The Lily and the Lion (40 page)

‘So be it,' said Simon. ‘Then you will be gratified to learn, lad, that you did not swear your love, or anything else for that matter, upon the Bible.' Reaching into his doublet, he pulled out the small, battered book I had seen in the hands of the priest. ‘I took the liberty of replacing it with one written much further afield. A very precious volume of eastern philosophy, a gift, some years ago, from your father.' Any anger that had remained between them now slid gently sideways as Simon embraced Gillet. ‘Go to her, my boy, and if she loves you in the way that you perceive, then she will understand.'

Gillet nodded and turned to me. ‘Have your letter ready within the hour. I will ensure that your sister receives it prior to my arrival. No doubt she will accept your explanation far better than mine.'

‘Gillet, I am so sorry.' My tears had slowed but my grief remained.

‘I understand, Catherine. You acted out of love. Now I must do the same.' He bent and kissed my fingers and marched swiftly from the chapel, his destination as sure as his heart.

‘I surmise that you are somewhat angry.'

‘Yes, Simon, an emotion quite new to me.'

‘Good. I see that you finally have some colour in your cheeks. I had thought you incapable of feeling anything. I am pleased to see that I was wrong.'

‘I beg your pardon?' I gasped.

‘I was beginning to think that Lady Pembroke had succeeded in crushing the life out of you, but at last some fire, some spark, arises from within.'

‘How dare you! Lady Mary is kind and …'

‘
Mary St Pol is a bully
!'

‘If I were reprimanded, it was because I deserved to be,' I sniffed.

‘You were imprisoned and abused!' His sudden outburst of rage seemed unjustified and I instinctively took a step back. ‘I
know
what it is like at Denny Abbey. No more than a babe and forced to work, given little to eat and left for days in solitude, a hair shirt at the age of ten. You yourself confessed to her evil ways.'

‘Simon,' I began, perplexed by his response and embarrassed that he knew so much of my past.

‘The walls are gone, Catherine, yet your heart remains as constricted as ever. Why? You are now free to express yourself in any way that you choose!'

‘It is the Devil who spits with an angry tongue!'

‘No, Catherine, it is the normal response of a woman betrayed.'

‘Lord Wexford, I find your behaviour appalling, and your flippant attitude towards the church and its sacraments beyond comprehension,' I replied. ‘You used both me and my sister to your own ends! I do not feel that I will
ever
be able to forgive you. I intend to ask Lady Holland if I might make my home here, with her. I would like you to leave immediately.'

He straightened, his height and bulk used to intimidating effect, but I refused to be swayed or frightened by him. I turned and walked away.

Simon said nothing.

So, my dearest, I had discharged my guardian and intended to approach Lady Matilda to request permission to remain at Broughton Manor. But once again I was out-manœuvred, for Lord Wexford has taken action to stop me. As I was about to finish this missive to you our aunt knocked upon my door and entered the room, indicating that I should remain seated.

‘Dear Catherine, Simon has just told me of the matters you discussed in the chapel.' She reached for my quill and placed it upon the desk, seating herself at the same time.

‘Lady Matilda, how I wish to sit with you, but I must beg your leave. Gillet waits for me to finish this letter so that he may depart.'

She dismissively brushed the air with her hand. ‘We have a little time. Gillet is attending to a loose shoe upon his horse,' she said. ‘I am more concerned with your outburst this afternoon. You have hurt Simon. He is much distressed.'

‘Hurt him? Lord Wexford is the most mean-spirited man I have ever met! He goads me and encourages my temper to the point of …'

‘Catherine,' she said calmly, as though the waves of the ocean would comply with her wishes. ‘I have known Simon for many years and though his exterior is roughened, his heart still bleeds.'

‘But he baits me, he deliberately tests my faith.'

‘Simon tells me that you have ordered him to leave.'

‘Yes, I was hoping to ask your permission to remain here, with you.'

‘Oh, my darling, how I would like that if only it were possible. But you forget, you are in the care and protection of Lord Wexford and must do as he directs.'

‘I have but exchanged one captor for another,' I replied dejectedly.

‘No. In time you will see that Simon is much more than you presume.' Her smile was genuine, though I felt that her emotions were possibly a little confused.

