Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex

by Lesley Jepson

  ‘No longer ‘Prince’, I’m afraid. Not even ‘Lord’. Simply ‘Brother’. But soon to be ‘Eminence’.’ Lothaire grinned at Ghislaine, ‘And you are?’

  ‘Ghislaine, Brother Lothaire.’ She snorted a chuckle, ‘Lady to the Princess, from her time in Wessex. My brother, my real brother Ralf, is her oath-man and protector.’ Ghislaine beamed at him and popped another juicy grape into her mouth.

  ‘It is an honour, Ghislaine.’ Lothaire bowed in his seat, and then turned smiling eyes to Judith, who was regarding him worriedly.

  ‘Are you happy, Lothaire?’ She clasped his hand, absently thinking how small her hands still were compared with Lothaire’s, even though he was so much younger than she. She felt him return her grip, and then he shrugged.

  ‘Well, as happy as anyone can be in a monastery, I suppose. And a few of the brothers are……sometimes…. kind.’ He sipped again at his wine, and Judith felt that he was avoiding answering her question fully. ‘I miss my family, of course, but I had missed you for a long time anyway, Sis.’ Lothaire looked up into her face. ‘Why are you here, when you should be ensconced with Lotha, awaiting the birth of your child?’

  Judith gazed down at her belly, shrouded by her mantle but still prominent. She felt the babe move slightly, as if it knew the attention had turned to it, and she smiled wryly.

  ‘Baldwin has gone to petition His Holiness. Father has asked Pope Nicholas to confirm Archbishop Hincmar’s excommunication of us, but Baldwin wants the Pope to give his blessing to our union so Father can’t force us apart.’ She smoothed the fabric over her belly, rubbing softly where the most enthusiastic kicks could be felt.

  ‘You are definitely married, sister? By a priest?’ Lothaire looked at her for confirmation and she nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Oh yes! Baldwin rescued me from imprisonment in the convent and we were married on the spot.’ She raised her shoulders in pleasure at remembrance. ‘Now he wants Pope Nicholas to approve and lift the edict, so he awaits an audience.’ Judith sighed in frustration and spread her hands. ‘He goes every day, but there are always so many other supplicants wanting to be heard.’

  Lothaire was silent for a moment, pulling grapes from a stalk he chose from the basket, until Judith wondered if he was going to offer any comment.

  ‘I shall enquire about getting him a private audience, Judith. And having a Papal Bull signed to tell Father to mind his own business.’ Lothaire grinned at her and chewed another grape.

  ‘Can you do that?’ Judith was surprised at the confidence in her brother’s tone, thinking how much he had changed in the years they had been apart. Lothaire shrugged and slid his eyes away from her gaze, selecting more fruit from the basket.

  ‘His Holiness likes me. And I want to help you, for all the times you saved me from the madness that was our brother Charles.’ Lothaire popped another grape in his mouth with a snort of derision. ‘Besides, helping you will annoy both Father and Charles, so it will be a double revenge, of sorts.’

  Judith regarded her brother doubtfully, seeing the troubled depths in his eyes. ‘For what do you need vengeance, Lothaire?’

  His face darkened, and she could see he was remembering things that had happened since she had left for Wessex. Her heart ached for what her gentle brother had suffered without her knowledge.

  ‘Many things, sister.’ Lothaire shot her a hard look. ‘Not least the way Father threw me away as soon as he could. “Giving me to God” he called it.’

  The youth gave a snort, ‘The man is a master of self-deception, and he taught me that lesson well.’ Lothaire toasted the empty air with his wine cup and took another swallow.

  ‘Thanks to our father and brother, I know exactly how to deceive, how to dissemble, how to appear other than I am, depending on the wants and needs of my audience.’ He uttered a grim laugh. ‘And as I said, the Pope likes me!’ Lothaire scrutinised Judith with an assessing look.

  ‘Do you have a blue silk gown? And a smaller coronet? Something in silver with fewer jewels? I will arrange an audience for you and Baldwin. Pope Nicholas is an old man, sister, but he is very fond of ‘the family’ as an iconic concept.’ He yelped a sardonic laugh and shook his head at her, and Judith felt confused by the cynicism of his words as he tipped his cup in another toast to her.

