The Order of the Lily (44 page)

Cécile watched it all in confusion. What had she said?

The boys were having trouble regaining control. Gillet was first, and he wiped his eyes, his voice high-pitched. ‘I thought there were supposed to be three wise men in this play,' he puffed, out of breath. ‘Oh, oh. I could have told them it was not very wise to use Cécile.' Another riotous round of laughter burst forth. ‘Oh, Céci, you are precious!'

Armand lifted his head and gulped. ‘Oui, precious! Like gold, ooohhh, but she has no
frankin-sense
.' His voice rose hysterically as tears rolled down his face, ‘But she gives us plenty of
myrrh
-th.' He held his stomach and groaned as though in pain. ‘Oh! Oh! Gillet, you are truly blessed; she's all three gifts in one!' Another outburst of laughing exploded. Gillet jerked forward, almost touching his boots as he gripped his waist, his shoulders rocking. Armand rolled, pounding his fists onto the floor, hooting like an owl, and both Mouse and Gabriel buried their heads beneath the cloth. It was then that the donkey spied the hay in the corner.

‘Sacré Bleu,'
squealed Joseph, spinning out of its way as it bolted across the floor with Cécile hanging on for dear life.

Somehow, the Mummers managed to finish their recital. They warmed to their now passionate audience, but for Cécile, it had been a Pyrrhic victory.

Gillet welcomed her return to the table and drew her onto his lap. ‘It was the best play I have ever seen,' he exulted, still sparkling with unbridled amusement.

Peals of laughter broke out as Mouse scuttled towards Cécile on all fours, braying. Upon his back rode Gabriel, a cloth wound around his hair and held, with no finesse, under his chin. Armand almost choked.

‘Oh, Gillet,' shrilled Gabriel, one hand mockingly flung to his forehead. ‘Where will you bed me tonight?' His lashes fluttered with exaggeration. Gillet could not contain himself and burst out laughing yet again.

Further along, heavily encouraged by ale, voices were heartily raised in song, and the hall rattled as tankards were thumped upon the board.
‘Boute, boute, boute … boute compa-gnon … vide nous ce verre et nous le remplirons … l'eau ne vaut rien, que pourrir les poumons … Boute, boute, boute … boute compagnon … vide nous ce verre et nous le remplirons. Parle Norman! That water will rot your lungs, so drink, drink, drink this cup, my friend, and we will fill it up again for you.'

By evening, families began to trickle from the hall, sleeping children draped over their fathers' shoulders like well-worn cloaks. Several chessboards slid onto the tables.

Cécile left Gillet and Gabriel to their game. Her intention to retire was waylaid as she caught sight of the gently crackling fire in the solar. A few moments to catch her thoughts then. She sank blissfully into the chair and toed off her slippers, musing upon the events of the day and eyeing the gift boxes decorating one corner. They would be opened the following morn, but Cécile decided that, in choosing to spend the season of joy with them, Armand and the boys had already given Gillet the greatest gift of all. She had never seen him so animated. Her thoughts moved to the play and she frowned. Alone, in her own company, she could at last admit her bitter disappointment.

‘Such a face is not warranted for the hostess of a wonderfully successful day, ché rie.' Armand bore a smile that only babes and angels possessed. ‘I did not knock in case you had fallen asleep. Gillet and Gabriel are still involved in their game, so I offer you my company. May I purchase the thought that was so poorly reflected upon your face just now?' he asked, dropping into the chair at her side.

‘Armand,' she sighed. ‘If the King's jester hears of my performance tonight, he will hire me for his apprentice. But the truth is that I did not care for everyone laughing at me.' Though she fought it, her eyes began to well.

Armand looked surprised. ‘At you! No, Céci, you have it all wrong. You gave them cause to laugh, that's true, but that is something very different. It is a gift. And if the King's jester were to hear, he would pack up his bells in disgust at such a noble usurper.' Despite his well-meaning words, Armand laughed. ‘I swear, it was so entertaining. Oh, no sweetheart!' He slid to the stool and took her hand. ‘Listen, Cécile. Tonight I saw a miracle, and it had nothing to do with the birth of Jesus. For the first time ever I witnessed my cousin
really
enjoying himself, and it was all thanks to you.'

‘You call making Gillet laugh a miracle?' asked Cécile, brushing her cheeks.

‘Sometimes it is. Look, that cup of wine in your hands, how does it differ from the one you drank this morning?'

She gazed into the dark, murrey contents. ‘It is mulled and spiced?' Her answer was tentative for she was unsure of Armand's meaning.

‘Exactly! Until you came along, Gillet's existence was an ordinary cup of wine. Now he delights in a warmed, aromatic concoction. Sweetheart, to bring joy into someone's life is a gift beyond reckoning and you are the seasoning, the spice that Gillet sorely needed in his cup of wine.'

‘Was his childhood really so harsh, Armand?'

‘It certainly was not like ours, Céc. But I have never seen him look as happy as he does now.' He bent to kiss her hand. ‘And that, ma petite, is because of you. So, no more mooching around. You've had a busy day and another due tomorrow. Off to bed with you!'

The following morn, after the manor's fires had been prodded to life, an intimate group gathered in the solar and the ritual of swapping goodwill gifts began.

