Armand's Daughter

by Diana Dickinson

“So the baron can always escape if he needs to.”

  “If he… knows.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can only use...the tunnel for one hour before...and one hour after...low tide. Otherwise – you drown. The sea comes in.”

  “So if Simon inherits the barony after Gilles, you want me to tell him about this. Is that right?”

  “No need to wait. Use it... soon.”

  “Are you saying that someone…? I…? should creep through this secret passage and kill our brother in order to seize control of Radenoc?”

  Armand’s tired green eyes regarded Catherine sombrely for a moment.

  “I did,” he said. His voice was cold, bleak.

  “What?”

  “I killed my brother Henri as he lay on this bed. And she saw me...Eleanor. But they wouldn’t listen...to her...merely a woman.”

  Catherine had jumped up from her seat. Now, appalled, drawn to it almost as if spellbound, she went back to the terrible, gaping hole.

  “You can’t have,” she cried. “I won’t believe it!”

  “It’s...true. I wanted Radenoc. There was no other way.”

  Catherine put back the wooden seat and thumped it into place, piling the cushions on top.

  “Catherine. You must do this...for Simon. Gilles is not fit...to be... baron.”

  “Neither were you – but you are! Is this all? Have you finished now?”

  “Not quite. Stay ... a little longer.”

  Catherine felt as if she barely stand the sight of him. She had been wrong to care for him. Her mother had been right – he was vile, a monster. She understood now how Gilles had felt. She could almost have throttled him herself.

  “More sins to confess?”

  “Just a warning.” Incredibly, he smiled.

  “Well?”

  “Eleanor had a son, Robert.”

  “I know about him. René Gilbert killed him years ago on your orders – didn’t he? There can’t be much of a threat from him.”

  “I didn’t know then...an over-sight....Robert had a son too. He and his wife...slaughtered. The child...not. He’s...alive...and a threat...to Simon...to you.”

  “In Lanhalles they say Eleanor’s child was a bastard, the captain of the guard’s, according to you. But they don’t believe it – and René said something quite different. He said ... “ She hesitated.

  “That the child was...mine?”

  “Yes!”

  “He wasn’t. He was Henri’s, damn her – legitimate. The boy, her grandson...what is his name? He’s the... rightful heir. I...Gilles...Simon...all usurpers. I cheated...the secret...out of my father. Power, possession – that’s all that counts. That’s all...that... matters.”

  His eyes closed again and he drifted into sleep.

  Moments before Catherine had hated him. Now all her fury had gone. Armand was dying and he would not go to Heaven. He would suffer enough in the next world – there was no need for her to condemn him here, now, in his last few days.

  Alain de Val also, reluctantly, was obliged to leave the fate of Lord Armand’s soul to the next world. Despite the priest’s best efforts, he was quite unable to persuade Armand to make his confession to him or to repent of his mortal sins.

  “I am many things,” Armand told him with the ghost of a smile, “but not a hypocrite.”

  Compared with his violent life, Armand’s death was surprisingly peaceful. His periods of wakefulness became fewer and fewer until eventually he sank into a deep sleep from which it was impossible to wake him.

  While they waited for their new baron to arrive, the people of Radenoc seemed to be collectively holding their breath. Few mourned Armand’s death but all dreaded the arrival of his son. What had happened to Michel Gilbert was not forgotten, nor was it forgiven.

  Catherine had no idea whether crowds of nobles would attend from far and wide as they had for her mother’s funeral. She made plans in case they did – messages had been sent to everyone that she and Captain Rénard could think of and she hoped that no-one important had been forgotten. The captain was a great help – he gave her practical advice and kept her spirits up while she waited for Gilles. After all, as he reminded her, Lord Armand had evidently ordered Michel to attempt to murder his heir – she could hardly blame him for having been angry.

  Accompanied by only the Count of Léon and a modest sized troop of soldiers, Gilles arrived two days after his father’s death to take up his inheritance.

