The Wild Hunt

CHAPTER 21

LONDON NOVEMBER 1100

Alicia muttered an oath beneath her breath as she inadvertently stabbed herself with the embroidery needle for the third time in as many minutes. Sucking her finger, she bade Agnes light the candles. Then she looked across the brazier towards her daughter who sat with her shoulder pressed into the wall , unseeing eyes on the fading rain-spattered light through the open shutters.

It had not escaped Alicia's notice that her daughter and Guyon were barely on speaking terms these days. Judith behaved as if she loathed the sight of him, would not even let him near enough to lay a hand on her shoulder and refused if possible to make eye contact.

Sometimes when he turned away, she would look at him, her eyes filled with bewilderment. Alicia's only conclusion thus far was that Guyon had consummated the marriage and that Judith had reacted badly, but it did not satisfactorily explain all the other tensions she felt boiling around them.

Judith seemed to feel she had a genuine grievance. Guyon defended himself like a man with his hands tied behind his back, desperately but without effectiveness. Occasionally she had seen temper flash in his eyes and then extinguish, doused by Judith's cold contempt and his own control.

Indeed, since Henry had granted Guyon more lands following his coronation and marriage to the Princess Edith last week, Judith's mood had been vicious and there had been no living with her. Guyon had chosen to remain absent, attending upon Henry in council at Westminster.

Judith, who should have been with him visiting the Queen, had professed a headache and declined to come and now sat shivering on the window seat, staring blankly into the distance.

'Come away to the brazier, love,' entreated Alicia with a worried frown. 'If there's a draught, you'll catch a chill .'

Judith gave a wordless shake of her head.

Alicia carefully set the needle into the fabric, put her sewing down and crossed to the window.

Close to, she saw why Judith had not answered.

Her throat was jerking convulsively as she fought down the sobs that were struggling to tear their way to the surface and in the fading light, tears tracked glistening trails down her cheeks.

Alicia's own eyes prickled with pain at the sight of her daughter's suffering. Filled with worry, she folded Judith in a tender embrace.

The feel of her mother's arms around her, the secure, familiar smell of her, and the outpouring of love and sympathy were too much and Judith yielded to a turbulent storm of grief. Alicia held and rocked her, soothed her with murmured words and reassurances, stroked her hair and, when the first violence had passed, drew her away to a seat near the brazier. She dismissed the hovering, worried Agnes with a brief nod and a request for more charcoal.

'Now then,' she said as the curtain dropped behind the maid. 'What is wrong between you and Guyon? Sweeting, can it not be mended? Is it a matter of pride? Another woman?'

Judith shook her head and blew her nose on the square of linen that was handed to her. 'They would be easily overcome,' she said shakily. 'No, Mama, it is a matter of trust. He looks me in the face and lies. I cannot bear it!'

'Most men lie at one time or another,' Alicia said ruefully. 'Are you sure you are not making a mountain out of a molehill ?'

Judith lowered the linen square to her lap and wrung it into a rope. Her chin wobbled. 'I am sure.

There is something he will not tell me. I have asked and asked him, but he just backs away, walks out of the room if I persist and the stupid thing is, Mama, that if he did tell me, admitted to my face what I already know, I think I would die.'

'Daughter, what do you mean?' Alicia looked at her with increasing anxiety, sensing deeper water than a mere lovers' misunderstanding or jealous quarrel. Judith bent her head and began to cry again and shiver. Through the tears, muffled, a little incoherent and punctuated by long hesitation, Alicia received the tale and her own stare became as desolate as her daughter's. She put her hand to her mouth, feeling not just queasy but dreadfully sick.

'Mama, what am I going to do?' Judith wept brokenly.

Alicia stood up and moved stiffly to the flagon. It was almost empty but she splashed dregs into a cup and, ignoring the sediment, gulped it down.

'Your husband is innocent,' she said abruptly. 'The guilt is all mine. Lay the blame at my door, child, not his.'

Judith turned her head and stared at her mother in bewilderment.

'Yes, you do have a right to know, but not from your husband's stumbled-upon knowledge.'

Assailed by shock and dizziness, she reached for and grabbed the back of the bench chair. She had not believed in her wildest nightmare that it would come like this, so suddenly without time to prepare. What was she going to say? Mary, mother of God.

