The Order of the Lily (61 page)

‘And that, daughter,' laughed Jean d'Armagnac, ‘is why I gave you to him. Not for any idle fancy of yours, but because here, at last, is a man who possesses the mettle to withstand you!'

A loud cheer went up as a large, roasted boar was ceremoniously carried into the room and its appearance put an end to any further conversation as everyone settled themselves to dine.

On one side of the bridal table Armand headed his companions, accompanied by Margot, the maids and the squires. Jean Petit, awake from his nap, was being passed around Gillet's companions-in-arms, in as much demand as an ale skin around a campfire, the battle-seasoned soldiers busily discussing the best techniques of wrapping swaddling bands! Opinions varied, and a disagreement arose over the correct tension, which was being compared to the leather lacing on a bow.

‘God's nails, Mouse,' snorted Gabriel. ‘Your way will see the infant slip from his bonds like a peeled apple!'

‘And your way is to swathe him for eternity like an Egyptian king!'

Poor Griffith was enduring a teasing from the younger squires, and Cécile thought Minette's blushes would set fire to the cloth before long.

On the other side of the room Jean le Bossu was in deep discussion with Gillet over horse breeding whilst the Comte and Lady Matilda's topic had generated between the candle sticks to include Guiraud, Father Beraud and Rosetta. Violetta was entertaining Alfred, and quite successfully observed Cécile. She glanced around the room again and sighed. She felt her hand lifted from the table.

‘You must think me neglectful,' whispered Gillet, placing a kiss on her fingers. ‘Where did your thoughts lie just now? I swear you looked almost sad.'

‘Everyone I hold dear is in this room, except Catherine.'

‘I am sorry, Cécile. I learned too late that she and Simon had departed for Scotland. However, if it softens the blow, your horses and cats await you tomorrow. They should arrive around noon in the company of Llewellyn and his son, Trefor.'

Cécile squealed with delight and threw her arms around her husband.

Gillet laughed and disentangled himself as a servant removed his tankard and replaced it with a gem-encrusted goblet, a sprig of ivy winding up the stem. ‘Drink from our marriage cup, Lady Wife. I will not have you sad on our wedding day.' He speared a delicacy from a platter with his eating knife and dipped it into the accompanying sauce before offering it to her. Then he began to strip a fish to the skeleton, peeling the white flakes and setting them onto the plate between them as he spoke. ‘I waited four weeks in Larressingle for the reading of the banns. When I returned to Calais, Simon and Catherine had gone.'

Cécile looked up in surprise. ‘Banns were read for our marriage?'

‘Throughout every village between Larressingle and Dax.' Gillet set down his knife. ‘I did everything I could to make our marriage legal and binding, but I must tell you when Alfred turned up in Paris, I left with him before I could see the King. I am still wanted for treason in France.'

‘You gave up your chance to be pardoned to come to me,' sighed Cécile. ‘And then I turned you away. Gillet, you must have hated me!'

‘Hate, no but I was confused.' Gillet looked up at her. ‘What good is a pardon if I do not have you with me?' His hand crept over hers. ‘Our marriage is binding though the clandestine manner of it will no doubt cost us a rich fine eventually.'

‘You are positive that our marriage is absolutely secure?'

‘There remains one task,' he murmured. His eyes smouldered and Cécile blushed. Jean d'Armagnac picked that moment to glance at his daughter. He winked man-to-man at Gillet.

‘Your father is still ignorant of our living arrangements in Chilham,' whispered Gillet sheepishly. ‘A wise wife would keep it that way.'

The tables were cleared of the debris and the strumming chords of a lute sounded. Armand stepped into the centre of the room and bowed. ‘Good people,' he announced. ‘A song, if I may, in honour of my cousins. It is a trite and whimsical story of a man heavily burdened by daughters. Marriage, it would seem, was his only answer.' He plucked a few chords, his rich voice melodiously narrating the first verse.

‘Across this fair land, over meadow and field

There once stood a tavern called

The Sword and the Shield .

The owner, a man who was filled with a dread

His burden in life was to keep dressed and fed

Six comely daughters, with husbands a-none

Who thought nought of marriage, only having the fun.

There was Matilda, Veronique, Minette hard on her heel

Margot, and Catherine and who could forget Cécile?'

A spontaneous burst of laughter heralded an early success, but Cécile knew Armand's ability to obliterate all proprieties when it came to ‘song divination.'

