The Rightful Heir

by Diana Dickinson

“No, it’s not. That’s round the coast a way, and near in, hugging the shore – sometimes it’s not an island at all. You don’t want to go to such a heathen place, do ye?”

  “Not at all. I just wondered. I used to know someone who came from here and it was mentioned, that’s all.”

  “That there’s Ile Yoc’h.”

  “Oh yes. Right, thanks.”

  The woman looked at him curiously for a moment.

  “You’ve never been here yourself, have you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “No reason.” She crossed herself again. “But you’re going to the castle, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  Looking at him anxiously, she slipped away and spoke to one of the other women, the one who had initially made them most welcome. Her face clouded and she frowned as she listened to what was said. Then her eyes sought Raoul and she nodded.

  “If you’re making for Radenoc you’d better take your leave of us, Master Guennec,” she said to Daniel, moments later. “We’ve all got work to do and we’d better get on with it.”

  “Could you spare us some fish, mistress?” Maeve asked.

  The women had been filling dozens of barrels with fish and brine. Heaps of fresh ones lay on the shore waiting to be gutted and salted.

  “Sorry, no. There’s nothing to spare.”

  Alarmed, Raoul looked round at the women’s faces, all now suddenly cold and hostile. It was as if something had happened to transform them from cheery laughing friends into cold suspicious strangers.

  “Very well, we’ll be on our way,” Guennec said, equally mystified by the sudden change. “We hope to play at the castle tonight if you can join us.”

  “We don’t mix with castle folk,” came the terse reply.

  They re-traced their steps up the path by the stream and re-joined the main track. There was no cultivation now on the wind-swept headland. It was covered instead with rough grass, bracken and gorse. The sky had cleared to a pale cloudless blue and the sun beat warmly down. Spiralling upwards above them came the piercingly sweetness of a lark’s song. Gwen flapped her wings restlessly and Raoul murmured reassuringly to her. He never allowed her to fly within sight of a castle after learning the Count of Morbihan’s attitude to falcons in peasant hands.

  There it was! Raoul’s heart lurched. On the far point were the walls and towers of Radenoc castle, perched on the cliffs above the sea. Above the most westerly tower a flag flew and round it wheeled great white sea birds, filling the air with their melancholy cries. Beneath their feet, as on other similar spots further to the south, there was a colourful carpet of vegetation: mauve and purple heathers were woven amongst the golden blooms of a low ground-hugging gorse.

  Pride and exultation filled Raoul’s heart. This was his land, his inheritance, his home! He had never wanted anything so much as to be able to be restored to his rightful place here. It felt as if all of his life had been leading up to this moment. It seemed incredible, outrageous that he could not just go up to the gates, call out his name and have them obey his commands. It felt like his destiny.

  “You all right, Raoul?” said Daniel quietly.

  “Yes!” He swallowed hard and clenched his fists. “Yes.”

  “Come on; let’s give them a little taster then.”

  Pol lifted his pipe to his lips, Cof beat the drum and they launched into a rousing chorus. Even as he sang, Raoul felt as if he were in a waking dream. Nothing was real but the castle ahead where his family’s banner was flying.

  At the gatehouse they halted the carts but continued to play. Several soldiers had congregated on the battlements above and they applauded appreciatively when the song ended.

  “We’d be glad to entertain you for as long as you please,” Daniel called, bowing respectfully. “If you’d send for your lord or his steward we’d be grateful.”

  Raoul found that he was taut as a bow-string while they waited. Any moment now he might be face to face with Lord Armand de Metz.

  At a shouted command, the drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised. Security was not slack here as it had been at so many castles they had visited. The eastern side of Radenoc was the only one without the natural protection of a steep drop to the sea. Armand evidently took no chances.

  The man who came towards them could not possibly be Armand, however. Raoul forced himself to relax again. This man was tall and upright, perhaps in his late thirties and he must have been extremely handsome in his youth, Raoul thought. He wore his light brown hair long and he was clean shaven. His tunic was richly trimmed with fur and a heavy chain, set with jewels, hung round his neck.

  “Good day, masters,” he said in a pleasant voice. “And what can I do for you?”

  “It’s the other way round,” Daniel told him cheerfully. “We have many skills: whether your taste is for tumbling, singing, dancing, juggling, acting or fire-eating, Guennec’s Men are at your service. All we ask is the reward you think we deserve – and our bed and board. It’s not much to ask, I think you’ll agree.”

  The man smiled genially.

  “You only ask for what you deserve? That seems fair enough. You can sleep in the gatehouse and perform in the Hall tonight. Taloc! Show them where they’re to go.”

  He re-crossed the drawbridge and stood aside in the courtyard as the wagons lumbered in. Raoul was aware that he was scrutinising them keenly as everyone clambered down from the carts and stretched themselves.

