“All I ever wanted was to give him the son he craved: then, I believed, he would value if not love me….but was not to be.”
“I don’t understand why you care! Could you not defy him? Take a lover of your own?”
The lingering smile faded and Françoise frowned. “Just once, a long time ago, I dared to offer friendship to another man – he was a young knight who’d ridden in with Antoine Kerboul’s retinue. He had asked after my health and paid me a silly compliment – in public, you understand – and I was flattered...”
“What happened?”
“Armand had him...had him killed!” Her voice was full of horror.
“But didn’t Lord Antoine object?”
“Hardly. You know how close they were. And his son seems to dote on Armand just the same. No, Antoine Kerboul had no objection. But Catherine, they made me watch while they hanged him. I suppose they remembered Lady Eleanor’s adultery and wanted to warn me – but they had no need to go so far! That poor innocent young man. That night my pains started and my first child was still-born.”
“It was my father’s fault.”
“Perhaps. But you can be sure, my dear, that I have been very careful ever since. To have merely looked at someone else would have been his death warrant.”
“You said Lady Eleanor’s lover was punished. Was he killed too?”
“I imagine so. It was a long time ago, you know. Armand was young then and I wasn’t even born. Don’t let it fret you, dear.”
“I just find it interesting, that’s all, to learn what kind of devil he is!”
“Hush, dear, hush. You had better leave me now. I don’t want you incurring his displeasure.”
“I don’t care. I’m not afraid. But I’ll go if you want me to. Do you need anything?”
“No, it’s.....” She paused, an odd expression crossing her face.
“Mother?”
As Catherine watched, the woman’s pale features contorted and her hands clenched.
“Mother? Has it started?”
Françoise took a deep breath and waited until the spasm had passed.
“Yes, my dear, it’s started.” Her tone was resigned. “You’d better wake Veronique then find the steward and ask him to inform the household. And send the guard with a message to Lord Armand.” She tensed as another pain gripped her. “I just pray to God that this one lives,” she murmured, closing her eyes, “then perhaps he’ll let me rest.”
Because it was the night of the harvest festival, the castle was strangely quiet. Even at this late hour there would usually have been someone around. There was no sign of René Gilbert, the steward, and the kitchens were totally deserted. It seemed quite unnecessary to seek out Captain Rénard or inform the soldiers on watch above the gate-house. What had her mother’s labour to do with them? Meeting Le Barazer in the courtyard on her way back to the North Tower, he reported a similar lack of success.
“I spoke to Master Ahmed, my lady, but he didn’t seem that interested. Said his lordship was exhausted and that it’d be hours yet anyway.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “I don’t know as he expects the babe to live, see. He give me this potion to ease her ladyship’s pains and said he’d tell Lord Armand in the morning. But he wouldn’t wake him. I’m sorry, my lady.”
“Never mind. I think she’s better off with just a few of us who care about her.”
When she returned to her mother’s chamber, Veronique shared Catherine’s opinion.
“I don’t know why Lord Armand always turned her birthings into public spectacles,” she said with a snort. “Afraid that someone would sneak in a healthy child and swap it for poor madam’s weakly one, I suppose.”
Keen to learn about an experience that she knew, one day, she’d probably have to go through, this time Catherine stayed with her mother throughout. She held her hand, bathed her forehead and helped Veronique to get everything ready. It was distressing, of course, to see Lady Françoise in such pain – her agonised cries and the crushing grip on her daughter’s hand told her just how bad it was – but Catherine was far more interested than repelled. It was a natural process, after all, even if it did seem like a terrible ordeal.
In fact, unlike on previous occasions, everything seemed to happen surprisingly fast. The shutters had been folded back from the windows to allow the air to cool Françoise’s sweating, straining body; as she gave a huge final push, expelling the child into Veronique’s waiting hands, the first strong rays of the morning sun were just penetrating the tower chamber.
“It’s a boy,” Veronique announced, expertly cutting and binding the cord.
The child’s tiny face puckered and he began to wail, not a thin, whimpering cry but a lusty, angry yell.
“Praise God! He sounds strong!” Françoise lay back, a smile of infinite relief on her pale, tired face.
“Yes, madam, he does – and he looks it, too. See, Catherine, this is your new little brother.”
“How beautiful he is!” She gazed in astonishment at the red-faced bawling infant.
Veronique laughed.
“Well, he will be anyway, once we’ve got him cleaned up a bit. We’re never going to have a peaceful moment with you around,” she told him. “Anyone can see that.”
“Veronique...”
The maid put the baby into Catherine’s arms and turned to her mistress.
“Oh, God, no! Madam!”
Hearing the fear in Veronique’s voice, Catherine would have stepped towards the bed.
“Listen, dear,” the maid said firmly, barring her way, “I have to see to your mother now. Do you think you can bath the babe? Take that basin from over there. There’s still water in the jug. Just mind it’s not too hot. You’ll find the swaddling bands in the painted chest and the cradle’s in the closet. Best bathe him in there, dear, and then my lady won’t be disturbed. Can you do that, Catherine?”
