The Lily and the Lion (8 page)

Thankfully left to my own devices I have spent the day labouring over this letter which now I must finish with all speed.

Odette returned mid-afternoon, bearing a tray and news that my presence was required in the parlour. Fleet of foot and thinking my prayers answered, I ran downstairs to discover it was Edward who summoned me. I sank into a deep curtsey as his manservant was dismissed, the sound of the wooden rings dragging the curtain across the rail grating on my overset nerves.

‘Your Highness?' I offered pragmatically.

Edward leaned back in the chair, hands flat upon the parchments littering the table, his expression guarded. ‘Ah, Lady d'Armagnac. I see that you have learned my identity. Our mutual courier, no doubt. No matter.' Permission was given to rise by a curt nod. ‘You are quite an enigma, Lady.' His fingers curled around two documents. ‘And I find my curiosity undeniably piqued.' His left hand rose in the air, shaking its contents. ‘Here I have received, only today, word from one of my subjects, My Lord of Salisbury.' His arm fell to the table but his other rose in its place. ‘And here, a dispatch from the authorities of Paris, signed by a Monsieur Lunoir.' His eyes snapped to mine. ‘Interestingly, both these missives concern
you
.' The Prince regarded the letters, his tone playing with sarcasm like a cat toys with a mouse. My stomach rolled. ‘It would seem that my courier has placed himself in a predicament,' he said with a forced laugh of amazement, ‘thwarting attempts by one of my most loyal knights. You have my court in disarray, Mademoiselle!'

The Prince perched himself upon the corner of the table and, folding his arms, cocked one eyebrow. ‘The Dauphin, by all accounts, is also searching for you.' His hands shot into the air. ‘And yet here I find you dressed as a maid at an inn, the jewel in Armagnac's crown. But wait!' He made a great play of shuffling through the leaflets, extracting the uppermost with feigned bravado. ‘It seems that Lord William has stumbled across something.' His eyes rolled over the vellum, a nail stroking his top lip before he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘Here!' Warrior fingers slapped the evidence. ‘A waif at Denny Abbey has a sister.' He turned to glare at me. ‘One Cécile d'Armagnac.'

Clothed in riding attire, the cyclas conspicuous in the motley colours of England, the golden lions on his chest regarded me as fiercely as their master. I felt like a trapped doe, waiting for them to spring and rip out my throat.

‘Now I ask you, Lady, what am I to do?'

I collapsed onto a nearby stool, all hope of escape evaporating as surely as dawn's dew under the morning sun. ‘May it please you to send me to my father?'

Silence ensued, the moments dragging on.

‘No, that does not please me. Since I cannot hold your virtue to ransom, Comte d'Armagnac may not appreciate me sending him soiled goods.' At my gasp, he added with a tight smile, ‘I watched you leave Bellegarde's room last night, Mademoiselle. Never has a maid looked more tumbled and, trust me, I have seen a few. If you were so desirous of company you had but to await my return. I could have finished what I started.'

Were it not for my helplessness, the incongruity of this could have made me laugh outright. Master Courier breathed flames like a dragon for thinking me Edward's mistress, and now the Prince of Wales was like a sulky child deprived of his favourite toy. Fed up with being tossed like a ball between them, I stood. ‘Then send me back to the Dauphin and I will answer to him for my honour.'

The boards creaked under the weight of his steps and Edward clamped my shoulders in his grasp, the gentle breeze of his breath ruffling wisps of my hair. I wondered if he could feel me trembling. ‘Ah yes, there are the Princes to assuage. But, Lady, just as you consider yourself a subject of the Dauphin, your sister is one of mine.'

I blinked up at him, slow to understand. His smile, which I had at first thought perfect, now appeared dangerous as his knuckles lightly brushed against my cheek.

‘I could have her located and brought to my bed in place of that which I have missed.'

My heart raced in panic.

‘And my courier,' Edward mockingly shrugged, ‘he must be punished for his interference.'

‘You wouldn't dare!'

