The Lily and the Lion (15 page)

‘Oui,' grumbled Armand, ‘he calls them his army of “blood red” but as long as the Prince keeps the Albret coffers lined with gold, they will continue to support him.' Both men had slipped into the southern dialect of the Languedoc, keeping their voices low. ‘They are his most ardent supporters! Do you know they just sold five fortresses to the Duchess of Bourbon?' Armand leaned back miserably as the courier flicked me a curious glance.

‘With so much wealth on offer, how is it that you still escape seduction to their cause?'

Armand laughed contemptuously. ‘My younger brothers and I are the sally port door in the Albret castle. A much overlooked means of escape. If the mighty blocks of England ever crumble, it is through us that the Albrets will seek passage back to the French crown.' He shook his head sadly. ‘Though with the ransom that has been demanded for the return of King Jean le Bon, the Dauphin will be lucky to have enough coin to pay his latrine servants, let alone an army! Besides, I agree with Armagnac.' He lifted my hand from the table. ‘His lands are vulnerable now and Edward would do much to control them. The Comte must protect them at all costs,' he said, placing a delicate kiss on my fingers, ‘even if it means sending his “Little Princess” away to safety.'

I smiled at Armand and could not resist glancing at Bellegarde. He quickly drained his tankard and nodded to the taproom maid. She sauntered over. Both men watched with interest as the ample posterior and gyrating hips retreated with their order. In a mere handful of heartbeats she was back but somehow her foot caught in the rushes and Bellegarde's shirt wore her clumsiness. Lifting a corner of her gown and revealing slender ankles in the process, she thrust her cleavage under his chin and attempted to sponge off the spilled ale. Chafed at her blatancy, I announced my intention to retire. Hemmed in by the over-zealous, busty wench, Bellegarde grinned his goodnight, and Armand, carefully shielding his own humour, offered to escort me to my room.

At my door he stifled a yawn that would have done a lion proud. ‘Oh faith be! I do not think we will be far behind you.' He pressed a kiss to my forehead. ‘Sleep tight, chérie.'

Setting a candle in the hearth to light the coming darkness, I hoped the mattress was lice-free. But hours later it was the stool that had my company as I wrestled furiously with my cushion and glowered at the far wall in disgust. Cursing the thin structure that allowed me to overhear the occupants of the next room, I vowed stoically that all men should have been born eunuchs. The woman's low, throaty laugh permeated the daub to my side. A shrill squeal, followed by hideous giggling ended in a long groan. ‘Oh, oooh, Monsieur.' Cocooned in my bedcover, I could have sucked lemons by the bucketful. Gillet de Bellegarde's indiscretion was offensive, insulting and downright disgusting!

By daybreak I felt as though the marrow had been sucked from my bones. With a pounding head I descended the stairs. Armand breezed past and blew a kiss, informing me he would join us shortly. Suffice to say that when I saw Bellegarde already seated at the table, looking unbelievably fresh, I was irritable in the extreme. Sliding along the bench, I winced at the dish of hot potage he set in front of me.

‘Good morning, Cécile. Did you sleep well?'

‘No, I most certainly did not!' I pushed the dish aside.

‘Oh. I am sorry to hear it.' He shifted uneasily. ‘In truth, you do not look at all well.'

‘I am surprised you have the wherewithal to notice.'

‘I am not sure what you mean but if you are not up to travelling we can delay our journey and stay another night.'

The spicy aroma of the potage was too much. My stomach rebelled and the gall began to rise. Jumping up as though a fire had been lit beneath my skirts, I narrowly avoided collision with Armand. His smile crumbled into disbelief as I snarled at the courier.

‘No doubt that would please you. Best use a sheath, Sir, lest you spawn heirs on both sides of the sea!' I pushed past my cousin, turning back to two astonished faces, one glowing hotly. ‘The sooner we leave the better. Fetch me when you are ready.'

At the appointed time I was duly collected from my room. The dark veil concealing my face assured them my temper had not improved. Armand's soldiers had arrived late the evening before. The eight men-at-arms, clothed in Albret uniforms and flying blood red pennants, assembled in the tiny courtyard. It had been Bellegarde's clever concoction to hide out in the open. If Edward still thought me to be alive, he would hardly be looking under the banner of his own Gascons.

