The Lily and the Lion (36 page)

‘… God's law or the laws of the realm, let him now speak or else hereafter hold his peace.'

‘No one objects!' proclaimed Anaïs.

Our eyes met and I held her stare.

‘Don't even think it!' she threatened as her gaze searched the empty garden behind her. ‘Get on with it, Father.'

Disconcerted, he stammered and glanced back at his prayer book. Simon coughed politely as Gillet persistently stared at his boots.

‘It's all part of the ceremony,' mumbled Father Donovan. ‘When you look back on this day, do you not wish to do so with a happy heart and mind?'

‘I rather hoped for far more entertaining memories,' scoffed Anaïs.

She had Gillet's attention now. His look was one of complete contempt. ‘Let's just get this over with.'

‘I require and charge you both,' declared the priest, now reading directly from his book, ‘as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment why you may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, that you confess it.' Raising his hands to the sky, he continued. ‘For be well assured that so many as be coupled together otherwise that God's word doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful.'

Beads of sweat were manifesting on Gillet's brow as he stared into the distance.

‘Gillet,' I begged and grabbed his arm. ‘Please stop.'

Anaïs pulled my hand away. ‘I imagine Cécile will be begging in much the same way,' she mused, ‘as the Prince takes her, again and again and again.' Her eyes flicked to Simon. ‘Not that Lord Poxford will be around to see it. He'll be dangling from the end of a rope, his eyes bulging as he shites himself!' Her eyes snapped to mine. ‘Do you really wish to interrupt again, Sister Mary Catherine?'

‘Catherine, this is not helping.' Grasping my wrist, Simon gently encouraged me to return to his side. I could not contain the sound of a sob which brought a wide smile to my maid's face.

Clearing his throat, Father Donovan coaxed the proceedings along.

‘My son, you must repeat after me, I, Gillet de Bellegarde …'

‘Wait!' Gillet stepped closer to Anaïs and swiftly removed the headpiece from atop her hair. ‘Barley has always held a particular memory for me. I want nothing to confuse that day with this.' He handed it to me.

‘How touching,' spat Anaïs . ‘Now, get on with it!'

The priest uttered the vows, which Gillet dutifully began to repeat.

‘Please God, no,' I begged.

‘I, Gillet de Bellegarde, will take you, Anaïs … Anaïs …' stumbled your beloved, and for a brief moment my hopes rose.

‘It's d'Arques, Anaïs d'Arques.' She made no attempt to hide her growing temper.

‘Anaïs d'Arques,' Gillet closed his eyes, ‘to my wedded wife …'

Fighting the heat building within, I struggled on, yet darkness beckoned and I felt myself sway, sure that the ground was rushing up to greet me. My mind was spinning, thinking, trying to conjure something to stop Gillet. Simon squeezed my fingers and I looked up to see Anaïs grab hold of Gillet's hand.

‘I, Anaïs d'Arques, will take you, Gillet de Bellegarde, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward …'

The priest watched her, his disgust unmistakable.

‘… to be bonny and buxom in bed and at board.' She giggled at Gillet. ‘To love and to cherish, 'til death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance, and thereunto I plight thee my troth,' she finished, with a triumphant grin.

The priest continued the blessing then released their hands and asked for the ring. Gillet's detached attitude momentarily cleared and he looked at Simon.

‘You don't have a
ring
?' exclaimed Anaïs.

Simon reached into his tunic and pulled out a long, golden chain. Unfastening it, he held the coil of links skyward and I watched as an intricate band slid down and dropped into his palm, which he then extended to Gillet. It was several seconds before Gillet responded, shaking his head as though unwilling to accept it.

‘Take it,' commanded Simon, forcing the ring into Gillet's hand. Father Donovan smiled briefly and, continuing with the prayer, made several sweeping movements over the delicate piece of gold, blessing the union and commanding their souls to God. When he was finished I waited for the final act, but Gillet was suddenly fixed, unable to move, the ring poised in his fingers.

‘Oh, come on,' she encouraged, but when he failed to respond, she took the treasured circlet and shoved it, unceremoniously, onto her left hand.

‘Ha! It is done! I am your wife.'

