I herewith ascribe the decision of His Holiness Pope Nicholas, first of that name, that the marriage between your eldest child Judith, Princess of Frankia and former Queen of Wessex and the nobleman known as Baldwin, son of Count D’Audacer is wondrous in our eyes and those of Our Lord, a Holy union of matrimony between a man and a woman, performed by a sanctified and affirmed priest of our Holy Mother Church and completely legal, binding and never to be put asunder.
His Holiness therefore directs you to offer them every welcome and comfort of your family, and thinks you should see fit to ennoble your son in law in order that your daughter might live in the estate to which she has been accustomed, and the fruit of her womb shall inherit lands and titles commensurate with their mother being a Princess of your great land.
Signed by His Holiness Pope Nicholas,
Anno Domini 862
***
Prince Charles tossed the letter disgustedly onto his father’s desk and snorted his displeasure. The King’s brows rose, inviting his son’s opinion.
‘We could destroy the letter, Father. We could say that the messenger never arrived, that as far as we are aware, they have been excommunicated and therefore at our mercy.’ The Prince’s tone became gleeful at the thought of holding the fate of his sister and her husband at his whim.
The King picked up the scroll of parchment once more, tilting it to the light and scrutinising the seals and ribbons which dripped from the bottom. He turned his gaze to his son, the young man sitting on a seat with his leg dangling negligently over the arm as he sipped a cup of wine.
‘This is a directive from the Holy Father himself, Charles.’ The King shrugged and replaced the letter with a shake of his head. ‘Not something to destroy simply because it doesn’t say what we hoped it might.’
The Prince gave a derisive snort and regarded his father curiously. Not for the first time, the King seemed to be changing his mind, accommodating the wishes of the Pope into his strategy. Charles wished that his father would take his advice, rely on his ideas when forming plans for the kingdom, instead of listening to Louis’ idiotic stammerings or the ponderous opinions of Count Audacer. Who, with a traitor for a son, obviously wasn’t to be trusted either. He tried to bring his father round to his original idea.
‘But you wanted her to take the veil, Father. As daughters of our family are supposed to do. Not breed like the low-born subject she has married.’ Charles’ voice was contemptuous as he studied the contents of his wine cup. He didn’t want his father to see the calculating light in his eyes and become suspicious of his motives.
‘Nevertheless,’ the King began, and Charles’ heart sank as he prepared to hear yet another justification from his father, ‘Judith is married, and she has a son. His Holiness has decreed that she and her husband and child must be welcomed back into our family.’ The King sighed and Charles smothered a grin at the resignation in his father’s tone. He knew the King couldn’t possibly be happy with this turn of events, and he resolved to do something about them himself. Demonstrate to his sovereign that he was able to be decisive and perhaps rule his own part of the kingdom. He dragged his mind back to his father’s voice.
‘When they return, I shall have them married by Archbishop Hincmar, so that no-one can say their union was not properly consecrated and celebrated.’
‘And the ennoblement?’ Charles knew his voice was tight, and he struggled to keep the resentment from showing on his face. He reached across and grasped the flagon of wine from the table, pouring himself a generous measure in order to avoid his father’s gaze.
‘I shall offer Baldwin the Margrave of Flanders.’ Charles clenched his jaw at the echo of enthusiasm he heard in his father’s tone. Why should he sound so enthusiastic, slicing off a portion of land for an outsider to rule, when he could leave it to one of his legitimate sons?
‘It will make your sister a Countess, her children will have a title and land to inherit, and Baldwin can keep our northern borders safe from invasion by the Danes.’ The King warmed to his theme and poured himself a goblet of wine. Charles almost thought his father had forgotten he was there, as the King spoke as if thinking aloud. ‘The pagans have been troublesome of late, but if Baldwin’s land lies between our beloved Frankia and those damned savages of Rorik’s, so much the better.’