  “Are the girls and the boy part of your entertainment too?” he asked Daniel after a moment.

  “Damona and Connell are members of my family. They and my wife are my companions on the road.” Guennec’s voice was polite but defensive.

  “And Damona’s also my wife,” Jean said, putting his arm possessively round her.

  “I’ll entertain you any time, sir,” cooed Berthe, approaching him with a winning smile. “You’re the baron, are you?”

  “Sadly, no. I am merely his Lordship’s steward: Sir René Gilbert at your service, young lady.”

  “Aren’t you going to do anything?” Jean hissed at Pol.

  “Naw. I’m tired of it. Let her bed who she wants – as long as she gets a good price for it.”

  The steward had heard him.

  “We will pay ‘what she deserves’ as your friend said. I’m sure you’ll consider that fair.”

  He gave his genial smile again. There was something about it that Raoul didn’t like. And there was something about his name which seemed oddly familiar.

  Even Berthe seemed to be pleased with the two rush-strewn chambers they were led up to by Taloc, one of the squires. There were plenty of thick mattresses piled against the wall and even a brazier. One shuttered window looked onto the courtyard and there were angled arrow slits which overlooked the area outside the main gate. In a siege these rooms would be valuable for defence. From the chamber above, reached by a separate stair, the portcullis was operated.

  The squire returned a while later to conduct them into the Hall. Again Raoul found his heart pounding and his palms sweating as they were led in and shown to a trestle near the door. His eyes were fixed on the end of the long room where the High Table still stood empty. He barely noticed the shabbiness of his surroundings – the lack of hangings, the cobweb draped ceiling; he was waiting for Lord Armand to appear.

  He didn’t have to wait long. A herald sounded a single braying note on a ceremonial bugle and a solemn procession filed down the steps at the far end, entered the Hall, and mounted the dais. There was the inevitable clergyman, fat and well-fed looking as so often seemed to be the case; next there was the steward in an even more richly-trimmed tunic. After him came a small girl, aged perhaps ten or eleven. She was followed by a frail-looking heavily pregnant woman who seemed barely able to walk unaided. That was all. They each stood by their places. Raoul held his breath and there he was. The Lord of Radenoc strode imperiously down the steps and seated himself in the magnificently carved chair at the table’s centre.

&
nbsp; Armand de Metz. Raoul reached for his cup and took a drink to steady himself. He couldn’t eat. Even at this distance he could see the man quite clearly. It was almost as if the intensity of Raoul’s gaze had magnified his great uncle’s features. There must have been many changes since Eleanor, Raoul’s grandmother, had seen him last, some forty years ago. From the way he moved, no-one would suppose Armand to be seventy or more. There seemed to Raoul to be no trace left of what had supposedly been exceptionally good looks all those years ago. His hair was white; that was one thing. Far from gaining flesh in old age, the body beneath the silk robes seemed to be almost skeletally thin. The face was skull-like, the flesh eroded, the bones prominent.

  Later when they were invited to play, Raoul was able to get closer and thus study him more minutely, confirming his first impressions. Armand lounged back in his chair, watching their act intently but he didn’t look at ease. He rarely smiled or registered any pleasure. Raoul felt his gaze was a bit like Gwen’s when she’d spotted a choice morsel of food: it was as if he was waiting to pounce. Raoul felt the urge to run and hide in order to escape his notice. But Armand looked no more at him than at anyone else.

  Their act ended and there was loud applause and some cheers from both sides.

  “Very skilful,” Armand said as Guennec bowed to the High Table.

  Raoul felt a shiver run down his back at the soft purring voice.

  “You may play again tomorrow. But the day after that you must continue on your way – I have to leave Radenoc for a short while and my wife does not appreciate the minstrel’s art.”

  The woman put her hand on his arm and whispered something.

  “No, my dear.” His voice as he spoke to her was quiet but cold. “You may not be excused just yet. You make too much of the trifling ailments of your condition. It is quite natural, you know. Stay where you are. We will have a little more wine and these good people will sing a few more jolly ballads for us. See, your daughter is enjoying herself!”

  Raoul glanced at the girl who was indeed leaning forward with her elbows on the table, beaming in delight.

  “If your lady is unwell, my lord...” The hawk-like eyes glared fiercely at Guennec as he began to speak. “...My wife has some skill with herbs. Perhaps she could brew a posset...”

  “That is good of you. But it is quite unnecessary. Sing again, if you please.”

  “Certainly, my lord. ‘In The Woods So Green’, lads. Give us a note, Pol.”

