The Rightful Heir

by Diana Dickinson

  As at Bonnebosq, the High Table was occupied by a glittering array of richly dressed lords and ladies but here it was nearly twice as big and therefore seated twice as many of them. The Count, at its centre, wore purple velvet; Bertrand, nearby, wore scarlet embroidered with gold. Even their cups appeared to be gilded and jewelled. The rushes on the floor had been strewn with sweet-smelling herbs. Near the central fire, the usual unruly hounds had congregated, waiting hungrily for discarded bones.

  Once everyone was assembled, a Latin Grace was said by a fat cleric whom Cof identified to Raoul as the Bishop of Nantes. They then took their seats. Bread rounds were distributed and cups filled. Pages and scullions staggered backwards and forwards with loaded dishes and platters. To the accompaniment of a fanfare, a peacock in full plumage was brought in and carved ceremoniously by the squires.

  Raoul relished the chance to taste rich, spiced food again. With the exception of fish caught by Damona and occasional salt pork, the mummers’ diet had become more dull and basic than ever since they had reached Sarzeau. Raoul noticed with amusement that Maeve had slipped several of the sweet pastries into the pockets of her gown. Remembering his new mode of dress, he discreetly did the same.

  As Cof had said, it was easy enough to slip out and change when the boards were cleared ready for the entertainment. Not by a flicker did Bertrand’s expression change as Raoul leapt and somersaulted within yards of him. Their drama that night was, appropriately, a short musical enactment of the visits of the shepherds and the kings to adore the infant Jesus. Robed in pale blue and white, nursing a shawled bundle which represented the Holy Child, Raoul was keenly aware of the underlying humour of his situation. In this role he had little to say, he merely had to look saintly and maternal and sing his part in the harmonised melodies. When they had finished there was enthusiastic applause. The Count presented Daniel with a well-filled purse and invited them to return on Twelfth Night to take part in the revels.

  Once he had become “Eileen” again, Raoul resumed his seat at their table, hoping to continue to pass unnoticed. Unfortunately, Maeve was in the mood for dancing and once the music began, Raoul was left alone. Even Cof had been dragged to his feet by a determined young woman. Raoul protested and shook his head whenever someone tried to persuade him onto the floor. It was bad enough having to keep refusing but it was much worse when a red-faced, broad-shouldered man, a soldier by the look of him, decided to keep Raoul company. The man sat himself down on the bench, pressing his thigh against Raoul’s and slipping his arm round his waist. Embarrassed and helpless, claiming not to understand the mixture of compliments and lewd suggestions, Raoul eventually had to draw his dagger to fend off the man’s unwelcome attentions. When he eventually saw that Cof had escaped from his dancing partner, Raoul jumped up from the bench, rushed to him and took his arm.

  “Dance with me for God’s sake,” Raoul hissed, “I can’t sit there any longer! How do women put up with all that groping and pestering?”

  “It sounds all right to me,” Cof said with a grin. “Was he annoying you?”

  “I was in danger of giving myself away at any minute. It was either that or scream the place down. And I dread to think what that lout would have done if he’d discovered that I wasn’t quite what I seemed.”

  It didn’t matter that in the dancing that followed, Raoul frequently forgot where he should be or what step he should do. Many of the dancers were half-drunk anyway. After his trouble with the soldier, Raoul decided it was safer to dance than to sit out, so he accepted any partner who asked him to take the floor. He avoided entering into conversations with any of them by claiming that he was “from over the sea” and “Didn’t understand”. With luck they assumed that he was stupid or foreign or both. For a short time in one dance he found himself paired with Bertrand. Pretending to be shy and over-awed, Raoul carefully kept his head lowered. To his horror, as the music ended, he discovered that this had had the effect of arousing de Courcy’s curiosity. Raoul had moved away but Bertrand caught his arm and drew him aside.

  “What are you afraid of, sweetheart?” he murmured softly, placing his hand under Raoul’s chin and tipping his face up to catch the light. “You’re lovely. You shouldn’t be hiding yourself from me.”

