwulf grinned and raised a sardonic eyebrow.
‘And isn’t that what you prefer, Lord? To be here with me?’ he hissed with a chuckle, patting the dog’s scruffy head and standing up to pour some more wine.
‘You know it is, Ean. But that’s not being a King,’ Ӕthelbald took the goblet from Eanwulf’s grasp and sipped ruminatively.
Eanwulf cast his mind around for reasons he could give that might deter Ӕthelbald from returning to Winchester. Baldwin’s warning was always with him, and although they could behave slightly less circumspectly at Sherborne, he remained vigilant that they didn’t cross any boundaries while they were likely to be observed. Ealstan didn’t count; he either knew and didn’t care, or was completely unaware of the emotions that held Eanwulf in thrall to Ӕthelbald. Ealstan preferred wine, wealth and women, in that order.
But in Wessex there were more witnesses, with looser tongues and greater capability to betray the secret, either to the clergy or to a foreign power. And if word of their liaison reached the Pope, then Eanwulf would die. Ceolnoth would make sure of it, and Ӕthelbald, mired in his own disgrace, would be unable to help.
Eanwulf took a gulp of wine. ‘Then send Ealstan to speak with the Archbishop and your brother, Lord. Give him your orders. You know he is unswervingly loyal to you.’ He snorted a laugh, ‘You pay him enough for it, after all.’
Ӕthelbald glanced at Eanwulf quizzically, and Eanwulf cleared his countenance of any vestige of jealousy, meeting Ӕthelbald’s gaze with equanimity. Ӕthelbald shrugged and swallowed more wine. ‘I feel I must go myself, even if it is only
for a brief visit. I can be there and back in a little over a week, unless you want to accompany me? We could stay longer if you did.’
Eanwulf shook his head and shuddered theatrically, then he moved to Ӕthelbald’s side and removed the goblet from his fingers, placing the King’s hand flat over his heart.
‘Don’t go, Lord,’ he pleaded, allowing the fear he felt for himself to show in his eyes. ‘The journey is hazardous in this weather. And if anything happened to you, I’d die.’
Ӕthelbald’s expression immediately softened, and with a swift glance at the sleeping Ealstan, he lifted his lips to receive Eanwulf’s kiss.
***
Chapter 76
Baldwin sat with his aching back braced against the trunk of a tree. The battle had been long and hard, the Danes brave yet ultimately foolhardy. They had held their shield-wall until King Pepin’s troops had out-flanked them, riding around the left wing of the shield-wall where it was shallower, and beginning to attack the rear. That had confused them, and as they turned to fight the enemy at the rear, their front rank had allowed the shield-wall to break, and the Frankian army had attacked with renewed vigour.
He thought about how attacking from both sides had caused the collapse, filing it away in his mind for when he had troops of his own to command. Every army put their best soldiers in the front rank; the bravest warriors, the cleverest fighters, the strongest swordsmen and axe-bearers. In the middle were the stoics, the ones who would stand their ground and hack away at anything that appeared before them. Not the quickest, or the most imaginative, but the most reliable. But in the rear went the cowards, the ones who had to fight but didn’t want to, the ones that hoped the battle would be won by their comrades in front before any danger arrived to threaten them.
By attacking the bravest at the front, and the most cowardly at the rear, it meant the stoics had to think for themselves; did they fight to their front or their back? That dilemma, making those troops think when they weren’t familiar with the process was what had won the battle for them.
Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex Page 24