Le Pennec grinned.
“He looked a fine maid in them duds you got him, my lady! My, that were a laugh.”
“Well it weren’t funny for me,” Yon protested in disgust. “So I’m stayin’ away! An’ I’d warn your young friend if I were you, Catherine – he’s a nice lookin’ lad an’ all.”
“Who? Michel?” she said incredulously. “Surely you don’t think...”
“You never can tell, my lady,” Le Pennec said thoughtfully. “It might be kind to warn him – seeing as he won’t know.”
“I’ll try,” Catherine said. “But I might not get the chance.”
Chapter Seven
Catherine had no opportunity that evening of speaking to Michel on her own. In any case he was so full of joyful anticipation about Gilles’s arrival and the prospect of joining the Crusade that she became irritated and decided that he didn’t deserve to be warned. If Michel had felt affection for her – and she was sure he had – this seemed to be forgotten now. Catherine tried not to imagine what might have been. She was still convinced that he was her ideal husband and she was certain, in time, that her father would agree.
She found it hard to sleep that night. She had not seen Gilles for years and could scarcely remember him. She really did not think of him as her brother – he was only her half-brother anyway. He had been an adult when she was born and already, then, absent from Radenoc most of the time. Eventually, towards dawn, she drifted into sleep. When Brigitte came to dress her she was heavy-eyed and yawning.
May 25th was a bright summery day, sunny and mild. Over a long-sleeved, close-fitting cream gown, Catherine wore a new linen tunic of azure blue. Her belt was made of plaited strips of crimson leather and another secured her filmy gauze veil. These were the Radenoc colours and she hoped Gilles would notice that she had chosen them in his honour.
It was towards noon when a cloud of dust was spotted by the watchmen on the gate. Horsemen were approaching. A shrill blast was blown on the castle’s bugles and it was answered by the distant riders. Catherine hurried to help her father down from the Western Tower. He would want to be in the courtyard to greet his son, she was sure.
Standing by Lord Armand on the steps below the Hall, Catherine watched the horsemen dismount. There were about twenty in number. All wore mail-coats, close-hitting helmets and the Radenoc crest on their tunics. Something about their sturdy build and air of assurance told her that these were seasoned fighters. One man, much younger by his slim build and the way he moved, had dismounted first and then run to assist their leader. Gilles had brought his own squire, it seemed. Catherine’s eyes sought Michel, standing just behind her father, but he was gazing in fascination at the bustling scene below.
“Father.”
Gilles removed his helmet and handed it to his squire. He bent his knee in obeisance and inclined his head for a just a moment before standing and moving on up the steps towards them. It had been the merest token of filial obedience, no more.
“You are in need of refreshment, no doubt,” Armand said. His voice was no more loving than Gilles’s greeting had been. “Michel will bring wine to the solar. René Gilbert will look after your men.”
“Good. Come with me, Nicholas.”
The younger man at once handed the reins of the destrier to a groom and moved towards the steps.
Ignored by both her father and her brother, Catherine decided that she would simply follow them. Gilles did not wait for Lord Armand to precede him, he simply strode ahead through the Hall and up into the room beyond where he seated himself comfortably, apparently very much at ease.
“I am surprised to see you looking so well, Father,” he commented as Armand entered the room. “I understood that you were ill.”
“At the time of my wife’s death I was unwell. Happily I am now considerably recovered.”
Catherine helped her father to his seat and then withdrew to the window. Her brother had black hair, she noted, like most of Armand’s sons but his eyes were a very dark brown. His complexion too was swarthy and his features bony and strong. She supposed he could be considered handsome but in a tough, aggressive sort of way.
“But you are still rather weak,” Gilles was saying.
“I am not as young as I was. Neither are you.”
“I am a little puzzled, Father. In general I have regular reports on Radenoc affairs, your health and so forth but for some time now, I have not. Is Ahmed incapacitated in some way? There many urgent matters that I need to discuss with him. I have been anxious.”
Armand gave a thin smile.
“You cannot have been very anxious or you would have come before – sent a messenger at least. Most unfortunately Ahmed met with an accident nearly two years ago. We obviously neglected to inform you.”
“An accident?”
“That is correct. He fell down some stairs.”
Catherine gripped her hands together. The thought of it still terrified her.
“And is he crippled?”
“Ahmed is dead, Gilles. You have lost your informant.”
“This is terrible news!” Gilles was on his feet, his face like thunder. “Where are his belongings? Still in his room, I hope.”
“Michel has his room now. He is my new body servant – René’s youngest son, you know.”
“But if -”
“Catherine disposed of Ahmed’s possessions. Did you not, my dear?”
“That’s right.”
“What?” His furious gaze raked over her. “Who is this wench? Your latest doxy?” He spat the words out in disgust.
“Catherine is your sister, Gilles,” Armand said, amused.
“My sister!” He looked at her again, this time incredulously. “My sister? God, the last time I saw you, you were a grubby little waif with gap-teeth and a torn smock. Have I been away for so long?”
“Yes, Gilles, you have. Now pour some wine, Michel. My son needs a restorative after his shock.”
“My lord, what did you wish for me to do?”