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

Six comely daughters for his company.

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

His burden so heavy that he could not rest.'

He fell back to narration, singing only the chorus, but strumming in-between the lines.

‘He sat in his tavern, his head he would nurse.

Six hungry daughters were hard for his purse.

The answer came to him, so he set a quest,

“The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.”

He sent out his parchments to four corners of the realm

To all lonely knights to bring weapon and helm.

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

“I love them,” he said, “but they will pauper me.”

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.'

Armand bowed gallantly to Lady Matilda.

‘Said Matilda, “I care not for the size of his spurs.

I want a big castle, with jewels and furs

And servants, one hundred, to bring me my ale.

Can any brave knight be so hearty and hale?”'

He left them laughing to dance across the room where he perched beside Margot's maid, Veronique. She squealed with delight and grabbed Gabriel.

‘
“Say what you will,” said the eloquent Veronique

“But I will make sure that my man is unique!”

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

They harried the maids to make them pretty.

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.

‘The men 'round the campfire did listen with glee.

“Come all who have weapons,” the scroll did decree.

“I will enter,” said Guiraud, caressing his arrow

But the men choked with laughter and said, “It's too narrow!”

He looked at them smiling. “You think I've no chance?”

And with a devilish grin, he presented his lance.'

Armand winked at his younger sibling, whose eyes glowed like two round moons. Beside him, Jean le Bossu rocked with laughter. By a tacit accord, the men joined in the common lines of the chorus.

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

A lance such as this needs no commentary.

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.

‘With a roar, Mouse stood and said, “I need space.

I need lots of room to swing out my mace!”

He pulled out his weapon, it was big, round and knobbly

And swung it so hard that it made his knees wobbly.

The men watched in anguish, this would be hard to match

But when his ball got going, it was harder to catch!'

The boys hooted uproariously as Mouse stood and imitated throwing his morning star, with some rather ludicrous hip swivels.

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

He swung it so hard that it buckled his knees.

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.'

Armand turned to Gillet's squire.

‘Griffith stood up and tucked into his belt

A weapon so long, admiration was felt.

The men watched in awe as he did unsheathe

A sword that's so perfect, 'twas beyond all belief.

“When I'm in battle, because of its size

If I am thrusting, tears come to my eyes!”'

The boys crowed with laughter, thumping Griffith on the back. He blushed to the colour of newly boiled beets.

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

The more I am thrusting, the harder I see.

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.'

Armand ceased strumming and pointed to himself, shaking his head with true jester-like absurdity. The room exploded with a resounding ‘yes' and he shrugged, singing on.

‘Armand complained, “I have but a lyre

And it plays sweet music for a maiden's desire.”

He revealed his instrument from under his fur

And they nodded at once, quick to concur.

He plucked it softly – the sound was pure splendour.

With a lyre such as this he would need no defender.'

Squeals flew to the rafters and by now everyone joined in the chorus.

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

A lyre worth plucking, they all did agree.

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.'

Armand danced towards Gillet. The guests stilled, waiting …

‘But the men were agog when Gillet, he spoke

“My weapon just fits beneath my huge cloak.

I'll not show it now, 'tis for my lady to meet

But it starts at my belt and it reaches my feet!”

They nodded in turn, with respect in their eyes.

Gillet was tall, perhaps this was wise.'

Jean d'Armagnac almost choked on his ale. He slapped the table with gusto and it was Gillet's turn to change colour.

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

I don't like to boast but it passes my knee.”

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.

‘Then Gabriel stood, clutching his cleaver And said,

“If I'm chosen, I vow not to leave her.”

“Good sir, what makes you so sure you'll be picked?

Your weapon is only a glorified stick!”

But he answered them wisely, “A lady of taste

Will go for the quality and not have the waste!”

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

The value lay not in quantity.

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.'

Squeals of laughter pealed out from the maids, and then Armand sobered. He returned to the centre of the room and bowed. ‘In honour of those absent loved ones,' he announced, and began again with no less impertinence.

‘Said Simon, “Men, say what you will.

You play with your weapons, I'll play with my quill.

Your weapons are strong but you men are too fickle.

Any lady will tell you, a feather can tickle!

And when this expires, I have plenty more,

I just go and visit the chicken next door!'

‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee

A feather so gentle, will thrill a lady.

Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest

The hand of my daughter for the weapon that's best.'