‘You mean you hope he is killed fighting to keep Danes from his land.’ Charles phrased it as a statement rather than a question, and the directness of his words seemed to jolt his father into wakefulness. The King clicked his tongue in admonishment.
‘I wouldn’t ever say such a thing, my son. That would be against God’s teaching, to hope for another’s death. He is our daughter’s husband, father of her child. And frankly, an excellent warrior. Having him there will be useful, without a doubt.’
Charles heard the commitment in his father’s voice and knew that his argument was lost. Nevertheless, he had to try just once more before he put his own scheme into practice. Give his father one more chance to realise he was the one the kingdom should rely on to protect them from King Rorik’s marauding hordes.
‘I could hold that border for you, Father. Along with my own troops and those of my Uncle Pepin, we could protect that border without needing any help from outsiders.’
His father’s indulgent chuckle told him he had lost the argument. That the King still thought him a child, not a soldier prince with his own war-band. That years of being knocked flat on his back by Gaston’s troops over and over during training hadn’t taught him that sometimes you had to get by stealth what others got by more overt means. He would win in the end. He always did.
The King gave him what Charles interpreted as a pitying smile. ‘You are not as seasoned a warrior as Baldwin, my son. You could do well to learn from him.’
Charles angrily leaped to his feet and strode across the room, snatching open the door.
‘I am a Prince of Frankia, Father. I need learn nothing from him.’
***
Chapter 129
Judith felt the earth vibrate beneath the carriage wheels. It wasn’t just the motion of the carriage that shook; something else was coming. The wheels began to slow, and Judith handed her sleeping son to Alys as Ghislaine pulled aside the oiled linen curtain and thrust her head through the window.
‘Ralf, what is happening?’ Judith heard the girl shriek at her brother, then the clatter of hoofs as Ralf rode towards the carriage.
‘A war-band approaches us, but they display no pennants. Lord Baldwin says Adal will take you yonder, Princess, to the barn in that field.’
Judith looked out of her own window, following the direction of Ralf’s arm. Nestled against the hedge that served as the boundary to the field was a stout barn, its walls made of well-hewn logs and the thatched roof in good repair. Baldwin trotted into her field of vision and she smiled up at him, lofty on his mount.
‘Do you know who it is?’ Judith’s dark eyes were huge in her face. They were over the frontier and back in Frankia, and she had thought far from the beleaguered border near the Danes. They were traversing her Uncle Pepin’s domain and she wondered who would attack them here.
‘It’s not the Danes, of that I am certain. The shields are the wrong shape for Danes. Let Adal take you to the barn, my love. I need to retrieve our own breast-plates and shields from the last cart. I don’t know yet if they will attack, but I would not be unprepared.’
Judith nodded silently as Baldwin rode on towards the rear of the train of carts. She felt the reassurance of her dagger at her belt, then the motion of the carriage as it turned off the stone-paved Roman road onto the rough cart-track. The change of direction disturbed the baby and he began to fuss, letting out a wail as the carriage rocked and tilted over the rough terrain
.
‘Pass him to me, Alys.’ Judith began to unlace the front of her bodice. ‘I’ll feed him when we stop, and it will settle him.’ The babe nuzzled into her breast, rooting for her nipple, and Alys swathed a cloak around her shoulders so she wouldn’t be exposed to the guards as they disembarked the carriage.
Elin got out first, and helped Judith negotiate the step while Alys and Ghislaine held the cloak in place, then all four women passed from the bright daylight into the gloom of the barn. Judith went into a stall, and was helped to sit down on a rough wooden bench without disturbing her child, sucking in satisfaction with closed eyes and milky lips.
The sound of boots crunching the dry stalks of hay on the floor of the barn heralded Baldwin, and Judith lifted her eyes from her son to await her husband’s appearance in her field of vision. Behind her she heard the scandalised voice of Sigram, standing sentry just inside the door.
‘Lord, the Princess is suckling the babe.’
Judith smiled broadly as a laugh boomed from Baldwin’s throat. ‘And you think I have not seen her do that before, Sigram? Let me pass, lad.’