  ‘And you, with your belly high and in a modest blue silk gown, will put him in mind of Our Lady. Cover your hair, but not too much, for he will want to see it.’ Lothaire pursed his lips and fell silent, draining his wine cup in a single swallow.

  ‘How do you know all this, Lothaire?’ Judith had begun to feel uncomfortable as she listened to his words, but she couldn’t exactly explain why.

  ‘I told you. The Pope likes me.’ Lothaire’s mouth turned up at one corner, and he sighed, squeezing Judith’s hands in her lap. ‘He enjoys feeling sorry for me, and it benefits me to allow it. I am not the little boy you remember, Judith. I have lived away from our family for many years, and I have learned well the art of appearance and manipulation.’

  He kissed her knuckles and then stood, bowing his head slightly at Ghislaine, Elin and Alys.

  ‘Don’t disturb yourself to arise, sister. I must go, but tell Baldwin I will meet you both in the public presence chamber tomorrow at ten of the clock.’ He grinned and then winked at her before turning and walking away. Judith couldn’t help but wonder why he seemed to limp less than he had, and she made a mental note to ask him the next time they met. She turned her gaze to Ghislaine, busily peeling an orange.

  ‘What have I here in blue, Ghislaine?’

  The girl put a segment of orange on her tongue and bit down delightedly, eyes rolling as the sweet juice filled her mouth. Judith could see the thoughts flitting through the girl’s mind as if they were written on her forehead.

  ‘You have the blue velvet that’s too heavy to wear in this heat, Princess.’ She ticked off on sticky fingers. ‘The dark blue mourning gown that you hate, but it wouldn’t fit you now anyway.’ Ghislaine tipped her head to Judith’s belly. ‘And that awful blue brocade that’s too scratchy to wear.’ She thought for a moment more, furrowing her brow, than smiling brightly. ‘You have that old pale blue silk with the ruffles and the matching surcoat.’

  ‘Won’t that be a little on the small side? I doubt it will fit over my belly.’ Judith rubbed the swollen base of her stomach as the child became more vigorous.

  Ghislaine finished her orange and wiped her hands on a scrap of linen, raising an eyebrow at Judith.

  ‘You haven’t got a great deal taller, Princess, so the length should be adequate. If we slit the gown up the seams, we could put some gold lacing along the sides to give you some room. Then you could wear one of your bigger silk shifts beneath.’ Ghislaine thought for a moment. ‘That one with the white embroidery would be best, as it is fuller than the others and the silk is heavier. If you wear your sapphire and pearl girdle above your belly, the surcoat will cover any gaps there might be, but you still won’t get too hot.’ She grinned at Judith triumphantly, showing how pleased at herself she was to be able to recite Judith’s wardrobe without a second thought.

  ‘I shall be entering a church, Ghislaine, so I will need a small silver filet and veil for my hair. I don’t want to wear my coronet to meet His Holiness. I want to look ……modest.’

  Ghislaine’s brows rose at Judith’s choice of word, but she tipped her head towards her brother’s beloved and shrugged, selecting another grape. ‘Borrow one of Elin’s, Princess. Ralf likes her to look……modest too,’ Ghislaine’s lips twitched mischievously and Judith heard Elin suck in an indignant breath, ‘and she has so many. None of them will be too heavy, I’m sure.’

  ***

  Chapter 121

  Ralf l
ay on the grass and listened to the fountains playing in the courtyard. In addition to the huge circular pond, which contained coloured fish darting in and out of fronds of greenery, there was a water spout against one of the golden walls of the garden where the mouth of a satyr sprayed water into another stone pool.

  He was hot. He and Gozfrid had led the exercises for the troops, while Baldwin had escorted the Princess to their audience with the Pontiff. His instructions had been to take the soldiers through some sword-wielding practice for an hour, and then allow the men some time for themselves. This respite had been welcomed with grins and a ripple of cheers, the warriors making an extra effort before their well-deserved break.

  So now Ralf lay on the grass, his leather jerkin cast off and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up in the heat. Gozfrid was similarly clad at his side and Adal was seated on one of the shady stone benches, eating fruit and pouring them a cup of ale.

