“It was such a fine one!” Catherine said with annoyance. “I shall have to get more from Yves.” The fisher folk from Lanhalles always made sure that she had a good supply of their best fish-bone needles but they broke – or got lost – all too easily.
Later, after Eleanor had supped and was about to call to her maid to prepare her for bed, she suddenly spotted what she thought was the needle. The thin sliver of bone was lodged in a crack, just below the window; the light of the candle had caught it. Stiffly, she lowered herself to her knees and reached towards it. But it was not the needle. It was the edge of a piece of parchment, just visible between the flagstone and the wall. She gave a ‘tut’ of impatience, intending to ignore it, whatever it was. Memories of Armand and a spark of curiosity stopped her. She grasped the edge of the paper with difficulty and pulled. Firmly wedged in place, it was reluctant to budge. She took a firmer grip and tried again – this time it slid free.
It appeared to be a letter. Eleanor hauled herself with a groan to her feet and sat in the window to look at it more closely. It was dated May 1135 and was signed by someone who seemed to be a priest ‘Nicolas of Vertou’. No, it was not a letter – it was a confession, dictated by someone called Françoise.
‘I have sinned most grievously and I beg that God will forgive me’ it began. ‘I did all for the best and to help my beloved husband, Armand de Metz,’ Eleanor drew a sharp breath, ‘to gain a son.
‘With the aid of a servant, last August I did secretly leave my rooms in the castle, in the dress of a peasant woman. Using a small door in the base of this tower I went, by night, to the place they call ‘The Island’ whose name is Melgorn. I had purchased pagan charms before this night from the wise woman in Lanhalles – a drink and a pouch of herbs that I placed beneath my pillow. When I reached the place I drank of the liquor that was given to me there. I did dance with the folk there and,’ Eleanor stared at the words before her, ‘I did lie with sundry men in the hope that I might conceive a child.’
She could picture it: the fires, the wild crowd, the throbbing drums – excitement palpable in the air. Françoise had done what she, Eleanor, had been too afraid to do. She returned to the paper.
‘My husband was then absent from home. Upon his return I denied him my bed until I was sure that I was with child. In this the servant did aid me. My pains have now begun and I have claimed that the child comes early. If I die, let me alone be punished for these sins – may the Lord forgive my innocent babe for what his mother has committed. If God wills it, this time I shall bear a healthy son that will be Lord of Radenoc.’
Eleanor stood, crossed the room to where the candle burned and held the corner of the parchment to the flame. Françoise had conceived a child – not the son that she’d prayed for, but a daughter: Armand’s daughter! Now that Catherine had married Raoul there was no need for her to know. There was no need for anyone to know. Armand had not been all-powerful: he had been duped by a woman he despised – that he had believed to be totally under his control. Eleanor laughed – and thanked God.
Legacy of Blood
By Diana Dickinson
Book One: The Dishonoured Wife
Although she has never met him, young Eleanor de Buci is pleased when her father arranges for her to marry Henri de Metz, heir to the powerful Breton Lord of Radenoc. When Eleanor travels to his remote castle in the far west, however, her hopes for happiness are continually thwarted. Hating the Norman invaders, the Breton folk cling to pagan rituals and superstitions whilst scratching a bare living in a bleak and barren wilderness. Even before Eleanor encounters her ruthless brother-in-law, she must battle with their resentment and fear. Little suspecting that she will find treachery and corruption flourishing within her own household, when she meets Armand, Eleanor discovers that duty is no match for passion.
Set in Brittany in the early twelfth century, the first book of the Legacy of Blood trilogy introduces the reader to a tough medieval world.
Book Two: The Rightful Heir
Raoul de Metz is bored with his grandmother’s oppressive concern for his safety. Stifled by his narrow life in Valsemé Castle in Normandy, he longs for freedom and adventure. When he encounters a band of Breton minstrels, Raoul seizes his opportunity to escape. His sheltered childhood proves to be an inadequate preparation for the challenges and temptations that await him on the road, however – not least in the Enchanted Forest of Brocéliande. Dreaming still of knighthood and glory, when Raoul seizes his chance to join King Louis’s Crusade, he does not suspect that his acting talents will prove even more useful in the deserts of Arabia than they had in the castles of Normandy.
Must Raoul succumb to the tragic fate foreseen for him by a Breton witch, or can he find a chance to regain his stolen inheritance?
Book Three: Armand’s Daughter
The final book of the trilogy returns to Radenoc, the isolated castle on the western coast of Brittany. Catherine, Armand’s daughter, watches in fear as Raoul, the charming young minstrel whose life she has saved, escapes from the castle – and from her life. Left with no-one to protect her, Catherine tries her best to thwart the plots that her father and his Arab servant are hatching. Inevitably, as she matures into a desirable young woman, she realises that they will use her to further their designs – whatever her own views on the matter.
Having discovered the mortal sins that Armand was prepared to commit in order to gain power, Catherine concludes that no-one can be as ruthless or immoral as her father – but this is before her brother Gilles becomes baron. When news arrives of a Norman lord leading an invading army, should Catherine oppose him – or welcome him with open arms?
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