  Oh God, Raoul thought in a panic, he’s going to kiss me! A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in his throat.

  “Please...no... Please don’t!” Raoul tried to make his eyes plaintive and anguished.

  “Bertrand!” A sharp female voice came from behind them. Raoul turned to see a richly dressed older woman; the shape of her face and her pale blue eyes strongly resembled the young man’s.

  “What are you doing fussing with the peasant girls when Louise de Bourbriac lacks a partner?”

  “Sorry, Mother, I just...”

  “You were philandering as usual. Louise! Come here, my dear.”

  Raoul gave Bertrand an involuntary smile of sympathy as they were approached by a tall ungainly girl, unflatteringly dressed in virulent green. She had protruding front teeth and a mottled complexion.

  “My son has been looking for you to join the dancing,” Lady de Courcy said genially. “Off you go now, you two. You, wench, return to your own friends.”

  Raoul, realising with a start that she was addressing him, bobbed a curtsy. She inclined her head graciously and moved back towards the far end of the hall. Raoul could now escape.

  “Just a moment, Louise, my dear...”

  Bertrand’s hand was on his shoulder before he could take more than three steps. Why had Raoul smiled at him?

  “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Eileen, my lord.”

  “Well, Eileen, what would you say to your own rooms in the castle, silken gowns and more jewels than you’ve ever seen in your life?”

  “I’d say the Devil was tempting me, sir,” Raoul answered, keeping his face turned away.

  Bertrand laughed indulgently.

  “Little fool,” he said softly. “I haven’t time to persuade you now – I’ve the Trégorrois mare to see to. I’ll send for you in a day or two and you can give me your answer then. But I shan’t forget you, I promise.”

  He then furtively pinched Raoul’s cheek in what was presumably meant to be a promise of pleasure to come and re-joined the young lady, leading her out amongst the dancers with a flourish.

  “Problems?” Cof asked with a twinkle in his eyes as Raoul fled back towards their table.

  “Bertrand tried to seduce me!” he gasped.

  “He did what?”

  As Raoul described what had happened, Cof shook with laughter, the tears rolling down his cheeks. After a few moments, once the initial relief at having escaped from him had faded, Raoul too started to laugh.

  “Can’t we leave yet?” Raoul begged when he’d regained his composure. “I couldn’t stand another encounter like that!”

  “Yes, come on. We’d be going soon anyway.” Cof waved to Daniel and he and Maeve came over. “I’m taking Eileen home before she gets propositioned again.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t tell them now! He’s looking this way! He’ll think that we’re laughing at him and take a horse-whip to us – especially to me if he realises who I really am.”

  “Who’s Louise de Bourbriac and why did Bertrand call her the Trégorrois mare?” Raoul asked once they were out of the castle and walking back to Sarzeau.

  “Oh, was that who she was? She’ll be one of the Count of Tréguier’s daughters, I suppose. They probably intend her to marry Bertrand. She’d be a considerable heiress as I think they’ve only girls – each one more horse-faced than the next. She’d be a good catch.”

  “I thought the de Courcy family was rich and powerful anyway.”

  “All the more reason to make powerful allies. Why? Feeling jealous are you, Eileen? I don’t imagine it’s marriage he’s offering you!” Cof started to laugh again.

  Raoul groaned. “What am I going to do? He said he�
��d send for me.”

  “Hurry up and go back to Connemara, I’d say. You’d better be long gone before Twelfth Night! Unless you can think of a less attractive lady to impersonate?”

  “I wouldn’t dare!”

  When Damona was regaled with the story of how Raoul had been the object of de Courcy’s attentions, she was far from amused. Everyone else found it hilarious but Damona considered herself to be insulted by what she regarded as Bertrand’s indiscriminate lechery.

  “Raoul makes a very pretty girl,” Maeve chuckled. “His eye-lashes are far longer and darker than yours. It’s as well you had a close shave, though!”

  “I wish I’d really hurt him before, when I had the chance. I was scared witless,” Raoul said. “Is it usual for girls to be flattered and lied to like that?”