‘I cannot forgive his recent behaviour. 'Tis as though he is prepared to go to any length to protect me …'

‘He is, my dear, he is,' Matilda interrupted. ‘When you lose something precious it tends to cloud your judgment.'

‘He has told me of his wife.'

‘Has he? I am most surprised, for he rarely speaks of Amina or Rassaq.'

‘Rassaq?'

‘His son. Time has done nothing to lessen his guilt.' Under Matilda's scrutiny I felt myself pale. ‘I can see that I have surprised you!'

‘Yes, I was unaware that Lord Wexford has a child.'

‘I do not know all the circumstances. Simon is a man who reveals little, but I can tell you this. I know that he was to return to England with Rassaq. The trip was delayed as Simon was called to duty. When he finally went back for the boy, it was too late.'

‘Too late?' I gasped.

‘In his absence, the heathens murdered his wife and son. It broke Simon's heart.'

‘Dear Lord!' Though the room was warm, a cold chill had captured my soul.

‘It was many years before he returned to London, ravaged by guilt and sick with rage. He attended court but spent hours at dice, gambling his fortune away and drinking to excess. Gillet's arrival was a saving grace, for both you and him. So you see, my dear, Lord Wexford will go to any lengths to protect you. He fears failure more than others fear death.'

‘It does not excuse his recent actions.'

‘Perhaps you are too quick to judge.'

I could not answer, for I no longer know how I feel.

‘Finish your missive, dear, and race it down to Gillet,' instructed Matilda. ‘Meanwhile, I shall inform Lord Wexford he is to remain.'

So, my dearest, how I want to say more but there is no time. Anaïs, who has learned of Gillet's impending departure, can be heard wailing long and hard and without prudence, from bell tower to basement. She is happy to tell all that they have yet to consummate their marriage, but this may prove to be a grave mistake on her part. It also appears that she is so deluded that she has no idea why he is leaving or where he is going. Let us hope her confusion is long enjoyed.

Cécile, please be gentle with Gillet's heart, for it has been stomped upon most fine by me.

Your devoted sister, Catherine, Lady Holland.

Completed in haste at Broughton Manor, England, The Feast of The Birth of the Blessed Virgin, 8 September 34 Edward III.

Kneeling before the altar, Simon Marshall closed his eyes. Catherine's anger had pierced the armour protecting his heart, the wound beneath as raw as the passion she had ignited within him.

She was not as fiery as Amina. When angered, his wife would shake her fist and screech obscenities. She was as harsh as the landscape around her.

Rassaq was different. The boy was neither boisterous nor demanding like the other children. He listened with an ear not usually found on the young. It was as though he understood the fear he inspired in his mother's family, yet knew he was powerless to do anything about it.

Begging God for forgiveness, Simon revisited the question he asked himself each night as he struggled to find sleep. Why had he not foreseen the treachery? He had trusted them, believed that Rassaq was safe, for surely Amina's family would protect them both. His wife had assumed the same. It was an error in judgment that had cost them their lives.

He shuddered as the haunting image reappeared.

The area was abandoned, the tents gone and camel tracks wiped clean by the hot dry wind of the desert. Lowering the protective covering wrapped around his face, he'd squinted into the sun, searching for something familiar. Turning back towards a small mound of rocks, his breath caught in his throat, his heart momentarily stopped beating. A juniper bush, dislodged in the sandstorm, had tangled itself on a wooden marker. It was an inverted cross, set between two lonely graves, one much smaller than the other.

Forcing the memory away, Simon opened his eyes, the flickering light of the candles casting long shadows on the chapel wall. Brushing his cheeks with the back of his hand, he rose with fresh determination. Lady Catherine Holland may not approve of his decisions but she had no choice. He would protect her in any way and by any means he saw fit, whether she liked it or not!

To my worshipful and beloved sister, Lady Catherine Holland, at Broughton Manor, be this letter delivered.

Dearest one, I am in receipt of your latest missive, delivered by a local boy. I can see why Gillet waited until I read your letter before showing himself. I cannot believe it. We were brazenly misled in a game of deceit. Were our feelings never to be considered? You write that I must tread lightly upon Gillet's heart. I tell you now, for the nights I wasted weeping, I wish I had hooves shod with iron!