'Judith ...' She swallowed hard, lifted her chin and forced out the words as if they were scalding her tongue. '... Judith, Maurice de Montgomery was not your father ... I should have told you long since, but it was never the time ... And now I fear it is too late.'

Judith stared at her struggling mother, as if she had suddenly grown two heads.

Alicia put her hand to her breast. 'I know it is difficult for you to understand, but if Maurice had ever found out--'

'Then who is?' Judith interrupted.

'Judith, I ...' Alicia extended her hand in a pleading gesture.

Judith leaped to her feet, ignoring it. 'Who, Mama?' she demanded again.

Alicia made a small , frightened gesture. 'Henry ... Prince Henry ... the King.'

'That's not possible. He is only Guy's age now!' Judith stared at her mother, appalled and disbelieving.

'Even at fourteen he was no novice to the game,' Alicia answered wearily. 'He knew more than a woman twelve years wed.' Of necessity, she held Judith's gaze, but the feelings of guilt were almost more than she could bear, and her daughter's anguished look seared her heart.

'Why, Mama, why?'

Alicia gripped the bench until her knuckles whitened.

'Why?' Judith repeated, and dashed her sleeve across her eyes.

'Maurice blamed me for being barren. Every month when I bled he would beat me and the times in between he used me as if we were dog and bitch ... and for nothing. Maurice had more sluts and casual whores than I can recall , but not one of them quickened. He was unable to beget children.' Her mouth twisted. 'Prince Henry came visiting on a hunting trip. Maurice was away. I had the fading remains of a black eye and bruises on my arms and his latest whore was flouting my authority in the hall . It did not matter that Henry was so young. I was so sick of Maurice that I'd have lain down for a leprous beggar in order to get myself with child and shut his filthy mouth. We had a night and a morning and you were conceived. For a time things were better. He did not beat or abuse me lest I miscarried, but after you were born, a daughter, matters went from bad to worse. He expected me to conceive again and when I did not the beatings increased apace.'

Judith's voice cracked. 'Mama, why didn't you tell me before?'

'I meant to, truly I did, but the time was never right and I knew how much you hated Maurice. At least when he beat you, you thought he had the right. I was afraid what you would reveal to him if he drove you too far.'

'And Guyon knows the truth of my begetting?'

'Not all of it,' Alicia watched her daughter anxiously.

Judith's expression was now unreadable, but her hands were clenched at her sides and much as Alicia desired to cross the gulf and embrace her, the fear of rebuff was greater and held her rooted to the spot. 'Probably he has Henry's version of the event ... I was not even sure until you spoke that Henry knew of your existence.'

'There have been remarks passed in court concerning my likeness to Arlette of Falais,' Judith said flatly as the control to understand warred with the need to strike out. Her marriage had been ripped apart by this murky secret from the past - her mother's past. She remembered the accusations she had flung at Guyon in her pain, and how he had absorbed them, swearing his innocence, but unable to give her the facts.

And now it might be too late to set matters to rights. The pain was physical. 'Mama ...' She stopped and looked round as Cadi trotted into the room and shook herself, spraying water from her close white coat. Guyon followed her, diamonds of rain winking on his fur-lined cloak.

His hair had begun to curl at the edges. He was clutching a roll of parchment in one hand and his expression was at first blank, then wary as he looked at the two women and sensed the tension.

Alicia gave a soft gasp and her knees buckled.

Guyon did not quite reach her in time and her head struck the sharp side of the brazier as she fell . Judith was rooted to the spot, unable to move, all her being still caught up in shock. Guyon bent over Alicia and felt for the pulse in her throat.

It beat there steadily enough - in rhythm with the blood welling through her dark hair. He swore and propped her senseless form against him and pressed the cuff of his tunic to the side of her head.

'Judith, for God's love, don't just stand there like a sheep, go and get your medicines - make haste, she's bleeding hard!'

The snarled urgency in his voice jerked her into movement. She snatched up the nearest thing available to help him staunch the flow - her mother's painstakingly worked embroidery - thrust it at him, and sped to find her nostrums.

Grimly, quickly, she worked, ruining her beautiful gown, her commands to him terse and authoritative and he did as she bade him without complaint or demur. At last, finished, she sat back to regard her handiwork. The stitches were not as neat as they might have been, for the light was poor and she had been in a hurry, but it would not matter. Alicia's hair would cover the scar.