Edward cocked his eyebrow. ‘Oh, but I would. You must have heard the stories about me. The French revel in them. I'm a brute with no thought of consequence, a havoc-wreaker, laying waste to the countryside and its maidens, taking what I want. Who am I to prove the stories false? Would you know your countrymen for liars?'

I went cold as his tone became more threatening, his fingers dangling around my throat.

‘And I have heard the Parisian executioner has a fine hand for fair faces and the Constable, Monsieur Lunoir, will be only too glad to receive word of my courier.' He tilted my chin, his eyes glittering. ‘Or you could save everyone a considerable amount of trouble and become my mistress.'

If I thought our executioner could teach Monsieur de Bellegarde some manners, I would hire the delivery conveyance myself, but in truth not many leave that butcher's attendance alive and I will not suffer that upon my conscience. Neither can I let you, one of God's own, be taken in my stead. This mischief is of my making and so I must accept the consequences. My deepest regret is the shame I bring upon my Papa, for my future is now compromised. He always told me the purity that a woman brings to her marriage is the sweetest of God's gifts. No husband of mine will ever know such a blessing. And what man will want such royally soiled goods?

With the completion of this letter, I shall write to my Papa and beg his forgiveness and understanding. Odette will see both consignments slid beneath the courier's door this evening. Then the Prince of Wales will be informed of my decision. When an opportunity presents itself, I shall escape.

If my innocence must be taken, then I have some small satisfaction in knowing it will not be entirely in vain. Monsieur de Bellegarde will have time to escape this vile threat and you, Catherine, will be safe from harm. Therein lay my punishment, for I risk losing contact with you, and for the first time I realise just how much I shall miss it.

God keep you safe, Mary Catherine, with His love and mine. I shall pray that we may meet again some day. I raise my cup in salute to the irony of it all. In accepting my fate, tonight I shall become the whore that Monsieur de Bellegarde already believed me to be.

Written by Cécile d'Armagnac, Thorn and Thistle Inn , Paris, Feast of Saint George, 23 April 10 Jean II.

Damn the Prince.
Gillet de Bellegarde angrily thrust his foot into his boot. He filled his goblet and drained it. This was not the first time but by God's Holy Rood it would be the last! He picked up his goose-feather quill and stroked the plume, his eyes glazing. Memories stirred of auburn-red hair, aquamarine eyes, widening innocently as he'd lowered her to the hay. A tiny feather, shed by the resident birds, had caught amongst her curls and fluttered in dance with his breath upon her cheek. Her laughter had delighted him, but she'd tensed like a doe about to take flight. He'd promised patience. She promised nothing. He'd almost allowed himself to lose his heart. Then Edward of Woodstock had stolen her kisses and her maidenhead. Gillet uncurled his fist to reveal the crushed fledge that was his pen.

Relinquishing that perfumed beauty to Edward had not ended their friendship. Nor had her successors. Another affair had, a thorn driven so deeply into his skin that, at times, it still ached. No. He would not think upon it now. His eyes fell to his satchel containing the Prince's dispatches, where beneath them an ingeniously double-stitched compartment concealed another letter. One that carried a wax imprint of two knights astride a single horse. Jesu! He wiped his moist brow. How much longer must he play fiddle to more than one bow? And now this. Once again, the Prince had stolen something precious from him for his own amusement, knowing full well the sting it would inflict. He shoved the crumpled feather into his pouch and stooped to pick up his bag.
By Christ, this would be the last time.

To my well beloved sister, Cécile d'Armagnac, in good grace.

I do not recall a time that I ever had the opportunity to sit and talk to a stranger. Every person in my life has been known to me. My memories are filled with faces that never changed. But I was not close to any one person. Lady Mary was my benefactor, Sister Anne, the Abbess, Sister Bridget, my tutor, but I knew nothing about them. I was expected to listen and not to express my own opinions. I doubt I would ever have questioned this, but for Simon Marshall, Lord Wexford.