Gilles’s squire, Nicholas, was standing just inside the doorway. He had removed his own helmet and stood awkwardly, holding it and his master’s. As Catherine had suspected, he was young, with fair hair and delicate features. Great dark shadows were etched under his eyes and he looked profoundly unhappy.
“Just stand there and look decorative,” said Gilles curtly. “And cheer up, for God’s sake. He’s not been with me long,” he explained, “and I’m not finding him very...biddable. Your lad seems much more like it.”
Michel bowed gracefully and smiled as he offered the tray of goblets.
“You’re René’s son, I hear.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And do you serve my father well?”
“To the best of my ability, sir – as I would you.”
“Well, well. That is most commendable.”
Catherine had grown alarmed as she listened to them. It wasn’t just what her brother was saying. There were undercurrents, unspoken suggestions. Michel, the fool, was beaming and looking into Gilles’s eyes. Did he not realise that, extraordinary though the idea was, he was being flirted with? And what about her father? What was Armand thinking of to expose this attractive boy to the attention of someone whose sexual preferences he was all too aware of? Armand sat impassively, expressionless, making no attempt to intervene or to shield his squire. Why, he had even suggested the boy might join Gilles on Crusade!
“I see now why Guy de Bégard feels so slighted,” Gilles commented after he had drunk deeply. He was looking again at Catherine. “You made a mistake there, Father. He would have done well for her.”
“Catherine didn’t like him.”
“What? Do you mean to say you asked her?”
“I did indeed.”
“And who do you propose for her now?”
“I have yet to make a decision.”
“You’d do well to reconsider – I think I could talk Guy round – oh, and her dowry would need to be good, of cours
e.”
Catherine longed to speak but knew that she had better stay silent. She looked appealingly at her father and he smiled, as if to reassure her.
“You need not concern yourself, Gilles. I still have her affairs, and Radenoc’s, well in hand.”
René Gilbert entered the solar at this point to invite Gilles to go and bathe and make ready for the meal which would be served shortly. Catherine thought that Gilles would be angry again when he heard that his quarters were where his step-mother’s used to be, but he made no demur.
“I shall have other rooms in Radenoc soon enough,” he commented wryly, glancing at his father.
As Armand’s hands clenched, Catherine realised what he meant.
After they had dined, Marie was instructed to take Simon to the solar. While the little boy was there, Gilles seemed to be exerting himself to be pleasant. The child toddled back and forth between his nurse and his big brother, intrigued by this new friend.
“The little man’s not scared of nothing,” Marie told Gilles proudly. “He’s a fine one.”
“Aye, he is.” He dandled Simon on his knee and the boy whooped in delight. “If you’d had him years ago you’d have high hopes of him, I daresay.” The remark was addressed to Armand.
“I do now, believe me.”
Catherine had again seated herself in the window, ostensibly working on her embroidery but in reality observing the two men’s struggle for dominance. So far, on balance, she thought her father was winning.
When, sometime later at Armand’s command, Marie lifted Simon to take him back to his nursery, the boy began to scream. In his eyes, this new playmate was the best he’d ever had. Gilles had crawled round on the floor pretending to be a horse, the boy riding on his back. He had given him his dagger for a sword. He had let him climb all over him. Marie did nothing like this.
“Go up with them, Catherine. You’ll soon soothe the child.”
“Yes, Father.”
She curtsied and followed Marie up the stairs. It was a pity. She would have liked to stay.
In fact, Simon was tired out by the boisterous games with his brother and soon settled down for a nap. Catherine waited for a while, listening with half an ear to Marie’s rapturous comments about what a ‘proper man’ Lord Gilles was. Little did she know! When she was sure Simon was asleep she decided that she would return to the solar. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she caught the word ‘Crusade’ and hesitated.
“I am really not interested, Father,” Gilles was saying. “I have connections enough of my own. Bellec trades -”
“Bellec? He’s just a pirate!”
“You’re misinformed. He’s a baron now – has a stronghold up at Trégastel and makes a fortune trading with the Basques and the Moors. Léon thinks very well of him. I’ve a sizable stake in his affairs and he’s a good friend of mine.”
Catherine lifted her hand to draw back the curtain. They had left the subject which interested her. She shouldn’t stand here listening like this.
“But the East is richer,” Armand insisted. Again Catherine paused. “You can use the Cross simply as a cloak, as I did. At least give it some thought.”
“I can certainly do that.”
“And you may take Michel. Leave Nicholas with me if you don’t find him to your taste.”
“I might do that anyway, Father. But I’ll tell you who is going on the Crusade: a lad calling himself Raoul de Metz. I came across him in a tournament in Vitré last month and I heard him mention it. He wears our crest – or a version of it anyway.”
“So that’s where he is.”
Even at this distance, Catherine shivered at the menace in her father’s voice.
“Is he one of yours?”
“Oh, yes, you could say so.”
“He’s impressive. In the melée he fought like a demon.”
“If you went on the Crusade you could dispose of him. He’s a threat, both to you and to me.”
“I can dispose of him without going myself. Phillipe and I already have plans for Tréguier. We could simply include him in them.”
“In my experience it’s safer to see to such things oneself.”