The next day my brewing anger manifested itself into energy. Whilst the Mesdames secured supplies in the village, I attacked their domain with the ruthlessness of a warrior on a raid. Cleaning floors and scrubbing tables, scouring pots and pans until they shone, the kitchen began to gleam like a newly-minted coin. By mid-afternoon the aroma of oatcakes permeated the air and the kettle hissed cheerfully from its hook by the fire. An army of vegetables, stripped of their coats, lay patiently awaiting execution in a pot. Returning the oven paddle to its corner and poking the freshly baked cakes with satisfaction, I turned with a sigh of simple contentment, wondering if such domestic serenity could be more than just a paragraph in the pages of my life. That was when I saw Gillet standing in the doorway.

He was clean shaven and neatly groomed, his green velvet shoulders stiff with resolve, but he had the appearance of a wrung out sheet rather than freshly aired linen. He stepped tentatively into the room, his expression taut and drawn. ‘Cécile, we must talk.'

‘Pusillanimous pig!'

He quickly ducked as a jug, half-filled with barley water, smashed into the wall above him.

Nights of endless lamentation flared from memory and anger uncoiled, as dangerous as any striking serpent. ‘Knave! Hypocrite! Licentious scoundrel!' He sidestepped a flying missile that was Madame Duvall's pottery bowl. ‘
Whoremonger
.'

His grasp manacled my wrist, forestalling the cup that was to follow. ‘At least give me the chance to explain, before Madame Duvall loses all her tableware.'

Writhing from his clasp, I fell back, spitting like a wild cat. ‘Go back to
your wife
. She, at least, welcomes your presence!'

He began to pace between the fireplace and the spice shelves, halting suddenly with his finger and thumb pressed tightly against his closed lids. ‘I have been living in a waking nightmare for days. You cannot think that I have not suffered also.'

‘Also?' My chin rose to cathedral heights. ‘You mistake me, Sir, for you suffer alone.'

His eyes opened slowly, his arm falling heavily to his side. ‘But what of the words last spoken between us?'

He dodged the cup as it shattered against the timber beam. ‘
What of the words you spoke to her
?'

‘Damn it, Cécile! Cease your bitter bleating. Give me quarter.'

‘Oh, I'll give you quarter!' I grabbed the knife from the table. ‘And I know which quarter I would cut off first!'

His jaw clenched stubbornly and he clutched the shelf to steady himself, bunches of dried lavender jiggling above his head. The words were strained through his teeth. ‘The marriage was not consummated and never will be.'

I threw down the knife with a snort of disgust. ‘That you put the cart before the horse did not stop you both from getting to market.'

Gillet glared fiercely. ‘God's sake, woman! There were no banns called nor permission sought from the Crown. The vows declared were
verba de futuro,
“I
will
take you.” Had it been real on the day, I would have used
verba de praesenti
, “I
do
take you.”'

‘You may dazzle me all you like with your Latin, Gillet, but words of intent were still spoken!'

Gillet wrenched a chair aside and strode to the fireplace. ‘You are listening with only one ear! Have you become deaf as well as blind? Did Catherine not inform you that the vows are
insignificant
? None of the conditions adhering to the betrothal will be met.' He threw up his arms. ‘Christ Almighty! The whole farce was performed upon a book dedicated to the herding of elephants! I wish to God Catherine had never sent you that letter.'

‘Do not put the blame on Catherine for this mess. If you and Simon were not deceitful curs, she would not have felt the need!'

‘Does it not count that when I learned of her actions, I was on the road within hours to come to you?'

‘Why? Think you have unfinished business here? Go back to your wife, Gillet. In fact, go back to all your sluts!'

‘You ungrateful bitch!' He stepped toward me, his open palm rising menacingly only to curl into a fist of frustration. ‘Aagh! I have risked my neck for you time and again. How dare you stand there and condemn me for deceit when you are no better! Your self-righteous belly is germinating royal seed! Did you shrill this loudly at the Prince? Or did you moan and groan as you spread your legs, only to scream rape afterwards?'

‘
You bastard
.' I struck his cheek with all my strength. It was enough to unbalance him, tilt him sideways in the same manner as had our relationship.

