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Her father was in London, just as Tristram was, to attend Court business, and she didn’t like the thought of both her husband and her father being in a place where sickness was beginning to spread. Nevertheless she needn’t be told that King Henry’s commands were not to be ever disobeyed.
It was with an uneasy heart that Judith spent the next weeks, worrying over both her father and Tristram. Yet her mother was comforting whenever Judith spoke to her of these worries.
“Your husband’s young and hale. As for your father…”
Here Lady Fenice always glanced away from her daughter with a bitter twist of her mouth.
“Your father’s strong as an ox. Nothing can touch him,” she liked to add in a blank voice.
Yet not another month passed before more dire news reached them. The fever which had claimed the life of Tristram’s mother had also claimed Judith’s father. Judith stared at the unsealed letter from Tristram in disbelief mixed with searing pain.
“Father… So strong… Still in his prime,” she whispered, unwilling to keep tears at bay.
“May God have mercy upon his soul,” her mother said, her eyes dry. “He was a worthy man, in his own way.”
Judith nodded. She hadn’t known her father well, and hadn’t been too close to him, but upon his death she finally understood she had truly cared for him. Now that he was gone, she fully saw she would miss him very much, even if at times he had been harsh and uncaring in his ways. She stared at Tristram’s letter, trying to summon strength. Tristram warned it was unwise to join the city even now, and that he would make arrangements for a burial and a mass fit of Sir Edward’s birth and rank. Judith and her mother should be at peace that all the proper ways would be observed in this time of great need.
And Judith did her own part at Redmore to honour her father’s memory and work for the salvation of his soul. Mass was sung in Church, and a new chapel was commissioned, to remember her father by. Alms were given to the poor and money gifts to the servants, who, Judith understood, had loved their master well because they sincerely mourned his passing.
It was upon the third day of their mourning that Judith ventured to speak to her mother, knowing this shouldn’t be postponed, “Mother, I think perchance we should inquire of father’s…”
Judith was aware her mother didn’t ever like the words spoken in front of her. It was known to all that Judith’s father had kept a commoner in the village for his leman. And while Judith had never even spoken to this woman, she felt it was her duty to inquire about her, since her father was no longer among them. This woman had been under her father’s protection and it would be uncharitable of his family not to think of her. After all, many lords kept common women besides their wives, following the older Danish customs of times past, and Judith knew this well. Yet she also knew her mother had been deeply hurt by what her father had done. No matter what the old ways were and what many lords seemed to believe, it was utterly wrong for a husband to dishonour his wedding vows, Judith thought, and her father was certainly guilty of that sin. Nevertheless, things were what they were. This common woman had lain with her father, and her father’s bond to her could not be so easily dismissed.
“Your father’s woman, you mean,” Lady Fenice said in a hardened voice, straightening her back.
Judith nodded.
“I wouldn’t worry about that one,” her mother added, with a shrug and a bitter smile. “Women of her sort always manage.”
“Still,” Judith ventured. “I think it is only right she should receive assistance upon Father’s death.”
Her mother waved her hand carelessly, with a look of sheer disgust upon her face.
“Do whatever you wish. As long as you don’t set eyes upon her. I suppose we should show ourselves magnanimous. I would not have it said that people of our blood are ungracious to commoners, even to commoner harlots such as this one.”
Judith widened her eyes, because her gentle, soft-spoken mother never used coarse words and had always urged her to avoid such language. Her mother smiled ruefully, clasping Judith’s hand.
“I know, that was unkind of me to say, but it has always hurt so – the way your father chose to behave towards me. Well… may you never get to live what I have lived! Yet I expect you might one day. Most men are fickle.”
Her mother’s hand clasped hers firmly, and Judith thought of Tristram and of how apart he was from other men. For a moment she wanted to believe a man such as Tristram would never be fickle. She recalled though they’d been separated for many months, which had now nearly turned into a year. And they hadn’t even bedded. She was not as simple as to think a hale man of Tristram’s age didn’t have his own natural urges. And could she even blame him if he didn’t keep faith with her while they were parted? She knew most women of her station turned a blind eye to their husbands’ behaviour. Men have urges they cannot suppress, her aunt Edith had always said.
“Not Tristram!” Judith found herself suddenly whispering, although she knew it was silly of her to hope her husband would keep faith with a wife he hadn’t even bedded yet.
The way her mother looked at her nearly broke her heart.
“I’m sure you have the right of it, my sweet one,” Lady Fenice said, attempting to smile, but failing.
Judith tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. After all, Tristram and her had not yet shared their bodies, so she couldn’t hold anything of this sort against him. But why did it hurt so much to think upon him in another woman’s arms? Her mother had the right of it. The pain was fierce. Although she had at first wanted to look upon her father’s mistress, she decided not to do so and she only sent the gift of money she intended. It was with surprise that, a couple of days later, she found out the gift had been returned. It appeared her father’s mistress had no need of it.
Lady Fenice stared through her window, as if attempting to glance upon the village which lay beyond their castle.
“See, I did tell you, daughter, women of her sort always manage. One man or several can always be found to take care of their needs.”
Judith could understand her mother’s bitterness, because, for some days now, her own nights were filled not only with sad memories of her father, but also with frantic thoughts of Tristram in another woman’s arms. She missed him, and she wished he could come sooner, so they could start their life together and she could put her unseemly, jealous thoughts aside.
Chapter 9
Present time, 1174
