The Order of the Lily (18 page)

The shifting sands of the desert dissolved the memory as another took shape – Rassaq. The sound of his newborn son's cry, his beautiful golden skin and fiery red hair, tiny fingers entwined within his own. The pain in Simon's chest was unbearable and he gasped in despair. He tugged down on the chain that hung around his neck, snapping the links, releasing his wedding band that had been concealed beneath his shirt. He looked back over his shoulder at the Church of Saint Martin – his past and his future. There seemed little room for both. He raised the ring to his lips, drawing the warmth that remained there to be stored in his heart. ‘I am sorry, truly sorry,' he whispered. ‘I have to let you go.' His grief was consuming and threatened to deepen his unhealed wounds. ‘She needs whatever protection I can offer.'

A gentle breeze lifted the branches of the trees that lined the river bank. A scent, a hint of jasmine, wafted gently over him, drying the tears that had tumbled down his cheeks. ‘M'assalama. May God allow us to meet again.'

He closed his eyes and tossed the gold band and chain into the torrent below.

‘I must speak with him,' Catherine declared.

‘Perhaps he awaits us within the church,' replied Roderick, as he extracted a linen square from his doublet. He offered it to her and she dabbed at her eyes.

‘He must be made to see sense.' Catherine lifted her muddied skirt and strode purposefully through the vestry to emerge within the dimly lit church. Her guardian stood at the altar beside the priest.

‘Lord Wexford, I request the opportunity to speak with you … alone.'

‘We do not have time.'

‘But, I cannot. I will not … marry you!'

‘You would rather Moleyns or Latimer?'

‘No, of course not,' she cried.

‘Then you have no choice.'

‘But … but … I am not ready to marry!'

‘Nor I, Lady, but there is no one else.'

‘Lord Wexford, I am most doubtful that this union should be blessed by the church,' added Father Pierre.

‘Better the church than the Devil!' Simon immediately regretted his response and correctly predicted Catherine's sharp intake of breath. ‘This is the best form of protection I can offer you,' he explained. ‘If you marry me you become worthless to the Crown.'

‘Perhaps I should return to being a novice?'

‘You will be no safer than you were in England. Have you forgotten how easily Salisbury found you at Denny? And he was alone.'

‘But surely the church can protect me!'

‘He does not care that you wear a habit. He will still take you by force.'

‘Then Roderick or … or …'

‘You are my responsibility, Catherine.' Simon turned angrily.

‘Yes, I understand,' she replied, aware now that he was more disturbed by their predicament than she.

Catherine was puzzled. Surely of the two,
she
had the most to lose. Simon could continue to live his life in the same manner that he always had. Once married,
she
could not. Why then was he behaving as though he was under enormous duress? In all the time she had known him, Simon had never acted wantonly or without absolute consideration. If he believed that her best protection was to marry him, then perhaps she should take him at his word. Catherine slipped her small hand in his before turning to the priest.

‘I give my consent,' she whispered.

Simon's astonishment was clear. ‘Are you sure?'

‘No, but as your distress is greater than mine I believe I can trust in you.'

He gently squeezed her fingers. ‘You never cease to surprise me.'

‘Nor you, M'lord.'

‘The sun will soon rise. I suggest we commence,' said the priest. Guiding the party onto the porch, he opened his prayer book to begin.

‘I think we had best skip to the vows,' advised Roderick, who now stood behind the couple.

The priest nodded and turned several pages. ‘Take her right hand and say after me …'

Catherine could feel herself tremble as Simon's hand covered hers. She would be his property, his chattel, to do with as he pleased. Every path offered a different future and, given the choice, this was not the one she would have chosen for herself.

‘I, Simon Cephus Marshall, Lord of Wexford and Cambridge, take thee, Catherine, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance and thereunto I plight thee my troth.'

Catherine took a deep breath and time seemed to stand still. This required all her courage.

‘I, Catherine, Lady Holland, take thee, Simon, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'til death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance and thereunto I plight thee my troth.'

‘There is, of course, the question of a ring,' added the priest as he laid open the prayer book.

‘Here.' Roderick stepped forward and removed a small gold band from his last knuckle. ‘It would honour me greatly were you to accept my mother's.'