Armand presented Cécile with a beautiful setting of Venetian glassware, blessedly intact, and, in turn, he proudly strutted in a thickly padded doublet the rich deep blue of lapis lazuli. Mouse and Gabriel sported new chaperons, the belled liripipes threatening to upend the goblets as they played ‘the fool between the holly,' and Guiraud was well pleased with his enamelled platelet and Cordovan belt.

Gabriel abandoned his horseplay and, winking at Gillet, placed a striking shell comb into Cécile's lap. ‘For when you tie your hair using a certain blue ribbon. Jesu, Albret,' he straightened. ‘I still choke when I think how close I came to facing your sword in Arras. You might have warned me!' A look of comradeship flew between them. ‘I am still honourably owed a kiss, though. Do you suppose I might collect it now?'

Gillet's eye's flashed menacingly. ‘No. You may not.' It was Gabriel's cheek that received Cécile's thanks.

‘Eh, bien,'
sighed the blonde giant wistfully. ‘I shall save it for a more fitting occasion.'

He withdrew gracefully to where Mouse was tossing chestnuts into the fire. Gillet kneeled at Cécile's side and slid a small jewel-cask onto her lap. ‘Thank you for the hawking glove,' he whispered, ‘and the falchion.'

‘You have already given me a gift,' she cried, tracing the carved lid of the cask nervously. A writing slope, complete with ink, quills and wax sat beside her, buried under a dark mantle, fully lined with sable.

‘This one is special,' he replied. ‘Open it.'

Cécile released the catch and gasped as she withdrew an endless rope of shimmering droplets, their blue sheen glowing iridescently.

‘Moonstones,' said Gillet. ‘It is said they carry properties believed to protect a mother and child and these particular ones are rumoured to have been made from the moonlight itself.'

‘Gillet, they are the most beautiful gems I have ever seen!'

Gillet's hand gently closed over hers and he whispered, ‘Better than rubies? Moonstones represent “new beginnings,” and are the true gift between lovers.'

She flung herself at him, half-laughing and half-crying. Cécile knew much thought had gone into the gift, and the significance was not lost on her.

By early afternoon the men had consumed a great deal of both food and ale, and a desire to stretch their muscles had them searching for more vigorous entertainment.

‘Quintains!' Mouse and Gabriel thumped upon the board, the cups dancing as the men chanted. ‘Quintains! Quintains! Quintains!' There was a mad dash up the stairs to don armour and, by the time Cécile waddled into Gillet's chamber, he had torn apart every chest.

‘I can't remember where I stowed my armour!' Four eager, boyish faces appeared at the threshold, Armand already suited, the other three haphazardly pulling on pieces.

‘Come on, Gillet!'

His desperation grew and he spun around in circles, flinging out his arms, growling with frustration.

‘Did you not send it for cleaning after we returned from Broughton?' Cécile remarked calmly.

‘Mai oui.
I remember now! I stored it in the other chamber.' Hastily bestowing a kiss upon her, he raced from the room, his playmates fast behind him, but there was soon a loud burst of reverberating laughter.

‘Saaayseeele!'

Wondering what new disaster had occurred, Cécile trudged to the door, one hand smoothing her motherly condition. She had only a handful of weeks left.

‘Saayseele!
Cécile
.'

‘Gillet, I am moving as fast as I possibly can!'

She was greeted by the sight of Armand, doubled over, his metal-plated arms wrapped around his stomach as he choked with laughter. Guiraud and Gabriel were similarly postured, the latter squatting and threatening to topple in his mirth. Gillet glowered at them, holding out his helm, which was dripping water. Only Mouse appeared rational, his face illuminated by wonderment as he bent over the remaining armour.

‘Cécile,' snarled Gillet as she entered. ‘Did you not tell me that you prepared a basket for Cinnamon?'

‘Oui. It is in my room.'

He swept his ‘hooting comrades' with an icy glare. ‘Well, did you explain that to Cinnamon?'

‘Come on, Gillet,' gulped Armand hysterically. ‘ Hurry up, it's
kitten
late!'

There was another raucous outburst, and Gabriel's gauntlet fisted the floor. ‘Oui,' squealed Guiraud. ‘Before the weather changes and it starts raining
cats
and dogs!' All three fell backwards, howling, and Gillet threw down his helm in disgust.

‘Merde! Griffith will labour all afternoon to clean this mess. I need my mail
now
.'

‘This mess,' Cécile had just discovered, was Cinnamon's bundle of new arrivals, and the cause of Gillet's ill temper. The cat had seen fit to deliver her young within the confines of his armour. It would seem that she had taken refuge first in his helm, then sought his breastplate, conveniently thrown upside-down, shell-like, upon the floor.

‘Oh, Gillet,' Cécile purred with delight. ‘She preferred your steel to my silk.'

Gillet raked his hair in annoyance. ‘That much is obvious. Can we at least move them to the basket?'

‘Non,' exclaimed Mouse in horror, his finger tenderly running over the pelt of a tiny kitten. ‘You cannot move newborns.'

‘I would hazard to say, brother dear,' said Margot, sauntering in, full of smiles, ‘that, come morning, you will find Cinnamon has moved them by herself, now that her hiding place is discovered. And, though Cécile lovingly prepared a wonderful basket, I should have told her that the cat probably would not use it.' Amidst the tyranny of Cinnamon's bad behaviour, Cécile did not miss Armand's wink to Margot. ‘Is quintain practice so dangerous that you must don armour?' she asked, her cheeks reddening.