  ‘So what happens now?’ Ralf opened one eye and peeked at Gozfrid, who had his arm over his eyes to shield them from the bright light of the sun. Gozfrid grunted and shrugged.

  ‘We wait until Win gets to see the Pope, I suppose. Then perhaps we can go home.’ Gozfrid’s voice was a sleepy drawl.

  ‘Home being back to King Charles’ court?’

  ‘Mmm. Defending the realm for the King.’ Ralf could hear the note of sarcasm in Gozfrid’s words, but was unsure which part of the statement deserved mockery.

  ‘Will the Danes attack again, do you think?’

  ‘Aye, lad.’ Adal’s gravelly voice travelled across the courtyard. ‘I’ve been listening to the troops, and them as was in Lorraine. They say once the sons of Ragnar are old enough, they will attack again.’

  Gozfrid let out a pained groan, and Ralf turned his head swiftly. ‘Sons of Ragnar?’

  ‘Ragnar attacked Paris years ago, and it was then I lost my parents.’ Gozfrid sighed, and Ralf wondered if the recalling of his parents grieved the young warrior. ‘My father died in the battle and my mother miscarried with the shock and it killed her.’ Gozfrid paused for a long moment and Ralf began to think he wouldn’t continue. Then the young man took another breath.

  ‘I was very young, and that was when the Count took me into his family. The King was newly married and he paid the Danes to retreat. It cost him a fortune, and the respect of both his brothers.’ The derisive note had come back into his voice.

  ‘Which would explain why he needed the treaty with Wessex, I’d hazard.’ Ralf spoke his thoughts aloud, keeping his eyes closed against the glare of the sun. The heat was rising and he could hear the buzz of small insects as they busily investigated the bright flowerbeds.

  ‘Mmm. And so the Danes turned their attention to your land.’

  ‘And the King of Northumbria had Ragnar killed, they say.’ Adal’s voice was resigned.

  ‘But Ragnar had sons.’ Gozfrid’s voice was firm and hard. ‘Many sons, who will lead their own war-bands into Frankia, and perhaps over the sea to Wessex.’

  ‘So we will see battle again, do you think?’ Ralf had no concern about Wessex any longer; everyone he loved was here with him.

  ‘Sooner, rather than later, my friend. So if you do make a home, don’t get too attached to it, as it could be snatched away by the Danes.’ Gozfrid’s cautionary tone was flippant, but Ralf recognised it as a warning, just the same.

  ‘I shall fight anyone who threatens the safety of my family, Gozfrid. The Princess, my sister, my wife. I will defend them to the death, if necessary.’

  ‘Aye, lad. So shall we all. And ‘wife’ is it? You’re going to put us all out of our misery and ask her?’ chuckled Adal, nose buried in his pewter mug, and Ralf shot him a look. Adal beamed at him unconcernedly over the rim of his cup.

  ‘I wanted to be settled, Adal. I have nothing to offer her yet.’

  ‘You have yourself, lad. That’s all she wants, really. That’s all any of them want; a man who will love only them for however long they live.’

  Gozfrid let out another groan at the older man’s words and jumped to his feet. ‘I’m going indoors out of this heat. You’ll find me in the bathing room if you want me.’ He strode away and Ralf rolled over on the grass, getting to his feet.

  ‘That sounds tempting, Adal. Care to join us?’

  Adal shrugged his shoulders. ‘Getting too hot out here for me in any case. I might not be able to swim, but I can sit in the water and cool off.’ The man levered himself to his feet and clapped Ralf on the shoulder with his good hand.

  ‘Ask her, lad. You’ll regret it if you don’t. It’s always later than we think.’

  ***

  ‘They’re still out there, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.’ Ghislaine leaned over the stone wall of the loggia and gazed at the grassy space in the courtyard. She could see her brother and Gozfrid lying in their shirts on the grass, and Adal with his back braced against the wall, quaffing ale from a pewter mug.

  ‘Then come back here, where it’s cooler,’ invited Elin, raising her eyes from her stitching.

  ‘But I want to know what they’re saying,’ persisted Ghislaine. ‘Do you think they’re talking about us?’ She shot a look at Elin. ‘Has he asked you yet?’