  “It’s all too frequent,” Damona said bitterly. “If you’re even slightly pretty, and a virgin, they can’t keep their hands off you. They’ll offer you anything to get you into bed. Then when they’ve had you, they discard you like so much worthless rubbish.”

  “Not everyone does that,” Jean said, putting his arms round her waist.

  “No. I meant the gentry. They’re all treacherous bastards.” She caught Raoul’s eye and he flushed, all too aware of her meaning.

  On this occasion, to Raoul’s horror, Bertrand kept his promise. Three days after Christmas his groom, the one who had been with him on the day of the fight, came to summon Eileen to the castle. He was clearly worried and suspicious when he was told that she was not there. Unfortunately, as Raoul and Daniel had been chopping wood outside the cottage when the groom rode up, Raoul had no chance to hide himself.

  “Is this something to do with you?” the groom demanded.

  “Not at all. Why should it be?”

  “Seems odd. Any other girl round here would be glad to come to my master. You’re the only person who’s ever argued with him and it looks as if you’re one of the Guennec family too. It seems like a strange coincidence. You sure she’s not your sweetheart too?”

  “No, truly. I swear it.”

  “She went home because her mother’s sick,” Maeve insisted from the doorway. “She sailed in a fishing boat from St. Pierre on St. Stephen’s day. You ask anyone if they’ve seen her – they’ll all say they’ve not.”

  “I’ve a good mind to suggest that Lord Bertrand comes down with some knights and searches for her himself.”

  “It would do no good,” said Daniel. “The girl has gone.”

  “Do you think he would like seeing me again?” Raoul asked. “Has he told all his friends about what happened? Are you sure you want to remind him?”

  The groom frowned.

  “I’ll tell him that the girl’s left,” he said tersely. “But he won’t be pleased.” He glared at them menacingly for a moment then turned his horse and rode away.

  On Twelfth Night both Damona and Raoul stayed prudently in Sarzeau rather than going to the castle. They seemed to be almost the only people left in the village. Raoul wished that they were still good enough friends to have spent the time together, but Damona retired early to Jean’s section of the barn and Raoul went to sit in the lean-to with Gwen, feeling bored, restless and dissatisfied. Inventing Eileen had not been such a clever idea after all.

  The next day he heard how Pol had been the one to find the bean in his slice of the King’s Cake, thus being crowned Master of Revels for the evening. He made everyone, even the Count and his family, pay forfeits and perform silly tricks. It had all been marvellous fun. At midnight the Count had asked his guests to drink in celebration of his son’s betrothal. Bertrand and Louise would be married in May, he told them. Piqued to have missed it all, Raoul forced himself to laugh and pretend to be upset when the mummers offered him ironic sympathy for having been jilted.

  The next two months limped slowly by. Food was scarce and Raoul was often hungry. There were several fierce storms which swept in from the west and lasted for days. As before, while they raged, Raoul took shelter in Daniel’s cottage though this time it was Cof rather than Jean who joined him there.

  One day in late February, a group from Sarzeau walked into Vannes to go to the market. To Maeve’s outspoken disgust, Damona had revealed that she was pregnant and that she and Jean intended to marry at Easter. Although she had dreamed of the girl attracting a wealthier and more settled husband, once their troth had been plighted, Maeve seemed to have decided to make the best of it. She had been sharp-tongued and crotchety for a few days; then she had kissed Damona and Jean and wished them well. A few days after that she unearthed some of her carefully hoarded coins and declared that she intended to buy what was needed for the wedding on the next market-day.

  This was the first time Raoul had visited the city. It was large and prosperous, bustling with people even on a cold winter’s day. They had left Sarzeau before dawn and once they reached the market square, the men performed some juggling and acrobatics in the hope of earning a few coppers. Maeve and Damona at once began haggling with the traders.