“Yes, but...”
“No time to waste, dear – just do as I said. You want to help, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good girl. On you go now. Don’t drop him!”
Struggling with her clumsiness and worried about her lack of expertise, somehow Catherine managed to hold the slippery, protesting baby and wash him in the basin of warm water. He had a mop of dark hair, finer than the softest silk and small, delicate features. He stopped crying as she held him on her lap to dry him and she marvelled at his tiny fingers and minute perfect nails. He seemed to listen to her whispered endearments with almost an expression of interest on his face, permitting her to wrap him in the cocoon of linen cloth without further protest.
“You’re a little miracle,” she told him. “And I’m going to take good care of you.”
He gave a strange little squeak, as if he was agreeing that she should do so.
“Little precious,” she said, holding him close.
There was no sound now from the main chamber, beyond the curtain. Catherine laid the baby in his cradle and covered him over with the soft warm fleece.
“Sleep now, little one. You’ll meet our mother later when she’s rested.”
She stroked the top of his downy head with a gentle finger and dropped a soft kiss onto his cheek.
“Shall I bring the cradle through, Veronique?” she asked, emerging from the closet. She froze at the sight which met her eyes.
Lady Françoise lay motionless on the bed, its covers stripped back. A vast crimson stain had spread out from beneath her and there was a heap of discarded blood-soaked cloths.
A horrified cry broke from Catherine’s lips.
“Oh, Lord help us, child!” Veronique said in dismay. “There’s nothing I can do! I’ve tried everything but I can’t get it to stop!”
The girl flung herself forward to kneel by the bedside. Françoise looked calmly up into her daughter’s huge, anguished eyes.
“Do not grieve for me,” she whispered, her own eyes very dark in her chalk-white face. “I’ve finally given him what he wante
d. Go and bring him to me, please. I don’t think there is very much time.”
“Bring Lord Armand, do you mean?”
“That’s right, my dear: get my husband.”
Fighting down her tears, Catherine struggled to her feet, only now spotting the flask of medicine which Le Barazer had handed her earlier and which she had completely forgotten about.
“Veronique! We didn’t give her this!” she exclaimed, horrified at her forgetfulness. “Would it have saved her?”
“I doubt it, love. It’s just for the pain.”
“Should she have it now?”
“She’s not suffering. You go and fetch His Lordship and I’ll cover her up and make things decent.”
“Very well.”
Catherine rarely went to the Western Tower. There, in a high, reputedly impregnable chamber, the ruling baron of Radenoc always slept. There was a saying that, provided he did so, the castle could never be taken. No-one knew why and it had been years since anyone had put it to the test, but that was what was said.
She crossed the courtyard and ran up into the Hall, usually crowded and noisy about now with men-at-arms and their women hungrily breaking their fast. Today few were present and no-one appeared to notice Catherine as she rushed through and up the far steps into the chamber beyond. From there she had to climb a further short flight of steps then follow the flagged walk-way between the main keep and the furthest tower, isolated on its lonely pinnacle of rock and all but surrounded by the sea. Once through the heavy door she hurried up the winding stairs, calling aloud for Ahmed. He emerged from the large room on the floor below his master’s.
“Well, little lady? What is it? There is some problem, is there? Or have you simply come to have a nice chat? You take some wine with me? Yes?”
“No, thank you.” Catherine struggled to control her instinctive revulsion. “Is Lord Armand awake? He must go to my mother at once. At once, do you hear?”
“No need for panic, little lady. I am sure you have time for a ...”
“No!” Her voice rose and she shrank away from his outstretched claw-like hand. “Just fetch Lord Armand.”
“Patience, patience -” Ahmed began.
Without waiting to hear any more, Catherine pushed past him and dashed up the stairs. Two soldiers were on guard at the top but she paid them no heed. She pounded with her fists on the door.
“Lord Armand! Lord Armand! You must come with me at once!”
She had raised her hands to strike the door again when it swung quietly open and she found herself meeting her father’s cold green eyes.
“It’s all right.” The guards, who had stepped forward to seize Catherine’s arms, dropped back at a gesture from the baron. “Is something amiss?”
“It’s my mother,” Catherine panted. “She wants to see you.”
“Very well. Once I have broken my fast I shall pay her a visit.” He turned away and sat in an elaborately carved chair which was drawn up to a table on which various food-stuffs were laid.
“You don’t understand!” Catherine cried. “She’s dying.”
He had raised a goblet to his lips but now he paused, setting it down again.
“And the child?”
“A lovely boy! But she sent me to bring you! You must come now! Now! Or it will be too late.”
There was a moment’s silence while he seemed to be considering what she had said.
“Very well. I’ll do as she wishes.”
He gripped the arms on the chair and stood with an obvious effort.
‘He’s old and weak,’ Catherine realised with sudden surprise. She stepped aside to let him precede her from the room.
“No,” he said. “You go ahead and tell her that I am coming.”
“All right. But don’t bring Ahmed. Mother said she doesn’t want to see him.”
She glared at him fiercely and he raised his eyebrows. He seemed to know that she was lying.