Baldwin came round the side of the stall clad in his leather armour but clasping his sword-belt and helm in his hand. He placed them on a bale of hay and then joined Judith on the bench to watch his son. Judith’s ladies moved silently away to the other side of the barn, and Judith made herself comfortable braced against Baldwin’s chest.
‘What is happening, Baldwin? Do I need to worry?’ As the babe suckled, she leaned her head back and gazed up into Baldwin’s determined face.
‘Don’t worry quite yet, my love. I am sending Adal under a white pennant to speak with them. And I am sending Gozfrid to listen.’
Judith thought for a moment. ‘Why Adal?’
Baldwin chuckled deep in his chest, and Judith felt the comforting sensation through her spine, prickling down to her toes. The child released her nipple and began to fuss, so she moved him to the other side, where he clamped his lips around her skin and began sucking loudly again. Judith heard her husband gasp and shift his position slightly, but she ignored it and looked up for his reply to her question.
‘Because Adal can speak to whoever it is in Latin, my love. And Gozfrid can listen in French. They will both be in plain armour, and keep the cheek pieces closed so they will be undetected.’ His voice was grim, and she knew there was something he wasn’t telling her.
‘And do you know who it is, and what they want?’
‘I have a suspicion as to who it might be. As for what they want, we will wait for Gozfrid. But I feel they look for a weakness in me, my sweetest love. And my weakness is you.’
‘Then do not fear, Baldwin. I have my dagger, and I will defend our son.’
Judith felt him tighten his arm around her and drop a kiss on her forehead, and she relaxed into his embrace as the baby’s suckling and noisy grunts of satisfaction echoed around the barn.
***
Chapter 130
Ralf stepped into the gloom of the cowshed, his head bowed as he buckled on his breastplate. He had strapped his helm to his saddle, and his long sword was on his hip, but he wanted a quiet word with Elin before they set off to….whatever was waiting at the top of the hill, he supposed.
Glancing around the barn, he saw the dark hair of Baldwin in one of the stalls, his head tipped downwards, and he assumed the Princess was in there with him. Looking towards the other side, he saw the lightness of Elin’s veil gleaming in the dim glow from the window-slits, and he observed that she was seated with Ghislaine, holding his sister’s hand comfortingly in her own.
He strode towards them, and Elin looked up with a slight smile. ‘Mon signeur,’ she whispered, and he sat beside her with a flick of his eyes towards Ghislaine.
‘Mon amour,’ he murmured, lifting one of her hands from on top of his sister’s and threading his fingers between hers.
‘Say what you want to her, Ralf. I swear I shan’t listen.’ Ghislaine’s voice was loud in the empty barn, the only other sound being the noisy grunting of Baldwin’s son as he fed. Ralf’s lips twitched at the unsubtlety that was Ghislaine, but he wanted to speak to Elin before he rode out, and he no longer cared if they had an audience. He raised her fingers to his lips.
‘Mon amour. My love. You know I mean that, don’t you?’ He brushed her hand again with his mouth, and he felt her lean into his shoulder and nod, an imperceptible movement of her veil.
‘So I would ask you now, my love, despite the fact that I know not what awaits us when we leave the shelter of this shed, to be my wife. To live with me and be mine alone, wherever our home might be, for as long as we live.’
Ralf waited, holding Elin’s hand tightly, for her to speak. The moment lengthened and just when he thought she would not answer, that he had misjudged their relationship and that all the stolen moments and flirtatious smiles and jests between them meant nothing, he heard the slightest of noises from her bent head.
‘Oui, mon amour.’
‘She just said yes, Ralf. She can’t say it any louder because she’s crying and her nose is all snotty and she can’t reach her kerchief because you’ve got hold of her hand. But she said yes.’ Ghislaine’s voice was excited and Ralf felt a slight movement, although Elin still didn’t look up, shielding her face from his gaze with her wispy veil.
