The Order of the Lily (47 page)

‘So it would seem,' she replied as she stared at his rigid form.

‘You look disappointed.'

‘I am!' she added as seriously as possible but she could not hold back her smile.

‘You wanton wench,' he cried, before falling upon her.

By late January Garçon had grown considerably and Simon was becoming restless. He wanted them safely in England but had postponed the journey as the weather was unreliable and the babe not yet weaned. Roderick appeared in no hurry to depart as he diced his way through several large bags of coin. Simon knew that he had to speak with his brother before the Shalford fortune was frittered away. Simon collected a jug of ale from the maid and returned to his quarters. He was looking forward to spending the evening with Catherine. She never ceased to surprise him. He had thought his patience would eventually pay dividends, but his wife was far less frigid than he imagined. In fact her recent attempts to arouse him had both shocked and surprised him. He paused to consider whether she had sought advice from the prostitute, but then remonstrated himself for such idiocy. He opened the door to their bedchamber but found the room empty. She must be feeding the boy.

A sharp knock from behind shook him from his daydream and any further thoughts of a quiet evening were shattered as Armand, Gabriel, Guiraud and Mouse clamoured into the room.

‘I would encourage you to touch your husband as I explained,' continued Paulette, ‘for you will have him crying for mercy and be able to dictate …'

‘Shush,' interrupted Catherine, her finger to her lips. She tiptoed towards the door and peered through the gap. She could see the men hunched over documents spread across the table top. Indicating to the wet-nurse to remain quiet she listened to the conversation in the adjoining room.

‘Lord Wexford, may I inquire when you are likely to make your way to the coast?' asked Gabriel formally.

‘Soon. We have been waiting for the child to be weaned,' explained Simon.

‘I have completed my journey to Arras and we must return to duty in Calais,' said Armand, as he filled six goblets. ‘We are to leave tomorrow. Mayhap you could join us?'

Simon nodded. His interest, though, was held by the illumination he had removed from Salisbury's possession. ‘I will speak with Catherine and ascertain if the babe is ready.'

‘Good, a salute then,' announced Armand, raising his cup. ‘To the Order of the Lilies and the success of our mission.'

‘To the Order of the Lilies,' they repeated before drinking.

‘What do you intend to do once the child is safety delivered to Kent?' inquired Guiraud.

‘Discuss the matter with Gillet. There must be something we have missed,' added Simon as he ran his finger over the depiction.

‘I spoke with Gillet and he was as puzzled as you, particularly by the reference to the painter. Was the boy at Corbie Abbey sure it had been painted by a woman?' asked Armand as he refilled his goblet.

‘He was, and the only name I could extract from the Abbott was “Cletus,”' Simon replied. ‘I believe the best course is to backtrack. I must return to Denny.'

Catherine gasped audibly, shocked by her husband's revelation.

‘But many have searched and not found the Lady,' added Roderick who had sauntered into the room.

‘'Tis true, but perhaps they did not know where to look. Now
I
have the advantage.'

‘Have you asked Catherine?' inquired Armand.

‘No, my wife has had enough burdens to bear of late.'

Mouse snorted crudely under his breath and was shoved sideways by Gabriel.

Catherine returned to the bed and ran her hand over Garçon's head. ‘The Order of the Lilies.' Seven names on a parchment depicting seven lilies. She was certain of one thing. She would be going to Denny Abbey with her husband, come hell or high water, as Sister Mary Cletus was a frail old woman!

They departed for Calais the following morning. Catherine's shoulders ached from the weight of the babe, her back strained from holding the same position for many hours. Garçon appeared to fare well and hardly complained, even though he had received his last nurse from Paulette. The men added their travelling garb to the ever-growing number of chests, yet there was plenty of room within the carriage.

Simon sat atop, the men on horseback rode to the front and the rear. The dim light faded by middle afternoon. Ominous clouds gathered, threatening to drop their heavy load. The journey proved slow and dusk was upon them before they neared Calais.

Catherine was dozing, Garçon held securely in her arms, when the carriage lurched oddly forward. Knocked to the floor, her forehead crashed against the wood as the carriage twisted sideways and began to slide, their possessions falling all around her.

She bounced into the opposite wall and scrambled to hold the newborn as the cart embarked on a steep descent, the sound of snapping branches and splintering underbrush muffled by the roar of a river. The carriage shuddered a number of times, coming to rest on its side, icy water streaming through the leather covering as it began to sink.

Simon scrambled down the bank and dived into the dark torrent, fighting his way into the rear of the cart. He grasped Catherine's arm, turned her over and lifted her head from the water. Her lips were blue and she began to cough.

‘The baby,' she gasped, rain pounding her face as the thunder cracked overhead.

The carriage suddenly lurched and sank further. Simon wrapped his arms around Catherine and dragged her from the wreck just as Gabriel surfaced beside him. They struggled to the bank as Simon fought against the rushing tide to scramble onto the verge. ‘Give me your hand.'

Catherine whimpered as the weight of her clothing dragged her down. Armand jumped atop the partially submerged carriage and cutting through the remaining ropes, tossed the chests to Mouse.

‘The baby …' Catherine wailed, as Simon encased her in his dry cloak.

‘Gabriel dived into to get him,' he managed through chattering teeth.

‘There,' pointed Mouse.

The outline of the bridge was barely visible, obscured by the mist and rain as the rising torrent rushed towards it. Catherine's eyes widened with fear for, in the middle, clinging to one of the piers, was Gabriel, his back turned as branches and trees brushed past him.

The men were instantly on their feet and running along the embankment.

Catherine struggled to follow, tripping on her sodden gown and the tangled undergrowth.

Once they reached the bridge, Simon climbed down the support post, twisting his hand out as far as he could reach. Catherine watched in horror as a large log appeared in the distance, rolling around in the water as the current tossed it like a twig. She froze, her gaze held by the tragic scene. The long, loud wail of a baby tore through the darkness before the shattering sound of splintered wood invaded her senses. Debris exploded into the air and Gabriel vanished beneath the bridge as the pier took the full force of the impact.

At the very last, Gabriel stretched up, Gillet's son writhing in his grip, and Simon swung out, taking hold of the infant. He fell back onto the timberwork, Garçon crying in his arms and rolled onto his side. Catherine lifted her soggy garments and rushed towards him, sobbing with each intake of breath.

‘Take the lad,' he panted and once again jumped over the railing of the bridge. He reappeared moments later, a dishev-elled Mouse behind him and he, in turn, had hold of an exhausted Gabriel. Nobody spoke as the three men clambered onto the deck, with Mouse pulling Gabriel up and into his embrace.

Garçon's cries promptly brought them back to the moment, his protestations growing weaker with each passing moment.

‘Strip off his wet clothes,' instructed Simon, opening his own doublet. Clutching the naked babe, he laid him against his bare chest.

Within the hour they were settled at the Port Royal Inn, Catherine bathed and abed, and Garçon drinking contentedly from the cow's horn. After warming the boy and procuring a cradle, Catherine kneeled to pray, sending thanks to the Lord for the safekeeping of her husband, his brother, Garçon, and their brave friends.