  Elin blinked at the young girl in confusion, and Ghislaine saw her flush and shake her head.

  ‘He will soon, I’m sure. Perhaps when we get back to Lorraine.’ Ghislaine tried her best to give Elin a reassuring smile, but privately she wondered why her brother hadn’t asked Elin to marry him.

  ‘He probably wants to make sure you’ll have somewhere to live,’ Ghislaine spoke her thoughts aloud as Elin concentrated on her needlework. ‘Perhaps your own estate, where you can bring up your own babies, but Ralf can still protect the Princess.’ She sighed, leaning over the wall to try and hear some of the men’s conversation drifting up from below, but she could only hear the rumble of their voices, not their words.

  ‘Even when our parents were alive, we usually lived at court. It would have been nice to have an estate like King Lotha’s. His children get to run around and play properly, and the weather is usually so good. In Wessex it rained often, so living in an apartment in the King’s castle or wherever we were didn’t seem so bad.’ Ghislaine sat back for a moment to allow the blood to leave her head; leaning so far over was making her dizzy so she couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of her own heart.

  ‘Then when Ralf went away, I simply moved to another apartment with the unmarried ladies.’ She filched some grapes from the bowl and began to chew one. ‘But if he gets his own estate, I can live there with you.’ Ghislaine smiled brightly at Elin and received a nod in return.

  ‘Until I marry, of course.’ She turned and gazed down at Gozfrid longingly, revelling in the sight of him stretched out in just his breeches and shirt. ‘Then I might have my own estate.’ Finishing the stalk of fruit, she tried to fling it at her brother on the grass below, but it simply drifted straight down.

  Ghislaine went to get some more grapes. Perhaps if she threw a grape onto the grass, she might hit her brother on the nose. Or Gozfrid! The thought made her giggle to herself as she stepped back onto the loggia. Popping one grape in her mouth, she pulled another from the stalk and leaned over the edge of the balcony to take aim.

  They were gone! Not even Adal was there, although the remains from his jug of ale were on the rim of the fountain. But she had missed her chance. She didn’t know where they were, and it might be hours before she saw them again, perhaps not until the evening meal.

  Disconsolately she dropped into one of the seats on the terrace and ate another grape. A pigeon landed on the edge of the balcony and eyed Ghislaine beadily, thrusting its neck towards her as it cooed loudly and then emptie
d its bowels on the stone.

  Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Ghislaine made it fly away with a well-aimed grape.

  ***

  Chapter 122

  Judith glided across the marble floor towards His Holiness, her fingers gripped in Baldwin’s hand. Her mouth was dry and her stomach churned. The baby felt her nervousness and moved and twisted within her, kicking out with a tiny fist or foot and sometimes making her catch her breath. Baldwin was accommodating his long stride to her slower, more unbalanced gait, and she nervously smiled up at her husband.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself, my love. His Holiness only wants to speak with you to make sure this marriage is to your liking.’ Judith could see Baldwin’s lips twitch behind his beard and she dropped her head slightly, trying to hide her blush behind her borrowed veil. The marriage was very much to her liking, and despite her size, she and Baldwin still enjoyed one another as often as they could. But that was hardly something she could tell His Holiness.

  Pope Nicholas, clothed in shining white brocade, was seated on his dais, surrounded by clergymen garbed in a variety of hues. Brown-clad monks hurried amongst the bishops and cardinals carrying cups of wine and scrolls of parchment. Supplicants lined the room, waiting their turn to be called, rich and poor rubbing shoulders as they filed slowly forward. Some were spoken to by the Pontiff, while others conversed with men clad in blood-red velvet or garbed in vibrant purple; all were hurried away once their business was concluded. There were many people to see, and none were encouraged to linger.

  Judith expected to join the throng, but suddenly Lothaire appeared by her side and took her hand.

  ‘Come, sister. His Holiness is expecting you and has charged me to take you straight to him.’ Lothaire pulled her gently beneath the pillared gallery and then down the side of the gathering of people towards the Papal seat. Judith glanced behind her, reassuring herself that Baldwin followed in their wake. He nodded and grinned at her as she tried to balance her girth against the tug of Lothaire’s hand as he limped quickly down the room.