‘Here, use mine.’ Ghislaine thrust her kerchief beneath Elin’s nose, and after a few sniffs, Elin raised her pale green eyes, awash with what he hoped were happy tears, and she nodded with a smile.
‘Oui, mon amour. I am yours alone. And I will live with you wherever we are.’ Elin’s voice was a whispered breath, but he felt the pressure of her hand within his increase in strength as she clasped his fingers.
‘Well, that’s a relief, I must say,’ declared Ghislaine tartly. ‘And Alys is out there somewhere, shamelessly spooning with Sigram of all people. Which leaves me!’ Ralf heard the disgruntlement in his sister’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it. He knew about her infatuation with Gozfrid, and he also knew Gozfrid was very fond of her. If that fondness were to develop, he wouldn’t object, but for now his concern had been for himself and Elin.
They still had to face whatever waited for them on the hill, which might decide all their fates.
***
Baldwin rested his head on the wall of the bier, watching the dust-motes from the scattered straw float in the air. He had unfastened one side of his breastplate so Judith could brace her back against his chest as she fed the babe. The warmth and weight of them comforted him as he thought about what was to come, and he glanced down at the delightful sight of Judith’s engorged breast as his son suckled and grunted in the quiet barn. As he pulled his sword-belt nearer, in preparation for re-fastening his armour and buckling on his belt, something glinting in the padded woollen throat of the scabbard caught his attention, and he carefully unclasped it.
‘My love, I have something for you,’ he whispered into Judith’s hair, and she turned her face with a smile.
‘What is it?’ she asked softly, not wanting the sound of her voice to disturb their son.
‘A brooch. It was part of some booty I took while you were in Wessex, and I pinned it to my scabbard to keep it safe. But the last time I wore my sword like this was when we were riding to Lorraine, and you were so…’
‘Angry, Baldwin. I was angry, and frightened, and angry with myself for being frightened.’ He knew by the tone of her voice that she was angry no longer, and he held the brooch so she could see it.
‘No matter, my love. I forgot about it, but now I would like to give it to you.’ He dropped another kiss on her hair, and heard her gasp in pleasure as she touched the intricately wrought
silver with a tentative finger.
‘Swans, Baldwin. It’s beautiful. How did you know I loved swans?’
Baldwin gave a low chuckle, trying to keep quiet so the child would finish his feed. ‘I thought it beautiful too, my love. And wanted to give it to a beautiful woman. But I had no idea the birds were swans.’
He watched her shake her head at his ignorance, grasping the brooch in the palm of her hand as she pressed the pale flesh of her breast away from their son’s tiny nose. She settled back against his chest with a satisfied sigh, and he stroked her hair for a moment, deep in thought.
He knew Ralf had come in and was speaking to his sister on the other side; he couldn’t hear their words, just the rise and fall of conversation. After whatever the day held for them all, he hoped they would be able to return to see his father and find somewhere to settle down. Perhaps Ralf would finally marry Elin and have a family of his own.
But first, he had to face his own wife’s family. Outside the barn Baldwin heard the clatter of hoofs and Gozfrid’s voice calling out.
‘Win! Win!’
With a reluctant sigh, his few moments of peace at an end, Baldwin dropped a kiss on Judith’s forehead and extricated himself from behind her, pulling the ties of his shirt closed and fastening his breastplate as he left her and walked around the side of the stall to greet his friend.
‘What is it, Goz?’ He observed the agitation in Gozfrid’s demeanour, the uncharacteristic tightness around his eyes and mouth that didn’t offer much reassurance.
‘You were right, Win. It is her brother.’ Gozfrid stepped up to Baldwin’s shoulder, lowering his voice so the others in the barn couldn’t hear their conversation. ‘He had an unadorned helmet, but the idiot hasn’t had the sense to change his breastplate. It has his insignia in gold on the front.’ Gozfrid shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Such arrogance,’ he whispered.
Judith, Twice Queen of Wessex Page 42