I planned to remain in my room, avoiding him at all cost. He, on the other hand, seemed determined to thwart me. Thinking to arrange with the maid to bring a tray of victuals to enjoy privately, I was stunned when told that Lord Wexford had prohibited such behaviour. Is the man privy to my thoughts?

I went without refreshments on the first day but my nagging hunger eventually wore me down, particularly when the staff, most deliberately I believe, allowed the smell of hot pottage to waft beneath my door.

Covering my head with a borrowed veil, I ventured into the common room.

He was eating alone and, concentrating on the task, ignored my arrival. The table had been arranged in such a way that I was forced to sit opposite him, yet still he did not look up. Taking the ladle, he deftly filled a bowl and slid it towards me, adding a hunk of bread he had detached from the loaf.

‘Thank you,' I whispered.

‘You are most welcome.' His voice was deep yet musical and rolled comfortably from him. I fingered my spoon, self-conscious of every movement I made. ‘You must be hungry.'

‘Yes, M'lord.'

‘What are you waiting for?'

‘Grace, M'lord.'

‘Well then, say it if you must,' he added before continuing to sup.

I lifted my gaze and met his. He certainly was gruff. His spoon wavered momentarily, then dropped into the half-finished bowl.

‘Oh, for God's sake,' he swore.

‘Dear Lord,' I began, my hands clasped and head bowed, ‘bless this meal and the goodness it provides. Bless each and every hand that worked to produce it, from the gardener to the cook. May it bring sustenance and …'

‘Keep you and me from starving. Amen.' He reclaimed his spoon and continued to eat, this time without peering at me.

Taken by surprise, I sat motionless as he devoured his meal.

‘What now?'

‘Nothing, M'lord.'

‘Then eat, before you waste away in front of my eyes.'

I picked at the bread, soaking each piece within the hot fluid before placing them in my mouth.

‘Do you have rotten teeth?' he asked.

‘I do not think so, M'lord.'

‘Then why do you soften the dough?'

Studying the remainder of the loaf beside me, I considered my answer, unaccustomed to such conversations. ‘I sat beside Sister Bridget and she ate thus.'

‘Is she old?'

‘I suppose she is, M'lord.'

‘Did you not think to ask her?'

The idea was ridiculous. ‘I am not permitted to inquire, M'lord, only to accept.'

‘Not anymore, and stop calling me M'lord. I am Simon.'

‘Yes, M … yes.'

He smirked as I stumbled over his name. ‘So there is nothing wrong with you beside the fact that you weigh less than a sparrow.'

‘I do not know. I mean, I do not think so.'

He was watching me intently. ‘How old are you?'

‘Lady d'Armagnac, my sister, tells me that we are nineteen summers.'

‘I don't suppose you ever thought to ask Mary St Pol yourself? No?'

I shook my head.

‘Why not?'

‘I was not permitted to speak unless spoken to.'

He huffed, as though he did not approve. ‘Smile.' I stared at him, unable to decide exactly what he meant. ‘I want you to smile at me,' he clarified. I raised the corners of my mouth. ‘Good Lord, that wasn't much of an effort.' I tried again, this time revealing my teeth. ‘They look fine to me, so, no excuses. From now on you will eat like a young woman and not an old crone.'

I nodded as he passed me the crusty end of the loaf and I broke off a small piece before placing it into my mouth. The crunch was delightful and I relished the sensation. ‘Why do you blaspheme?' I inquired cautiously.

‘That is your first question to me? Why do I blaspheme?' He burst into laughter, slapping his hand to his thigh. ‘God knows, my dear. God knows!'

I am unsure what to make of this Lord Wexford, for I cannot tell if his mirth is at my expense or the ideals that I hold precious.

Several days later, as I prepared to undertake my own form of vespers, I was surprised to hear the sound of Gillet's voice. I ventured from my room to greet him but Anaïs informed me that both he and Lord Wexford had just left for the tavern. However, he had delivered your missive so I returned to read in peace.