As we filed onto the road I tetchily wondered if straws had been drawn to see who would partner the packhorse. I was sure it would be considered better company. If so, it was Armand who had won. Bellegarde's splendid animal snorted alongside me.

On the brink of tears I recalled my training for the marital bed:
A husband's duty is to beget an heir but it is unhealthy for
a man to store up seed.
So why was I in a pother? Since plague and war had diminished the male population, dowries were granted upon women. A man could now offer for a wife of his own choice. Though the church rejected the keeping of mistresses, society permitted it. As I churned it over in my head, the cream of reason became a knob of bitter truth. Bellegarde held me in contempt for an initiation that had been devised by trickery and executed against my will. He had blithely rejected me for my loss of innocence. Yet common sluts were worthy of his attention. Clearly, my virtue was not the issue and my self-esteem was splintering under the blow. The man deserved a dose of the crabs for his arrogance! But the low, breathless moans I had listened to all night had sent shivers over my skin. The plaguey whore had definitely been pleasured.

We rode on through the morning until Bellegarde finally called a rest stop. Pulling off the main thoroughfare into the woods, he found a suitable clearing. Each of us disappeared in separate directions for nature's necessities, the men-at-arms remaining roadside. I sank onto a log, miserable as I dropped my head onto folded arms. Bellegarde was right. I felt ill but no power on this earth would have made me stay another night at that inn. I wrenched off my veil dejectedly and the tears, which had threatened a gathering storm all morning, began to fall.

The anticipated crunch of footsteps eventually sounded and Armand seated himself beside me, his arm curling around my shoulders with just the right amount of kindness.

‘Sweetheart, what has you so out of sorts? Gillet said you did not sleep well.'

Dangerously close to wailing, I drew myself up and resorted to an emotion that was a constant companion of late – anger.

‘No but it did not stop
him
, did it? Did he think the walls were made of stone?'

‘Why, what has Gillet done now?' He passed me his kerchief and my reply was muffled by much nose-wiping and sniffling.

‘His entertainments kept me awake all night. If he must indulge could he not be more discreet? I can still hear her poxy giggle ringing in my ears.'

‘What …? Aah, I see.' Armand chuckled but at my glare he cleared his throat to reinstate sobriety. ‘I think you should know that after you retired last night, the men-at-arms arrived and a nobleman from Paris travelled with them. The inn was full so Gillet gave up his room.' At my blank stare, he took hold of my chin and forced me to look him in the eye. ‘
Gillet
…
slept
…
in
…
my
…
room
…
last
…
night
.'

‘Oh … ohh!'

Scarlet with embarrassment, I wondered how many rosaries it would take to recant the silent curses I had spent the entire morning casting.

‘You goose-head, Cécile! Trust me, if Gillet chooses to have assignations it certainly will not be within your hearing.' Pulling me from the log, he lost the battle to conceal his humour and laughed. ‘Come, you need sustenance to clear that silly head of yours. See what happens when females do not eat? They have all sorts of imaginings. Besides, I am tired of listening to your stomach growl.'

I replaced my veil for I did not want Bellegarde to know that I had mistakenly wept on his behalf. Back on the road, the journey stretched interminably and the gentle sway of Ruby's gait lulled me senseless. Unable to fight the desire for sleep any longer, I drooped like a wilted flower. My eyes slowly closed. Strong hands gripped my waist and pulled me from the saddle and I found myself unexpectedly wrapped in my custodian's warmth. He whistled to the soldiers and one fell back to collect Ruby's reins. A temperamental sky began to sprinkle rain and Bellegarde tugged his cloak over me. Beneath it I snuggled against his chest. A faint aroma of sandalwood permeated from his clothing and, combined with the odours of man and horse sweat, was a heady mix. Intoxicated and cosy, I slid into dreams.