  Once the Count had been shown to his chamber, Catherine asked her brother if she could speak to him alone in the solar.

  “We sent for you five days ago,” she said. “I hoped that you would get here in time.”

  “In time for what?” Gilles said, frowning. “You haven’t buried him yet, I assume.”

  “No, of course not. But I thought you would have wanted to see him before he died – to...to make your peace with him.”

  “What idiots you women are!” He laughed but not unkindly. “No. I had no such sentimental notions. And if you are referring to ‘The Radenoc Secret’, why I’ve known that for years.”

  “’The Radenoc Secret’?” she said faintly. “I...I...don’t know what...”

  “There’s a well in the tower wall. Ahmed found it and told me.”

  “A well?”

  “Christ! Must you repeat everything I say? Yes, a well.”

  “Is it just that? No more?” Did he really know? Should she say anything?

  “It could make a huge difference in a siege,” he explained, as if to a rather stupid child. “It means the strongest part of the castle could survive once the rest was taken. The besiegers might have to wait for...oh, months.”

  “I see.”

  “It really is quite important – and in former times, vital.”

  She wouldn’t tell him. She had no intention of making use of her knowledge anyway and Simon was only four years old. And there seemed to be very little likelihood of a siege.

  She took a deep breath and steeled herself against his anger.

  “I wanted to assure you of my ignorance of the plot against your life two years ago,” she said. “I am as appalled as you are at the crimes our father has committed.”

  “And now he’s burning in Hell. A just punishment.”

  “Sir, are other lords coming to the funeral? I have heard nothing. When should it be? I...I have left Father’s room untouched. I was not sure if you would want to use it or...”

  “Not use it? Ha! I am Lord of Radenoc now, wench, and don’t you forget it! I’ve brought my own man to direct affairs here while I am away. As for the funeral, let it be at dawn tomorrow. Once I’ve seen the body interred and I’m sure that he is really dead, I’ll be gone – Philippe and I will be sailing on the next tide. You’ll take your orders from Thomas de Faou.”

  “What? From whom? Who is this man?”

  “De Faou? He’s my steward. He looks after all my affairs – and he holds my full authority should anyone attempt to cross him. Not that they will – Piriac will see to that. When I return, in the spring, most likely, I’ll see about your betrothal to Guy de Bégard.”

  “But...”

  “All this stuff had better be gone when I get back.” He gestured to the colourful furnishings and the silken hangings on the walls. “Radenoc should be a decent Christian dwelling – rather than resembling a Moorish brothel. See that it’s removed, both from here and from the tower.”

  “Yes, of course. But about de Bégard...”

  “There’s no more to be said on that matter. It’s settled.”

  Late the following morning, attended by only their squires, Léon and the new baron of Radenoc departed. Catherine breathed a sigh of relief.

  Her relief did not last for long. The harvest that year promised to be almost as good as the previous one although the weather was unsettled. At first it made sense for de Faou to order everyone to work from dawn to dusk to get it gathered in. When the grain was bagged up and loaded onto wains
, Catherine demanded to know why.

  “Just following orders, my lady,” the steward told her.

  “But where is it being sent?”

  He shrugged and made no attempt to answer.

  A few days later when she was visiting Yon at the forge in Kerhouazoc, she heard more.

  “He won’t let them work their plots,” the blacksmith’s son told her, “nor keep any of the produce. If he keeps on like this, people will starve.”

  “Aye,” Farzel agreed. “He’s sayin’ that common land belongs to the baron an’ folks must PAY to graze their beasts there. An’ if they can’t – or won’t – the animals’ll be driven off an’ sold at market.”

  “You must speak to un, my lady,” said Matilde Le Goff, “maybe he’ll listen to you.”

  “He’s even tryin’ to get the folks out at Lanhalles to pay a levy on their catch,” Yon said indignantly. “He’ll not get far at that game.”

  “Folks is scared o’ that Piriac though,” said Farzel. “There’s not many’ll stand up to him.”

  “Edain had a try,” Yon said with a laugh. “She’s not easy frightened.”