Her mother was dazed, but her colour was reasonable, her breathing and heartbeat steady and her pupils responded to the candle flame passed in front of them. Gently, they undressed her to her shift and Guyon carried her to the curtained bed and laid her in it. Together they looked down at her and then at each other, and slowly Judith walked into Guyon's embrace and laid her head against his chest.

'I can see why you kept it from me,' she said in a small voice. 'Guyon, I know it is not enough, but for what it is worth I'm sorry.'

'She told you, then? I was going to speak to her about it, but Henry has kept me too busy for leisure these last few days and, truth to tell , I could not bear the atmosphere in this house for longer than it took to change my clothes.'

'Guy ...'

He studied her capable blood-caked fingers gripping the dark stuff of his tunic. 'Hush, love, we've all made our mistakes, yes, and paid for them.' He grimaced. And perhaps still were paying.

She lifted her eyes to him. 'Do you think that Henry will openly acknowledge me?'

'Christ in heaven, I hope he has more sense!

Mischief prompted him to tell me. He likes to call the tune and watch men dance, but if he officially recognises you as his child, what do you think Robert de Belleme will do? Aside from the insult your mother's adultery would cast on the Montgomery bloodline, there is the matter of your birthright. You hold lands that are not legally yours.

If your uncles ever discovered the truth, we'd have a war on our hands.'

'But they wouldn't ... not with Henry ...'

'De Belleme is backing Robert Curthose for the crown and so are more than half the other barons.

I've letters with me, rough drafts as yet, commanding out the fyrd, the common men of the shires and my own feudal levies. Henry is preparing for war with the ordinary English people as his backbone because he does not know how many of the smiling faces at his table are also smiling at Curthose. If Curthose, with de Belleme at his right hand, carries the day, then God help us!'

Judith shuddered. 'Guy, stop frightening me!'

'Our lives have been a misery these last three months because you thought I had lied,' he said with wry humour.

'I know.' She shivered. 'I do not really mean it. I suppose I would rather be scared to death than so miserable I want to die.'

'So, I am innocent, Cath fach, but what of Henry? Rufus was his own brother.'

'I do not feel as though Henry is my father,' she said slowly after a moment. 'I only know it is so because I have been told and even now my wits are bemused. But I do not believe I care what Henry has plotted. My father ... Lord Maurice I mean, committed crimes equally foul, I am sure.'

'But you cared that I might have done so?'

'That was different.' In the light from the brazier and the candles her complexion deepened to a rosy gold. 'I don't ... love them as I love you.' She half turned away, still fighting it even though the words were spoken. Thorns and roses. You could not have one without risking the wound of the other.

Guyon drew her back against him, within the circle of his arms, raised his hand to smooth her hair and, seeing the blood caked under his fingernails, set it instead on her shoulder and angled his head to kiss her tenderly. 'Then we have everything, and the rest does not matter.'

Which was not entirely true, but appropriate to his thoughts at the time.

'My lady, I've brought some fresh char--' Agnes paused on the threshold, basket clutched to her ample bosom and stared goggle-eyed at Guyon and Judith as they turned to face her. Judith's gown was blotched and spoiled by blood, Guyon's cloak less obviously so, but nonetheless smirched, and, behind them, Alicia's form lay still on the bed, gleaming in the white shroud of her shift.

Guyon, more knowledgeable by now, moved with the necessary speed to catch her and after the staggering weakness of sudden shock Agnes rallied and sat down to mop her wide pink brow on her sleeve while Guyon explained what had happened.

'Shall I fill a tub, my lady?' Almost recovered, Agnes wall owed to her feet and went to fuss over her sleeping mistress.

Judith sighed with obvious regret. 'No, Agnes. She needs rest and quiet and all the fuss of organising a bath would make too much noise. Tomorrow, perhaps. A good wash will suffice.'

'How long before your mother rouses, do you think?' Guyon asked.

'I don't know. Her colour is good, but she is deeply asleep and she will need watching.'

'Agnes is competent to do that? And Helgund?'

'Yes, but ...'

'Good. Then put on your cloak.'

'But Guy, I can't go out like this and - oh!' She broke off to catch the garment as he threw it at her.

'Find something else to wear and bring it with you.'

She stared at him, or rather at his back, for he had turned away to rummage in his own clothing chest for a decent tunic. 'Guy, where are we going?'