The sun crawled away to hide behind a cloud and the sky darkened. I was sure that the gates of Hell were about to open and swallow my soul, so evil were my thoughts. Simon's arm found its way around my shoulders and he drew me against him, his sturdy frame supporting my weight.

‘Catherine?' His voice was filled with concern.

‘What do I care if she faints? Leave the stupid bitch here,' Anaïs sneered. I clenched my eyes tight. Lord, forgive me, for the first time I knew hate.

Simon assisted me to the front pew but I cannot recall the sermon, nor the reading, only the triumphant smirk of my maid, standing at the altar awaiting her blessing.

‘I bestow upon you the kiss of peace,' said the priest. He bent and brushed his lips against Gillet's mouth. ‘You may now pass on this blessing.' Gillet looked at Anaïs and, turning a pale shade of grey, stepped backwards. But Anaïs was having none of this and reached forward, forcing him into an embrace. She opened her mouth to kiss him but Gillet quickly turned, his chin colliding with her lips.

‘Come now, husband, no need to be shy,' she giggled.

‘We stand in the house of the Lord, not a den of iniquity!' he glowered.

‘Fine time for you to show moral restraint! After all, 'tis due to your lack thereof that we are here.' She patted the round protrusion of her growing child.

He stepped back further, unable to mask his disgust. ‘You have what you wanted, Anaïs. Leave me with my dignity!' He spun on his heel and marched out. Anaïs caught my eye and, thrusting her shoulders back, strode after him.

Simon and I remained alone within the chapel, yet I was unable to pray. Passing me his kerchief he laid the barley wreath upon the pew as I wiped my cheeks.

‘I do not understand Gillet's fascination for Anaïs' headpiece,' I whispered, staring at the curled leaves.

Simon did not respond. Perhaps he, too, was considering Gillet's strange behaviour.

‘I wish to return to my room and seek solace.' Rising to my feet, I made to leave. It was imperative that you be told all that had occurred.

‘I assure you, Catherine, this will all seem very different tomorrow.'

‘I doubt that, Simon, I really do,' I declared before departing.

Passing the stables, I suddenly struck upon a plan. Hearing the throaty laugh of Roderick, I quickly darted behind a long hedge and made my way into the back room. My guardian's brother readily agreed to provide a courier to dispatch my letter to you. He was not interested in my reasons, but must have been aware of my recent distress. A simple lift of his brow said it all and he arranged to collect the correspondence from me later that evening. I hurriedly made my way back to finish it. As I skirted below the large kitchen windows I saw Gillet standing alone against the northwest garden fence. Even though it was dark and he was turned from me, I could sense a melancholy about him. His gaze remained fixed upon a star in the sky. I did not want him to see me, for I knew he would instantly assume that I was not acting as I should. But there did not appear to be any risk of this, so preoccupied was he that, even when the stones crunched beneath my feet, he did not turn in my direction.

My darling, he married Anaïs, but I am sure, as he gazed at the heavens, thoughts of you consumed him.

Roderick's courier will see this on its way and you will have this very sorry missive. I wish I could have done more, begged more heartily or pleaded more convincingly. All I can promise you is this, though this letter may not clearly indicate my objections, I did voice them to Gillet and Simon with all my heart and soul.

Your dedicated sister, Catherine.

Written from Broughton Manor, 6 September, two days before the Feast of The Birth of the Blessed Virgin, 34 Edward III.

His room was unbearably hot. Pushing open the window, Simon drank in the cool night air, but it was not enough to douse his own fire of guilt. Had he done the right thing? Deceit was a wicked man's armour and each lie uttered only sharpened the sword.

A movement in the bushes below caught his eye and he instantly withdrew behind the curtain. His eyebrows arched as a hooded figure slipped into the stable. It was not long before a horse galloped off. The woman quickly retraced her steps, creeping behind the neatly clipped hedge. Perplexed, he watched her until she slipped out of view, presumably through the kitchen door.

Kicking off his boots, Simon threw himself across the bed and frowned, realisation dawning. Once again he had underestimated Catherine. Without doubt a courier had just been dispatched to France. Would the sisters be able to forgive him?