It was dark when we arrived at Compiègne and, bleary eyed, I stumbled to my chamber. Ignoring the platter that had been placed in readiness, I fell between the cold sheets only to toss and turn from one set of hour bells to the next. I found myself desperately yearning the arms that had held me all afternoon.

Next morning Armand brought me a tray but instructed me to stay abed. The weather did not beg an early rising and he and Bellegarde would spend their day in the village. I was to join them for dinner. By late afternoon my spirits felt revived and I ordered a bath. Generously cushioned by a cloth, the wooden tub was filled with herb-scented water. Sinking blissfully amid the aromatic leaves, I was disturbed as the upstairs maid entered, respectfully lowering her eyes as she dipped a curtsey.

‘Madame,' she began but I quickly corrected her.

‘It is Mademoiselle.'

She blushed prettily and giggled. ‘Forgive me, Mademoiselle. Having been informed that you were taking a bath, the handsome gentleman downstairs bade me bring this to you straight away.'

I rolled my eyes and cast a prayer to the heavenly keeper of patience hoping he would catch it. ‘
Which
handsome gentleman?'

She giggled again. ‘Oh, oui, I do see your point.'

Perhaps not. She was too busy blushing. I tried again. ‘Blue eyes or brown?'

She tilted her head to one side, her finger stuck at her cheek as she surveyed the ceiling. ‘Brown eyes.'

Well done, we were getting somewhere. Bellegarde, then. She held out a knob of creamy coloured, almond-scented soap and I took it with distracted thanks. Its cost would have been high and I wondered which treasury coffer was responsible. The men had ruled out my staying at convents for that would be the first place to receive discreet inquiries, and even though this inn catered to the passing traffic of pilgrims, it was no bedraggled hostelry.

I dismissed the maid and my thoughts returned to financial matters. No doubt the St Pol steward would be in suitable pay but then I remembered your poverty at the hands of Lady Mary and a pincer clutched at my heart. Catherine, I have been told of her wealth. She could have given you so much more. Maybe Bellegarde's pay was not so suitable after all. Armand, then. The Albrets were amongst the richest families in Gascony. So, too, the Armagnacs and I had certainly not lacked much in youth, though Maman had wielded a firm hand. We had not been over-indulged but my papa had been far more than generous when Maman was not looking. I suppose between Armand's and my father's purses, Bellegarde had no need to look to his own. I stared at the soap and then set it aside. My dear sister, I am sending it to you with this letter.

My new wardrobe included an elegant gown of rich blue velvet with a gold silk undergown. The neckline dipped to a point well below the base of my throat and the generous sleeves were sumptuously decorated. Fastening the platelet belt around my hips, I chatted with my assigned maid as she pinned gillyflowers into my hair. Freed from its braiding, it flowed with maidenly abandon to curl at my waist.

A heavy knock at the door interrupted our whimsical gossip and the chambermaid opened it to reveal a disgruntled Bellegarde.

‘We have been waiting an hour, Cécile. We are hungry! How much longer must you …' His mouth fell agape as I stepped forward. If he were a starving man then he looked as though he had just been gifted a horn of plenty. ‘Forgive me, Lady. It appears that some things can be worth waiting for.'

Indeed. His own appearance in a rich dark blue cotehardie and black silk chausses was more worthy of a courtier than a courier. With courtly grace he offered his arm but frowned as he noticed my nuncheon dishes, barely touched.

‘Your cousin is presently occupied at dice with his soldiers and I was going to suggest a walk in the garden but perhaps you would rather dine first.'

‘A stroll in the garden sounds wonderful but what of your own hunger, Monsieur?'

His eyes twinkled and if handsome smiles could be sold, his treasury would rival that of Edward III. ‘I can wait, Lady.'

We meandered along a chequered pathway that weaved through leaf-smothered arbours to the large flower beds beyond. Intertwining roses clamoured over a wattle framework, their perfume heavy in the summer air as the pink spires of hollyhocks quivered above a carpet of violets and poppies. My keeper held back an encroaching vine and I gasped when we discovered a fountain of winged angels, their saintly presence confirming my suspicion that we were in the Garden of Eden. Closing my eyes and spinning like a child, I inhaled deeply. ‘It is beautiful!'