Dearest sister, I cried tears of sorrow for you. How could a man take such liberties? Is there no other way? As I prayed to the Lord to guide and protect you the image of Gillet appeared before me. Here was the answer. I would have to make him return to Paris without delay. I waited patiently to plead your case and beg his assistance but the hours passed and I finally took to my bed to rest, only to be woken some time later by the sounds of music and laughter floating up to my window from the boisterous gathering in the open square below.

I quickly established the reason for such merriment, the beautifully adorned pole standing erect at the centre of the square, the maiden on horseback, the fires, music, wine and dancing. This was the Feast of Beltane, of which I had heard so much but never seen. As a member of the convent I was strictly forbidden to attend, relying instead on Anaïs to explain the ancient ritual to me, she having participated many times before.

The celebrations were well under way with young maidens weaving their ribbons around the pole, their bodies swaying in time to the beat. A number of hand-fast couples were making the leap of fertility over the open flames of the balefire. As I watched, one man seemed to be somewhat reluctant to stand up for his turn, his persistent partner tugging on his sleeve. I could not help but smile at his third attempt to lift the large wine flagon from his shoulder to his mouth, whilst the maiden beside him struggled to wrestle it away. Having succeeded, she turned him around to make the jump. You can imagine my surprise, for when their faces were lit by the flames, I could clearly see that it was Anaïs, and her drunken partner was none other than Gillet!

I quickly closed the shutters, confused by my reaction and the pounding of my heart and it was some time before I once again fell asleep.

Much later I was woken by a persistent noise, like the hissing of a snake and candlelight now seeped under my closed door where earlier it had been almost dark. Rising from my bed, I ventured into the dining area only to discover Anaïs struggling with an intoxicated Gillet, taking most of his weight. I trembled to imagine how she had managed to get him up the stairs. He did not appear to be in his right senses, swinging his goblet and singing a bawdy song. Anaïs was vainly trying to quiet him but her constant appeals to shush were ignored.

‘Ah, Sister Mary Catherine,' he bellowed. ‘A drink, to Cécile and her sister, the golden-haired goddesses of Beltane.' His attempt at a bow nearly landed him headlong into the table and he would have lost his footing but for my maid. I rushed to help, fearing he was about to injure himself. As I did so he reached for a lock of my newly exposed hair.

‘No, Catherine the goddess,' he slurred. In the blink of an eye his face changed to a wicked sneer. ‘Cécile the whore,' he spat.

I pulled back, surprised by his venom.

‘Go back to bed,' soothed Anaïs. ‘I can manage Gillet for he is not as drunk as he appears.'

He straightened slowly. ‘No, I am not,' he replied. ‘Go away and leave me to my own distractions.'

Obliging him, I tentatively sought Lord Wexford who was residing in the room next to mine. However, the door was open and the bed empty. I had no idea where he was and with few options available I returned to my own accommodation.

It was some time later that I realised all was quiet, yet light still continued to creep under my door. Anaïs had forgotten to extinguish the candle so I once again rose and went to snuff it out. I must warn you that what I am to write next will be quite shocking, so much so that it has taken me many hours to decide how, in fact, I should describe to you that which I inadvertently stumbled upon.

As I bent to blow out the flame, I heard a low moan from the open door of Gillet's room. Fearing that he may have been unwell, the result of earlier festivities, I crossed the common room and peered inside. I must admit to you that at first I was a little confused and unable to establish exactly what I was witnessing. For I could not see Gillet on the bed, only Anaïs dressed in nothing but her chemise.

I was about to enter when I noticed the strangeness of her posture. She was kneeling over something, her clothing hitched up to her waist. I froze, whether in fear or shame I cannot tell, but my heart was racing and my legs became weak. She was rocking gently backwards and forwards, whispering endearments in French. She moved to one side and I caught a glimpse of dark hair upon the pillow. Anaïs was crouched over a man! Then her partner groaned, his face visible in the dim light and I realised with deep shock that it was Gillet! And this was fornication! Anaïs lifted his arm and placed his hand to her breast, calling his name, encouraging him, stroking his face. I was appalled for a man such as Gillet to so easily bed my maid.