He collapsed onto a stool before the hearth and cradled his head. ‘Cécile, I am sorry.' A torture rack of silence stretched the seconds into minutes. When he spoke, it was in a grave tone. ‘Anaïs will soon discover she has been duped. She will inform the Black Prince of your whereabouts. You are no longer safe here and it is my fault that she will strike. I could have continued the pretence of marriage but when I discovered Catherine had written, I rode back here.' He glanced up. ‘I chose you above all else. Anaïs will betray us. If she succeeds Simon will end up sunk in the Thames with a rock in his belly, Salisbury will have Catherine and you will be turned over to Edward.' His head lifted to meet my gaze. ‘And all because I love you.'

My heart began to pound. My legs buckled beneath me and I slumped onto the bench. ‘And you? What of you?'

His words resonated the hopelessness he felt. ‘My darling wife knows enough to have me hanged, drawn and quartered. I will be rotting in a cell awaiting a traitor's death, whereupon my limbs will decorate each gate of London and my head will be driven onto a spike for the bridge.' He sighed heavily. ‘She threatened all of this to force our nuptials. That is why Simon suggested we perform a false ceremony. We had to gain time.'

‘And yet you risked all to come here?'

‘Yes! Because I could not bear to have you think I had deserted you in your time of need. Yes,' he rose, ‘I have foolishly put us all at risk and I am not proud of it. But when it comes to you, Cécile d'Armagnac, it seems I lose all reason.' He strode to the board and poured a cup of wine, draining it in a gulp. Refilling his, he poured a second and held it out. ‘You are a test to my sagacity, Lady.'

Even Actaeon, the ancient warrior hunted to death by his own hounds, could not have looked more desperate. ‘I need some air. Drink up. Armand told me there was a wood-land nearby that you would enjoy.'

With some balance restored to our senses, I found myself being guided from the back of the rose garden, down a winding path no wider than a bridle track. Bordered by tall hedgerows of hawthorn, it led to a clearing of immense beauty. Soaring pines tickled the sky, the thickly interwoven branches overhead dangling the sun's rays in ribbons of pink and gold. A pebbled bank, clustered with meadowsweet, dipped into a stream, tiny waterfalls bubbling along the meandering curves and cascading into a deep pool. A large, flat rock hid beneath the trees, a proud pagan altar, shrouded in clinging bryony. On both sides moss and lichen-embossed logs sprawled like carelessly placed church pews on a thick carpet of leaves dusted by wild strawberry flowers.

‘Armand discovered it and thought it would please you. He made me promise to bring you here.' Gillet smirked indulgently as I gaped, my hands clasped childlike beneath my chin.

‘
C'est magnifique.
'

‘Oui, a perfect home for a sprite.'

He spread out a blanket beneath the leafy canopy and beckoned for me to join him. ‘Now let us sit and talk rationally. Why did you not tell me that you were carrying Edward's child? We were together for weeks and yet you said nothing.'

I clenched my hands to keep them from trembling. He reached out to take one and encased it in his. ‘Why did you not say?'

‘At first I was hoping that my fever sickness had prevailed and my body needed time to heal. By … by the time I knew for sure, I also knew I had feelings for you.'

‘That still does not explain why you kept it hidden. Lady, do you not know the risks you took? The endless hours on horseback alone …'

‘I was scared, Gillet. I still am, but no more so than to lose you. Do you not remember? You rejected me at the monastery for having been used by Edward. You were disgusted with me. I was terrified to reveal that the seed you so despised had taken root.'

He sighed remorsefully. ‘I have long been sorry that I spoke those words. I was angry, Cécile.' His hand slid to nestle my cheek. ‘So angry. I would have given much to have been your first, sweetheart.'

‘I'm sorry, Gillet. If it is any consolation, it was not my choice to go to Edward. He threatened your life and to compromise Catherine. At the time my virtue seemed a meagre price to pay.' My lashes became awash with tears. ‘I never imagined that I would …' From somewhere deep inside a knot that had been twisted for weeks suddenly unfurled and let go. I succumbed to grief at long last.

Gillet pulled me into his embrace. ‘Cry it out, Céci. And when the tears are done, we will decide what course must be taken.'

‘Why does God smite us so?' I sobbed. ‘Anaïs carries your child and I will bear Edward's.'

‘Hardly the love lauded in a troubadour's ballad, is it?' he sighed.