  It was almost without thinking that Raoul responded to cries of distress from a little girl. She was pointing to the top of the church tower where a kitten was mewing plaintively, unable to get down and in imminent danger of falling to its death. No-one knew how it had got up there in the first place. Had he used his wits, Raoul would have gone into the church, climbed the stairs up into the tower and then climbed out onto the roof. But he did not. He flung off his coat and boots, then, using the buttresses, window-sills and any crevices in the rough stone-work as hand and foot holds, he inched his way up the sheer wall. As he scooped the little creature from its perch and tucked it into his jerkin, a cheer came up from below. Slowly but steadily, Raoul made his descent and proudly handed the kitten, none the worse for its ordeal, to the child.

  People exclaimed in astonished admiration, patting him on the back and pressing coins into his hand.

  “He’s like a squirrel,” someone said. “It’s remarkable! Is there anything you can’t climb?”

  “Where on earth did you learn to do that?” Cof asked incredulously.

  “I don’t know,” Raoul said, surprised at all the fuss. “I used to climb trees a lot. I just did it, that’s all. I didn’t find it very difficult: the church isn’t that high, you know.”

  “Could you climb other walls, do you think? Towers, ramparts, battlements?”

  “Yes, Daniel, I expect so.” Raoul was wondering now whether he could have escaped from Valsemé more easily than by the water-gate.

  “Tell you what, I’ll order you a red tunic, red hose and soft leather slippers and we’ll put it in the act on our next tour: ‘The Squirrel’. Very good! Will you do that, Raoul? It could be dangerous.”

  “Yes. Why not? I’d like to.” He had nothing to lose.

  “How brave you are, Raoul,” Damona sneered.

  “It’ll make up for losing your money while you’re pregnant, Damona,” Maeve said sharply. “So less of your jibes.”

  “She’ll not be whoring again, even when the babe’s born,” Jean said. “She’ll be my wife.”

  “I’m hardly in danger of forgetting that, am I?”

  “All right, that’ll do,” Daniel said sternly. “If you women have made all your purchases, let’s head for home.”

  As it turned out, two couples were married by Father Pierre at the church door that Easter. Damona and Jean were joined by Pol and Berthe. The two men had taken any jobs they could find over the winter – up at the castle, for Mathieu Bizien or for Gallouédec the blacksmith and between them they had scraped up enough money to buy another ox. Using any wood that they could find or beg, they had built a second, much smaller cart. In that, the married couples could achieve a degree of privacy from Daniel and Maeve.

  Not long after the double wedding the mummers set off again on their travels. Much to Raoul’s relief, their route led to the south of Brocéliande, heading for Normandy by way of Vitré. They stopped frequently, sometimes stayi
ng in larger villages for as much as a week. In castles or walled towns, Raoul’s new ‘Squirrel’ act drew admiring crowds, much to Guennec’s delight. The boy was given a good share of their coin and provisions in return. Raoul was glad that it was popular. He found the climbs exciting, the element of danger adding to their thrill though so far he had had no accidents. If he was meant to die, he would. He could do nothing about it. So while he wasn’t reckless or stupid, he didn’t mind taking risks. He enjoyed the independence that his little hoard of money gave him. That, and Gwen, were his only real pleasures.

  As he had hoped in the autumn, they spent a few days at the castle of La Tournerie where his Uncle Etienne was the baron. Accustomed now to the simple life of the mummers, Raoul felt as if he had no connection at all with the rich lord or his resplendent household. Realising the suspicion with which he would be regarded, he had no temptation to claim kinship. He had the impression that Daniel was watching him rather anxiously but Raoul threw himself enthusiastically into all the roles that were required of him and ate as much as possible of the castle’s plentiful food. He wasn’t even sorry when the time came for them to leave.

  Throughout the summer they travelled steadily east, visiting the great cities of Chartres and Paris. At the point where they would have turned for home, rumours reached them of fighting in Normandy. Across the sea in England the Empress Matilda, disputing King Stephen’s claim to the throne, had defeated him in battle. With their overlord in prison and no-one to keep them in check, the Norman barons fought with each other and pillaged the countryside. Raoul wondered whether his grandmother would be safe but then decided there was no point in worrying. He knew all too well that Valsemé was virtually impregnable.