Anaïs must have heard me for she turned just before I slipped back behind the doorway. Her expression was unforgettable as Gillet grabbed her hips, manipulating her movements and moaning loudly. She was enjoying her pleasure, she was shameless, but most of all she was triumphant.

I hurriedly returned to my room and firmly latched the door. I cannot tell you why I was so fearful but all night I paced, praying for the saving of their souls. Lady Mary had instructed me at length on the sinfulness of procreation. Had they been man and wife, I would be able to find some forgiveness but to willingly commit the act whilst unwed was wicked indeed.

By the time I arose both Gillet and Simon were absent. Anaïs served my meal as though this were no different from yesterday. I cannot believe that she can be unchanged after such an immoral event, unless I am so immature as to assume that this has not happened before. Could it be that Gillet and Anaïs have come together previously or even regularly? There can be no other explanation, for surely one must be different, altered, after committing such a dreadful deed and yet Anaïs could not appear less ordinary.

‘Gillet will soon be returning?' I asked, watching her face intently.

‘I suppose so,' she replied without looking up from her mug of mead.

‘Did he not tell you when?'

‘Not really. He speaks more to you than to me.'

‘But I thought as you are
close
he would tell you more.'

‘You assume incorrectly.' Anaïs stared long and hard at me then drained her goblet. ‘Some say Gillet is very handsome. Some say he sits fine on a horse. I say he sits better on a woman, but like all men he often needs encouragement.' Her sneer was unmistakable.

She knew that I knew!

And I was mortified!

‘My dear, devoted Sister Mary Catherine,' she continued, ‘so innocent and so naïve. You think us all free from sin and accept all that you have is honestly obtained. You will learn and you will do so quickly. When you want something from a man you must pay a price.'

‘I am sure I do not know your meaning.' I fought against the feeling of dread slowly seeping through my chest and fumbled for my concealed rosary as Anaïs sauntered from the room.

Near the noon hour Gillet finally appeared, his glossy locks still wet and his face freshly shaved, yet nothing seemed to have washed away his unhappiness.

‘Catherine, I find you well?' he asked somewhat tersely.

‘You do,' I replied as confidently as I was able, fighting the sickening feelings in my belly.

‘I only ask as you seem strained.'

‘I fight a demon that wishes to fly forth in anger at you.'

He had been staring intently through the open window but now spun to face me, quite surprised. ‘I should have not spoken so harshly to you before I departed for London but I do not think you understood the danger in which you placed yourself.'

I did not reply, waiting instead for him to continue.

‘I am glad to see that you have obeyed my instructions and continue to dress as a maiden.'

I closed my eyes, unable to face his scrutiny as he took in my headdress, the ruffled cap and veil that barely covered the hair spilling out across my shoulders.

‘Catherine, you have no reason to feel shame.'

‘Perhaps, but
you
do,' I whispered. ‘To lie with my maid, under the roof that I share was a sinful act.'

His brows arched in astonishment. ‘Anaïs told you?'

‘No, I saw you upon your bed. I feel that under the circumstances it would be inappropriate for me to accept your assistance or protection. I will pray for your soul and that of Anaïs on your departure to France, where your act of redemption will be the safe return of my sister to her French family.' I waited for his reply, unsure of what his reaction would be and was not surprised by the curses that flew from his mouth, nor the slamming of his fist onto the tabletop. ‘Gillet, it is no longer appropriate for me to continue this discussion,' I said, rising to my feet and turning to leave.

‘No! Wait! I admit that I did lay with Anaïs but it was not my intent to do so or for you to be hurt by this knowledge. When I returned from Paris I was angry, disappointed, and I wanted nothing more than to forget. I have known your companion for many years. She was originally employed as a maid by my father. She has never hidden her feelings for me and in the past it has given me comfort to speak with her about my home. You see, I was forced to leave Gascogne and was lucky enough to be given into the employment of Mary St Pol. As fate would have it Anaïs had been transferred to the Abbey several years earlier.'