bold sea-reaver with the blood of the Vikings surging in his veins.
Judith hated crossing the Narrow Sea. The knowledge that all that lay between her and fathoms of drowning green water was a flimsy layer of wood was terrifying. She would not disgrace her blood by showing her anxiety, but within her, that blood ran as cold as the ocean beneath the keel.
She wished that Simon de Senlis had not been assigned a place on the women's vessel. The sight of his stiff gait was a permanent reproach to her conscience, and the way he looked at her with those knowing fox-coloured eyes made her want to shriek at him to go away and leave her alone. She wanted to bury that moment in the stableyard and forget it had ever happened. And she could not do that with the evidence always before her eyes.
Judith was relieved when the boy went to join the steersman and left her line of vision. She made an effort to banish him from her mind by concentrating on the matters uppermost in her mind. England and Waltheof.
Her mother muttered privately and out of the Duchess's hearing that England was occupied by a gluttonous, uncivilised rabble and that given a choice she would rather remain in Normandy. Judith suspected that half her mother's grumbling was caused by the journey itself, since Adelaide hated travelling and disruption of routine with equal amounts of vehemence. Even the grand prospect of a coronation had not sweetened the vinegar of her mood.
Judith turned her thoughts to Waltheof. In the three months since his leaving, her memory of him had both faded and clarified. She could not recall his features clearly, but his vibrancy and vitality had stayed with her as surely as the memory of his glossy red-gold hair and the touch of Ins mouth on hers. Those things were indelible, no matter how she strove to obliterate them. She would wake in the night from dreams that were sweet and heavy with a longing she had no experience to name, but which set her on edge and brought the uncomfortable dull ache like menstrual pain to her loins.
There had been no word from England to indicate that he had pursued his declaration to have her. Judith knew that for her own sake she should stay as far from the fire as possible. Only a fool stepped too close and risked being burned. And Judith prided herself on her pragmatic common sense.
The fleet docked in Southampton and, after the royal entourage had rested there overnight, they travelled on to Winchester and thence to London. Gazing upon the April landscape as they rode, Judith thought that England was not much different from Normandy. The same pastoral scenes in the countryside; the same industry in the towns. The only signs of unrest and struggle were sporadic - charred marks on the ground where a building had burned, a farmstead worked solely by women whose husbands had not returned from the great battle, the rising earthworks and palisades of motte and bailey castles, dug by the English and supervised by the Normans.
She could almost see the peace, laid down as heavily as slabs of stone between lines of mortar. No one dared rebel lest they were crushed beneath a mailed Norman fist, but Judith could feel the resentment. It was there in the way that folk bowed to her, concealing their hostility beneath downcast lids and making obscene gestures under the cover of their doffed hoods. She rode past with a raised chin, her shield one of Norman hauteur, but it was not sufficient to protect her entirely from the pierce of their side-cast glances.
They arrived in London just before dusk of the second day and travelled by barge up the Thames from the wharves at Queenhythe to the royal palace at Westminster. Sequins of sunset dazzled on the water and turned the sky to molten gold beyond the towers of King Edward's abbey. Judith folded her arms within her cloak, glad of the fur lining, for it was cold on the river and the water was choppy with a glittering cold spray.
'Are we almost there?' her cousin Agatha
Judith hated crossing the Narrow Sea. The knowledge that all that lay between her and fathoms of drowning green water was a flimsy layer of wood was terrifying. She would not disgrace her blood by showing her anxiety, but within her, that blood ran as cold as the ocean beneath the keel.
She wished that Simon de Senlis had not been assigned a place on the women's vessel. The sight of his stiff gait was a permanent reproach to her conscience, and the way he looked at her with those knowing fox-coloured eyes made her want to shriek at him to go away and leave her alone. She wanted to bury that moment in the stableyard and forget it had ever happened. And she could not do that with the evidence always before her eyes.
Judith was relieved when the boy went to join the steersman and left her line of vision. She made an effort to banish him from her mind by concentrating on the matters uppermost in her mind. England and Waltheof.
Her mother muttered privately and out of the Duchess's hearing that England was occupied by a gluttonous, uncivilised rabble and that given a choice she would rather remain in Normandy. Judith suspected that half her mother's grumbling was caused by the journey itself, since Adelaide hated travelling and disruption of routine with equal amounts of vehemence. Even the grand prospect of a coronation had not sweetened the vinegar of her mood.
Judith turned her thoughts to Waltheof. In the three months since his leaving, her memory of him had both faded and clarified. She could not recall his features clearly, but his vibrancy and vitality had stayed with her as surely as the memory of his glossy red-gold hair and the touch of Ins mouth on hers. Those things were indelible, no matter how she strove to obliterate them. She would wake in the night from dreams that were sweet and heavy with a longing she had no experience to name, but which set her on edge and brought the uncomfortable dull ache like menstrual pain to her loins.
There had been no word from England to indicate that he had pursued his declaration to have her. Judith knew that for her own sake she should stay as far from the fire as possible. Only a fool stepped too close and risked being burned. And Judith prided herself on her pragmatic common sense.
The fleet docked in Southampton and, after the royal entourage had rested there overnight, they travelled on to Winchester and thence to London. Gazing upon the April landscape as they rode, Judith thought that England was not much different from Normandy. The same pastoral scenes in the countryside; the same industry in the towns. The only signs of unrest and struggle were sporadic - charred marks on the ground where a building had burned, a farmstead worked solely by women whose husbands had not returned from the great battle, the rising earthworks and palisades of motte and bailey castles, dug by the English and supervised by the Normans.
She could almost see the peace, laid down as heavily as slabs of stone between lines of mortar. No one dared rebel lest they were crushed beneath a mailed Norman fist, but Judith could feel the resentment. It was there in the way that folk bowed to her, concealing their hostility beneath downcast lids and making obscene gestures under the cover of their doffed hoods. She rode past with a raised chin, her shield one of Norman hauteur, but it was not sufficient to protect her entirely from the pierce of their side-cast glances.
They arrived in London just before dusk of the second day and travelled by barge up the Thames from the wharves at Queenhythe to the royal palace at Westminster. Sequins of sunset dazzled on the water and turned the sky to molten gold beyond the towers of King Edward's abbey. Judith folded her arms within her cloak, glad of the fur lining, for it was cold on the river and the water was choppy with a glittering cold spray.
'Are we almost there?' her cousin Agatha
Similar Books