  “Do what you can though, lady, eh?” said the blacksmith. “We need someone to speak for us.”

  Catherine commanded de Faou to see to her in the solar after dinner. She was sure, by the time he eventually arrived, that he had deliberately kept her waiting. He bowed, his smooth pale face bland and expressionless.

  “Yes, my lady? Was there something you required?”

  His voice was rather nasal in tone. It seemed well matched to his slight, rather stooped body. He had taken to wearing long fur-trimmed gowns, perhaps to give himself additional dignity and authority.

  “I have heard complaints from the village that no time is being allowed for the people to cultivate their food,” Catherine began sternly.

  “I am surprised. That must be remedied.”

  “I am pleased that you agree. We can hardly expect them to work well for us if they are hungry.”

  “Beg pardon, my lady. I meant they must be worked harder. Having time to complain is a luxury.”

  “You overstep your authority, sir!” Catherine said, trying to sound like her father. “The people of Radenoc are working too hard as it is! And what is this I hear about payment for grazing and levies on the fish? The people of Lanhalles are not our serfs.”

  “Then no doubt they are free to live elsewhere – if they find it uncomfortable here.”

  “Are you saying you would have them evicted?”

  “My lady, calm yourself, I beg you. Are you dissatisfied with what is being prepared for you? Is there not sufficient at your table to eat and drink?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “Then what is your complaint, my lady?”

  Far from being scant, the food at High Table had become more exotic since Gilles’s retinue had arrived. Many highly spiced and expensive dishes were served each day.

  “It doesn’t seem right! Why should I eat goose with a...a galingale sauce while others tighten their belts? But I was not talking about my own comfort as you are well aware. The people are my concern!”

  “But not your responsibility. Lord Gilles has lifted that weight off your shoulders. For the present it rests on mine.”

  “But I know them! I have lived here all my life!”

  “My lord is aware that your marriage must be arranged with some urgency, my lady. Once you are at Le Folgoet, Radenoc will no longer be your concern.”

  “But...”

  “I shall see to it that the master cook and his assistants are suitably punished, my lady. If you have any further complaints about the fare, please do not hesitate to speak to me.”

  At that, the man bowed and left the room. Later, to her astonishment, she heard that two men and five boys from the kitchens had been flogged. Her only consolation was that although they had been told that the whipping was on Lady Catherine’s orders, none of them had believed it. The food, after this incident, became so rich and highly flavoured that it was almost inedible. She did not dare to complain again.

  One further lesson taught Catherine the dangers of interfering. Marie, returning from a brief visit to her family, brought the news that Piriac, if anything, was now even more hated than Thomas de Faou.

  Piriac commanded the troop of soldiers which Gilles had left at the castle. Physically, he was almost the steward’s opposite. He was tall, broad, red haired and red-faced. He and two or three others always rode with de Faou now when he went out. On these sorties Piriac carried a horse-whip which he was by no means reluctant to use. Anyone who was slacking, who argued, who showed any lack of respect, felt the sting of his lash. Young and old, male and female, no-one was spared. Worse than this, however, was Piriac’s new insistence on ‘Lord’s Rights’.

  Early autumn, once the harvest was gathered – and especially now that Lugh’s feast was no longer celebrated – had become a popular time for weddings. Several young couples in the district had married over the few weeks since Lord Armand had died. In each case Piriac, discovering somehow what was planned, had insisted on bedding the bride. Only once he had taken his own pleasure was the girl, sobbing and ashamed, allowed to return to her furious young husband. On one occasion the bridegroom was killed attempting to take his revenge.

  Marie told Catherine what had happened the previous day in Kerhouazoc.

  “It were young Annie Becherel that were gettin’ wed. To Pierre Le Guen, you know.”

  “His family came here from Lampaul, didn’t they?”

  “Aye, that’s it.”

  There was a pause while Catherine duly admired the elaborate tower that Simon was constructing. Then she turned back to Marie.

  “What happened?”