“You could be right. Ahmed’s accident certainly leads me to suppose so.”
The threat was in Gilles’s voice now. Catherine pushed back the curtain and re-entered the room. As she expected, talk immediately turned to more innocent subjects.
That night, when she was sure that her brother had retired to his own quarters, Catherine went up to the Western Tower. She pretended to herself that she wanted to be sure that her father was not unwell or over-tired. He had shown few feelings of any sort in his conversations with his son but she guessed that he was exercising iron control over his emotions – and this must be taxing his strength. In reality she was desperate to snatch a word with Michel.
Armand was already in bed, a single candle burning by his bed-side, but he was not asleep. Michel was tidying the chamber. The rich fragrance of spices hung in the air.
“Well, Catherine? What do you think of your brother?”
“I’m not sure,” she said honestly, sitting on the window-seat. The faint sound of the surf drifted up from below. “I hope you won’t allow him to choose me a husband.”
Armand laughed.
“I thought that was troubling you. I fear choices must be made quite soon if we are to prevent that. Time passes.”
“You don’t feel ill do you?”
She went over to the bed.
“No. But we must face facts.”
“I...I...have had some thoughts on the subject but I won’t bother you with them now.”
“When Gilles is gone. That will be soon enough.”
He took her hand and held it for a moment, his expression inscrutable.
“Go now, my dears. I need to sleep. Good night, Michel.”
“Good night, my lord.”
“Michel, I need to speak with you for a moment,” Catherine said urgently as they went down the stairs.
“Of course. Tomorrow morning? Once my lord has -”
“Now, Michel.”
“But it’s not really -”
“If you are worrying about compromising my virtuous reputation, please don’t,” Catherine said with a shaky laugh. “No-one else knows I’m here and I promise you I won’t tell.”
He didn’t seem to want to be alone with her!
“Well, be quick, then. Come in.”
The small room opened directly off the stairs. It contained little trace of its former occupant but to Catherine it was still Ahmed’s. She stepped cautiously inside and waited while Michel shut the door.
“What did you want to talk about?”
Where should she begin?
“I...I thought I had better warn you about my brother.”
“About Simon? Why is he – ?”
“Not Simon,” she cut in, “I mean Gilles.”
“It’s strange to think of him being your brother.”
“Yes, I know. Look, he...he isn’t like other men. What I mean is that instead of...” How could she explain this?
To her surprise, Michel put his arm round her shoulder.
“I appreciate what you are trying to say but I know about that already. Lord Armand made it quite clear. Why did you feel you had to tell me?”
Far from making her feel better, he was making her feel worse. She mustn’t just blurt out ‘because I love you’, must she?
“I wanted to warn you...in case...in case...”
“It’s all right, Catti.” He hadn’t used her old nickname for a long time. “People are different, you know. We can’t all be the same.”
“I know, but -”
Someone was knocking on the door.
“Yes?”
It was Nicholas, Gilles’s squire. Why?
“My lord is waiting,” the boy said.
“I’ll be there in a moment.” Michel had kept his arm round her. Now he bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Do
n’t worry; I know what I’m doing – really. Just remember what I said about service.”
Before she could say anything or do anything, he had gone.
If she had had difficulty sleeping the previous night, that night sleep was impossible. She could not bear to contemplate the meaning of Michel’s meeting with her brother. She paced her chamber, desperately inventing excuses for this midnight summons. Her only consolation was that Michel had kissed her – that must mean something, surely. Even if what she feared was true, it needn’t stop him loving her. Michel was just obeying some command from Lord Armand. Later, he would marry her. But...and so the round of thoughts and doubts began again. When dawn came she flung on her riding clothes and went down to the stables to saddle Belle.
Several hours later, now physically rather than just mentally tired, she returned. And all her nagging doubts began again. Surely, at dinner, Michel had looked embarrassed and turned away when he first saw her? Gilles was affable and hearty, drinking deeply and guffawing with laughter. Catherine decided she preferred him angry and sober. Armand seemed always to be watching him, to be watching all of them, but his face, as always, gave nothing away.
Afterwards, exhausted and feeling sick, she determinedly joined them in the solar. She slipped in and seated herself unobtrusively. Whatever was going on – and something was – she wanted to know about it. Perhaps by listening she could do something, prevent something, oh, she didn’t know. She bent over her needlework by the window. Her head was throbbing but she was determined to stay.
“Have you made your decision?” Armand asked at length.
Gilles had been fulsomely extolling the virtues of Burgundian wine, barrels of which lay in the undercroft at Trégastel, apparently.
“About what?”
“The Crusade.”
“I’m not going.”
“You are quite sure?”
“Quite sure? Yes, I’m quite sure. I wonder at you, Father. I know you claim it’s for my fame and fortune but I think you’ve another reason.”
“What other reason could there be?”
Armand’s voice was so smooth, so silken, that Catherine was sure he was lying. Armand did have another motive. What? It couldn’t be to get rid of that other de Metz – he hadn’t known he was going until yesterday. Was her father trying to get rid of Gilles himself? So that Simon would inherit? Was that it? Surely not! And if Gilles realised...But Gilles was speaking, laughing uproariously.
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