“As you please.”
Lady Françoise’s chamber, when Catherine returned to it, was peaceful and orderly, all traces of the fatal haemorrhage having been removed by the maid. The baby had been laid by his mother’s side, up on the pillow so that she could see him. If it hadn’t been for her extraordinary pallor, Catherine might almost have believed that she would live. Veronique, watching anxiously over her beloved mistress, stood by the head of the bed. Catherine knelt down by her mother’s side.
“Look after him for me, Catherine,” Françoise whispered.
“Of course I will, Mother.”
“God bless you, sweetheart.”
Catherine’s eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t weep, love. There’s no need. I shall be safe in the arms of Jesus. It will be better there than in this cruel world.”
The door opened and Armand entered the room. Catherine rose hastily and crossed to the window seat. But she wasn’t going any further away than that, whatever anyone said.
“Armand...” Françoise murmured, holding out her hand to him. He took it and sat down beside her, an inscrutable expression on his thin face. She carried his hand to her lips.
‘How can she?’ Catherine thought angrily. ‘After all that he’s put her through!’
“You have your son at last.” Catherine could just make out her mother’s words. “I love you, Armand, and I always did.”
“I know that, Françoise.”
Her voice was low and faint. “All that I have done has been for you. Find Catherine a husband who will make her happy. I prayed that she would be a son… but God willed otherwise.”
Armand glanced across the room. Catherine raised her chin and met his eyes defiantly. He turned back to his wife.
“I’m sorry, Armand. Can you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. What name shall I give our son?”
“I thought...Henri?”
“No!” His face twisted.
“Then perhaps Guy... or Simon, like the poor little first one.”
“Simon, then.”
“I’m so very tired, Armand. I’ll just shut my eyes for a moment.”
“Have you sent for the priest?” Armand looked from Catherine to Veronique.
“There is no need,” Françoise whispered. “I have made my confession.” She gazed up at her husband. “Stay with me.”
“The girl can do that.” He beckoned to Catherine who came forward at once.
“Please, Armand...hold my hand...don’t go...”
Françoise closed her eyes and almost at once seemed to drift off into sleep.
“Sit here and hold her hand,” Armand said, getting to his feet.
“She wants you to, God knows why,” Catherine whispered fiercely. “I would have thought it was the least you could do.”
Armand looked at her in surprise. It was very unusual for anyone to cross him.
Françoise’s eyes opened again.
“Dear Catherine, you promised me. Have you forgotten already?”
“Of course not, Mother. I’ll do everything in my power to shield my brother from harm.”
“Not your brother....” Françoise murmured. “Your... father. He’s ill. He’ll need you. Give him your hand...”
Unable to protest at such a time as this, Catherine let her hand be taken by the man she hated, the heartless monster who had made her mother’s life a living hell. Françoise smiled, satisfied.
“Good,” she breathed, letting her eyes close. “It’s done then.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“She’s gone,” Veronique said quietly.
Chapter Two
Catherine snatched her hand free. Armand’s eyes met hers and a slight smile twisted his thin lips as he put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. She stiffened, longing to pull away but not wishing to give him the satisfaction of watching her struggle.
“How old are you now?”
The unexpected question threw her off guard.
“Twelve – thirteen in May.”
Her cheeks grew hot as her father’s assessing glance travelled over her flat chest and straight boyish figure.
“I doubt if we’ll find you a husband yet a-while,” he said.
“I don’t want a husband at all!”
His smile broadened.
“We shall see. In the meantime I entrust my son to your care. You’re old enough for that at any rate.”
“I’ll be glad to care for him.”
“Good.” He released her and turned to Veronique who crouched sobbing on the stool by her mistress’s bed. “You may prepare your lady for burial and then return to your family,” he told her.
She raised brimming eyes.
“I’ve no family, my lord, no-one to go back to.”
“You’ll depart, nevertheless. I shall give you a sum of money and you may take a suitable escort.”
“But where...?”
“I am quite uninterested in your destination. You may go where you please as long as it is away from Radenoc. Have I made myself plain?”
“Yes, my lord.” Veronique stood hastily, struggling to choke back her tears and bobbed an obedient curtsy.
Armand moved towards the door.
“Father -”
He paused and looked back.
“Well?”
Catherine took a breath and stepped up to him, speaking with a confidence she was far from feeling.
“I think it would be better if Simon was cared for in the main keep, closer to my own room. This tower is too isolated.”
He frowned, apparently considering what she had said. Then he nodded.
“Very well. Have Gilles’s possessions moved over here. The baby and his nurse may have his quarters.”
“Won’t Gilles object?”
“Since my heir spends very little time in Radenoc I consider his feelings to be irrelevant.” Armand’s tone was bitter. “But this tower has useful attributes about which, if necessary, I shall remind him.” He gave a reminiscent smile.
Catherine shuddered. His look was devilish. After a moment he seemed to recall his surroundings and his eyes focussed again on his daughter’s face.
“Order what you please for the child’s comfort. But take care he thrives. I shall hold you responsible if he does not.”
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