'Wait and see. I've told you before about looking gift horses in the mouth.' He swung around and pinning his own cloak, advanced upon her.

'Guy?'

'Trust me?' His expression was a mingling of laughter and tension. 'Trust me, Judith?' He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, or as close as the bunched cloak trapped between them would allow, and kissed her in a fashion that sent Agnes bustling to a far corner of the room on the pretext of some overlooked task.

'I don't know if I should,' Judith said, tilting her head. 'What awaits me if I do?'

'A fate worse than death?' he suggested, draping the cloak around her shoulders and fastening the pin.

She felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach.

Her lips curved and then parted in a full smile; her eyes danced. She would think about everything later. This moment belonged to her and Guyon.

'Show me,' she said, a catch in her voice. 'I want to know.'

Judith was sitting beside Alicia when she woke, her fingers nimbly weaving a needle in and out of a tunic she was stitching for Guyon, her manner one of demure domesticity. She had never been inside a Southwark bathhouse before, indeed had almost refused when she discovered their destination, but Guyon, grinning, had dragged her protesting through the doorway and the rest had been too interesting for her to want to leave.

Mention a Southwark bathhouse and most people would raise their eyebrows and utter knowing laughs, or purse their lips and shake their heads. Many of the stews warranted such censure, but Guyon's particular choice, which she suspected came of long acquaintance, appeared to cater for those with the wealth to buy privacy and discretion. She had seen several people she knew from the court, two of them alone, another in the company of a very pretty girl who was most certainly not his wife.

She and Guyon had soaked themselves clean and warm in a spacious tub and had drunk effervescent wine - not in any great quantity. They had played floating tables - and other less intellectual games, the kind associated with the Southwark stews and knowing laughs and pursed lips, and lent an added spice because of that.

She stifled a giggle and bit off the thread, and became aware that Alicia was watching her.

'Mama?' For an instant Judith was startled, but she recovered quickly and leaned forward. 'How are you feeling?'

'As if my brains have been squashed,' Alicia said faintly and put up her hand to touch her bandage-swathed head. 'What happened?'

'You fainted and cut your head on the brazier as you fell .'

From the other room, muffled by the heavy curtain, came the reassuring sound of male voices in conversation. Alicia strove to sit up, then desisted with a gasp of pain.

Judith pressed her gently back down. 'I had to stitch the wound and quickly,' she apologised. 'It is not my neatest piece of work.'

Frowning with pain and concentration, Alicia studied her daughter. Her rich gown had been replaced by a neat, serviceable homespun. The tawny hair was woven into a simple thick braid and looked almost as if it were damp.

'Judith, how long have I been asleep?'

She placed a cool hand upon her mother's forehead. 'Not long, do not fret yourself.'

'I seem to recall that I have cause to fret.'

Judith shook her head in wordless denial.

Alicia moistened her lips and groped towards what she wanted to say. 'I would have told you, truly I would. I believed in my innocence that Henry would want to do the same. I never thought that ... is he using it to leash Guyon to his cause?'

Judith looked over her shoulder at the curtain.

'Guy is no tame dog to trot to heel, unless it be his wish.' She smiled towards the sound of his voice, while a conflict of pride and anxiety churned within her.

Her mother's voice was small and timid. 'You do not hate me, then?'

'Hate you?' Judith was astonished. 'Mama, of course not!'

Alicia's mouth trembled. Judith leaned over and hugged her mother. Shakily Alicia returned the embrace and then, drained, fell back against the pillow, nauseous with pain but feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from her soul. 'I thought you might. Or else be disgusted. Jesu knows, I have felt those things for myself many times over.'

Judith squeezed Alicia's hand. 'Mama, let it rest. It has caused enough grief. You had your reasons. I think when I have had the time, I will understand them.'

'Is all well between you and Guyon now?'

Anxiety flooded back into Alicia's eyes.

The dim light masked Judith's blush. 'Yes, Mama,' she said, voice choked with laughter. Her mother might have cuckolded her husband with a fourteen-year-old youth, but she would be horrified if she knew where her daughter had just been.

Alicia looked doubtful. 'Are you sure?'

'Very sure, Mama.' Judith gave her mother a dazzling smile in which there remained a hint of secret laughter. 'Miles has been twitching about outside like a cat with a severe dose of fleas. I'll send him in.' And without waiting for Alicia's yea-say, she went to the curtain.