When I finally wiped my eyes Gillet tilted my chin and kissed me, a soft, tender kiss that carried warmth and hope.

‘Cécile, I want you to understand something. If I could offer you my name, I would do so right now but I cannot. Do you understand? It's not that I would not, it is that I
cannot
.'

My heart sank. ‘Why can you not?'

Gillet exhaled heavily and, leaning back against the bark, searched the sky. ‘For the last two years, I have danced to King Edward's tune to keep my neck from a noose. I am wanted in France by the authorities for participation in the Jacquerie uprising, but I am wrongly accused.'

I gasped in horror. Who had not heard of that terrible rebellion two years ago where innocent peasants had been tortured and killed? ‘You were there?'

‘I was on leave from my soldier's duty visiting an old friend in Saint Leu when the violence erupted. They stormed the manor, searching for weapons. Then some fool threw in a lighted torch. I was outside, trying to prevent them from stealing the horses, when I was struck from behind.' He shifted uneasily, his voice wavering. ‘When I regained my senses, the house was engulfed in flames.' Gillet swallowed and heeled his moistened eyes. ‘God have mercy, Cécile, there were five children asleep in their beds and sometimes I can still hear the screams. I tried, God knows I tried to get inside, but …' His voice broke and he coughed.

‘Go on,' I urged, gently squeezing his arm.

‘I rode like a madman to Meaux, where I knew the Dauphin and his court were in residence. I had thought to forewarn them but I was too late. Violence had already broken out on the narrow bridge that connected the fortress to the town and the road was impassable, teeming with a panic-stricken mob as bloodied bodies of innocent peasants lay ignored. As I checked for living souls I was arrested by the captain of the guard, an enemy of your father's who recognised me, Comte Gaston de Foix.'

‘Foix!' I cried in revulsion.

His hand swept over his beading brow. ‘Oui, Foix. I spent a month in a filthy pit, my gaoler a creature who took much gratification in daily beatings and torture.' He shuddered. ‘Then Charles of Navarre invited the leader of the Jacquerie, Guillaume Caen, to come out of hiding for a parley. Navarre promised to storm the prison and rescue Caen's followers, in return for his allegiance against the Dauphin. When Guillaume revealed himself at the appointed time, he was seized. They forced him to wear a crown of red hot irons before they beheaded him. With both Navarre and King Edward attacking the French throne, the Dauphin sent orders to execute the rest of the Jacquerie prisoners.' Gillet's eyes glazed with the sickly memories. He whispered hoarsely, ‘I thought my time had come.'

‘This is terrible!' I reached out but he stayed my hand.

‘Non! Let me finish before you decide to offer comfort. Bertrand du Guesclin was Captain of Pontorson, in Brittagne, and held the garrisons at Mont Saint-Michel and Montagu, where I had been serving. He had ridden to Paris to see the Dauphin and demand the back pay for his soldiers. Rather than lose support of du Guesclin's army, the Dauphin agreed to his demands. But Bertrand had heard of my capture and, keeping our French Prince suitably distracted, he had one of his most trusted companions organise my escape.' His dark gaze met mine. ‘Comte Jean d'Armagnac.'

‘So
that's
how you know my papa!'

‘It was a risky plan but du Guesclin and your father enlisted the aid of a society of knights that has remained underground and secret for many years. In better days, they were known as the Templars. I was snatched away from under the Dauphin's nose, hidden in basements, smuggled out at night and eventually delivered to Mont Saint-Michel, but God's mercy,
I was alive
. From there my passage was arranged to England, where I was placed into the service of Mary St Pol.'

‘Oh, Gillet!' I ached to pull him into my arms and ease his terrible pain.

‘It was a double-edged sword,' he said, shaking his head,

‘and I was to pay for my rescue. I was introduced into the English court by Lady Mary and each time I crossed into France it was as a diplomatic envoy under the protection of King Edward.' His fingers lightly brushed down my cheek. ‘You see, the Black Prince would never have given me to the Parisian authorities as he threatened, but what Edward and his father-king did not know was that Mary St Pol still carried loyalties to France. I supplied Bertrand du Guesclin and Jean d'Armagnac with information in return. That was how the Comte eventually learned of the existence of your sister.'