The Winter Mantle by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online Page B

manner twisted and deformed that left the victim crippled and in constant pain.
    Suddenly very aware of his own sound limbs, Waltheof descended the stairs to the great hall. As usual it was bustling with activity. Scribes were busy at their lecterns, their business dictated by senior officers of the Duke's household. Petitioners and messengers arrived and left, or waited on the long benches edging the hall to be summoned. Two boys were stacking fresh logs by the hearth and replenishing the charcoal baskets for the braziers. A servant from the butler's retinue was decanting wine into flagons ready for the main meal later in the day, and nearby a young woman was transferring new candles from a wicker basket onto wrought-iron prickets.
    'Lord Waltheof.'
    He turned at the imperative note in the woman's voice and found himself looking down at Judith's mother, the formidable Adelaide of Aumale. The dragon guardian.
    'Countess,' he inclined his head and regarded her warily. Judith had a darker version of her eyes and similar autocratic features. In Adelaide the bone structure was almost hawkish and he could see how Judith might look twenty years from now.
    'I have heard what happened in the stableyard this morn,' she said stiffly. 'It seems that yet again I must thank you for coming to my daughter's aid.'
    'I am glad I was present,' Waltheof replied graciously. 'I hope that she has taken no harm?'
    'None - although I understand that it might have been different without your intervention.'
    Waltheof thought that her face might crack if she smiled. He could see that she was doing her duty by thanking him - and hating every moment. He had often heard married companions make wry jests about their motherin-laws, and had thought them rather harsh. Now he began to understand.
    Adelaide inclined her head and moved on, her spine as straight as a mason's measuring rod. Her husband, Eudo of Champagne, was in England, keeping the peace. Waltheof wondered, rather uncharitably, if Lord Eudo had chosen to remain there above returning to his icy marriage bed.
    One of the maids attending her paused at Waltheof's side for the briefest instant. She had a rosy complexion and merry grey eyes. 'Lady Judith is in the abbey chapel praying for the boy's recovery,' she murmured, giving him a meaningful look through her lashes before following the Countess.
    Waltheof gazed after her in frowning bemusement. Then, slowly, he began to smile. Turning on his heel, he left the hall and walked purposefully towards the Abbey Church of the Holy Trinity.
    The decorated arches had a pleasing symmetry and the pale slabs of Caen stone possessed a warm, butter colour in the sunshine. Tonsured holy brethren in their dark Benedictine robes were everywhere, their air proprietorial. Pilgrims crowded the front porch, their dusty appearance and travelling satchels marking them out from the general population. Some were here because of the Duke's presence in the town, but most had come for Easter week and to view the miraculous phial of the Holy Blood of Christ.
    Waltheof joined their number and entered the incense-soaked greatness of the abbey's nave. He had worshipped here before at Easter Mass, but still the beauty of the carved and painted pillars filled him with delight and awe. He loved churches in all their forms, from the small wooden edifices no more than huts that served many of his Midland manors, to the towering dignity of great cathedrals such as Westminster, Canterbury, Jumièges and Fècamp. He could find God in any of them and tailored his worship to the surroundings. In the small churches he was humble and reflective; in the cathedrals he praised God in pleasure through the rich colours and ceremony. At Crowland in the Fens he yielded himself completely and received peace in return.
    But today, although he was aware of God's presence, his seeking was of a different kind. Leaving the pilgrims, he walked down the great nave of the church, his calfhide boots making a