‘Bless this ring, O merciful Lord. Those who wear it, who give and receive it, may be ever faithful, remain in Your peace, and live and grow old together in Your love, under their own vine and fig tree, and seeing their children's children. Amen.'

Under the priest's instructions Simon placed the ring on her finger. It sparkled as it caught the candlelight. To Catherine it felt as constrictive as she imagined a shackle to be. She kneeled, fixing her gaze upon the flagstone floor and, rather than listen to the blessing, allowed her thoughts to drift to Cécile and Gillet, wondering at their reaction.

‘… Inasmuch as Simon and Catherine have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth each to the other, and have declared the same by the giving and receiving of a ring, and by the joining of hands I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together.
In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
Amen.'

Simon assisted Catherine to her feet, his face impassive.

‘This is when I would normally offer some gentle words of advice to the couple,' said the priest. ‘Unfortunately, in this instance, I cannot think of a single useful thing to say.'

‘No matter, Father Pierre, I will make an additional offering to the poor-box,' suggested Simon.

‘A few extra coins will not absolve sin, my friend.'

‘No,' smirked Roderick, ‘but it may help soften his guilt!'

Simon took Catherine's hand and led the party out through the vestry to the kitchen.

‘No time for a wedding feast today, Lady Wexford.' He turned to his brother. ‘Have the men ready to leave immediately.'

Roderick smiled warmly at Catherine before slipping out the back door.

‘Where are we going?' she asked.

‘We have a rendezvous with an old friend.'

Catherine could not help but feel her spirits brighten as the sun appeared from behind the gathering rain clouds. Such beauty was certainly God's work and she bowed her head and thanked Him for providing her with a truly uplifting gift.

She was saddle-sore, tired and hungry. The wound to her shoulder had begun to irritate as it rubbed against the seam of her gown. Catherine grasped the reins and steeled herself for the upcoming ordeal. Though her convent education had been clumsy, she had gleaned sufficient knowledge to understand procreation. But it was Anaïs and her accompanying diatribe that had revealed much more of what occurred between a man and a woman. Catherine blushed as she recalled the events that had taken place at the Feast of Beltane. She knew Gillet had much to regret but Anais had paraded her pregnancy with triumph. Catherine trusted Simon but there was the question of his indifference. Perhaps he had no intention of making her his true wife?

They were all but alone. Roderick rode ahead and Gillet's comrades were some way behind. She was not sure if this was by design. She wanted Simon to say something, to initiate some kind of conversation, but he remained silent.

Passing the outskirts of Saint Omer, Roderick separated from the party, only to return at dusk with a dark haired soldier by his side. Simon dismounted and greeted the man, before officially introducing Catherine as his wife to Armand d'Albret.

Taken aback, the young man stammered. ‘May … may I offer my congratulations, Lady Wexford?'

‘You may, Lord d'Albret, and I must thank you for escorting my sister safely to Kent. Pray tell, how does she fare?'

‘Cécile was in good health when I saw her last.' His face enlivened with his grin.

Catherine returned his smile, entranced by the gentleman before her, so charming was he. ‘I will despatch a letter informing her of my marriage as soon as possible.'

‘She may well be in shock, as am I, Lady Wexford,' he jested, feigning surprise.

‘There were few choices,' she admitted.

‘So I am told. What a pity!'

Catherine's cheeks coloured as he winked at her.

‘Perhaps he will improve with age?'

‘Mount up, you little French buffoon,' Simon interjected as he stood menacingly behind Armand.

‘Congratulations, you have secured yourself a most wonderful bride,' Armand offered, reaching out a friendly hand to Simon.

‘Yes, I concede that I am more fortunate than most,' he scowled. ‘Now, let us make haste. I fear that we are about to be caught in bad weather.'

Armand returned to his horse, whilst Catherine was left to consider her sister's cousin. One thing was certain, Armand's sense of humour was going to lift everyone's spirits.

The first droplet of rain landed on her hand and slid down to her thumb. The second and third struck her head and arm and it was not long before she had lost count as each droplet sought every opening in her gown. She slipped in the saddle and her mare slowed cautiously. Simon coaxed the horse towards a grove of trees under which Roderick and Armand also sought shelter. Gabriel, Mouse and Guiraud were not far behind.