  “They thought as they’d kept it quiet, like – and Father Alain wouldn’t have blabbed. He went to them, anyway. They wasn’t married at the church.”

  “But Piriac found out.”

  “Aye. He and them ruffians rode in and grabbed her, that’s what folks were saying. He flung her across his horse and rode off. She came back this morning – bare-foot, just in her shift – and her wits had gone a-wanderin’.”

  “What, mad, do you mean?”

  “Aye. That’s it – clean out of her mind. Poor Pierre, he don’t know what to do. He could only sit and weep, Ma said.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “You’ll have to let his lordship know about it. Lord Gilles would be that angry if he knew.”

  “Perhaps...but I-”

  “Sorry, my lady, but you got to tell him. HE wouldn’t do this sort of thing, now would he?”

  “Well, no...” He doesn’t like girls, Catherine thought with horrified amusement.

  “So there you are! And if it’s anyone’s right it’s his. You remember your big brother, Simon, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes. He was huge an’ he let me ride on him.” The child left his tower, jigging from foot to foot in excitement. “When he comes home d’you think he’ll let me use his sword? I’m bigger now – too big for just a dagger!”

  “Your brother’ll give you one all of your own,” Marie promised.

  “A proper one? A big one?”

  “’Course he will. He’s a fine, good-hearted man.”

  “Why, you’re quite his champion, Marie. I think you’re sweet on him.”

  “I’m just loyal to the baron, my lady, as all of us should be. An’ that’s why you’d better deal with this fellow Piriac.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Catherine sighed, “though I’m not sure what good it will do. You don’t fool me, though, Marie. I can see that you’re blushing. You fancy my brother! It’s hopeless, you know.”

  “I know – an’ I would presume – but he IS handsome.” She gave an embarrassed giggle. “Just my idea of a man!”

  It seemed hard to believe that the nurse had heard none of the rumours about Gilles but she obviously had not and Catherine saw no need to enlighten her.

&nbs
p; When she summoned Piriac to speak to her she asked Guillaume Rénard to be present also. Nevertheless, she still found the man intimidating.

  “Well, my lady? What can I do for you?”

  His eyes travelled contemptuously over her and Catherine stiffened. She was all too aware of his sexuality and in some perverse way this made her aware of her own.

  “I want you to stop – what you are doing – with the girls who are getting married,” she said breathlessly, forcing herself to look at him unflinchingly.

  “Oh yes? Why?”

  “Because it isn’t fair! God has joined these young couples together – you are spoiling their union!”

  “I give ‘em back, don’t I?”

  “Yes but...but their virginity is their gift to their husbands...” God, she was finding this so difficult! “You are taking that gift away.”

  Piriac laughed.

  “You need have no worries on that score, my lady. They’re few of ‘em are virgins. Their gifts ‘ave been given away long since. They’ve been shagging since they was this ‘igh.”

  “Sergeant Piriac!” Captain Rénard exclaimed angrily. “Remember where you are! That is no way to speak in front of a lady.”

  “If you persist in this behaviour I shall have to write to my brother,” Catherine said.

  Undaunted, Piriac laughed again.

  “Write away, lady. He won’t get it – God knows where he is, no-one else does – except Bellec, of course. And in any case, His Lordship don’t have no objection. He’s no need of them himself, de Faou doesn’t want ‘em, and we can’t have ‘Lord’s Rights’ goin’ to waste, can we?”

  He had hot eyes. How could anyone have hot eyes?

  “Well I do not approve of it and neither does Father Alain. And it’s not fair!”

  “Not fair, eh? Singling out these little brides ain’t fair...and you want me to do something about it. That right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The next night all of Gilles’s men and any others who could be persuaded to join them were led by Piriac down to Kerhouazoc. Every woman in the village was raped.

  Numb with shock, Catherine realised that she could do nothing. In Radenoc now she was powerless, helpless. She no longer had a say in what went on in the castle or its domain. She simply had to sit around and wait to be disposed of when her brother came home.