  ‘He is cruel and ruthless,’ Raoul thought as they sang. The lady looked almost as if she was going to faint but Armand had his hand over hers, pressed down hard on the arm of the chair, his whitened knuckles showing the strength of his grip. The girl was cheerfully oblivious, her eyes dancing as she beat time with her knife. It was only as he returned to their table that the thought stuck Raoul like a blow: there were no young men or boys seated with Armand’s family. Did he have an heir?

  A scullion brought another jug of wine; Raoul re-filled his cup and drained it, his eyes still on his great uncle. He had turned to his steward and was earnestly discussing something. A short time later he signalled to the two men-at-arms who had stood throughout the meal by the steps leading up to the curtained doorway at the back of the Hall. At Lord Armand’s command they moved to each side of the pregnant lady, helping her from her seat on the dais, escorting her down the length of the Hall and out through the doorway opposite to where Raoul was sitting. She leaned heavily on one of the soldiers, moving like someone who had no will of her own. Her colourless face looked strained and ill; Raoul felt sorry for her.

  When the lady had gone Raoul looked back up the Hall again. A shapely young woman dressed in a purple silk gown had taken the seat formerly occupied by Armand’s wife. She was lolling against the arm of his chair, whispering into his ear and laughing uproariously at his replies. There was no doubt at all of her status. He noted with relief that the child’s place was now empty. It would seem to be most improper for her to witness her father’s antics with his mistress.

  The next day Raoul was kept fully occupied. He had no chance of slipping away on his own to learn the castle’s secrets. They had been requested to present a full length drama in the Hall after the midday meal and this necessitated a morning’s intensive rehearsal. They had not done more than short routines for some time and the tragic tale of Tristan and Iseult needed some polishing. The steward explained when he requested it that it was thought that the couple had landed on this very coast in their headlong flight from King Mark’s anger.

  Lord Armand’s wife did not watch the performance. His mistress did, however, and Armand dallied with her in full view of his daughter. The girl seemed totally unconcerned, however, having eyes for nothing but their drama. Raoul had learned that Lady de Metz occupied private apartments in the North Tower, emerging only in the late afternoon and dining in the Hall in the evening at her husband’s command.

  After they had finished there was time merely to change and rest for a short while before going to the hall for the evening meal where they would perform again. The food here, Raoul now observed, at least some of his healthy appetite having returned, was considerably inferior to that usually served in noblemen’s households. In fact they had eaten better bread in many humble taverns.

  The mood amongst the mummers was uneasy. Maeve was concerned about the lady whose fatigue she kept insisting she could relieve with a well-mixed tisane. Daniel was watchful of Raoul, visibly concerned that he would ask more questions than was wise. The relationship between Damona and Jean seemed strained and Pol was brooding darkly over Berthe having been away entertaining the steward and his cronies for most of the previous night. Only Cof and Connell seemed cheerful. The latter was now a carefree young man of fourteen who was entirely content to tuck into any food that was on offer while ogling the kitchen wenches and cracking obscene jokes. He found it wonderfully amusing when one of the serving girls tried to attract Raoul’s attention, lingering by their table and bringing him a jug of special wine after they had sung.

  When they retired to the gatehouse again on their second night at Radenoc, Raoul reflected that their stay there had hardly been a triumph. He had done nothing that he had planned, and hadn’t even answered the burning question of Armand’s heir. If, somehow, he could contrive to stay once Armand had left the castle he might be able to find his way to the Western Tower. But how could it be done? Everyone but Berthe was impatient now to leave. Perhaps the steward intended to pay Guennec the next day but so far she was the only one who’d received any money at all, and she was insufferably proud of the amount that she’d been given. Raoul felt sorry for Pol that night when she blew him a kiss and said she was off again to fill their coffers. He merely rolled himself in his bed-cover and turned his face to the wall. As he lay similarly wrapped on his own bed, Raoul could hear a low-voiced argument between Jean and Damona in the far corner. Half trying to catch what it was about, he drifted into sleep.

  The next morning, after a bowl of thin gruel, they stowed their possessions and the two little children into the carts ready to depart. Berthe still had not reappeared so they lingered in the courtyard, Pol visibly fretting and impatient. At length she emerged from a doorway at the far end of the main keep. She was grinning smugly, clearly delighted about something.

  “Are her goods packed, Pol? Shall we go?” Daniel sounded unusually disapproving.

  “Aye. For the love of God, let’s be gone.”

  “Daniel, wait.” Berthe ran eagerly to him and lowered her voice.

  Raoul, standing beside him, could easily hear what she said.

  “We’re headed north, aren’t we?”

  “That’s right.”

  “René says we’re to go just to the point about a mile away and make camp in the dunes there. He’s got something special that he wants me to do tonight. If I do well he’ll give us a whole purse of gold, he says. But we’re not to tell anyone that we’re staying nearby. It’s to be kept a secret.”

/>   “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think it my place to ask. But what could be so wrong with stopping nearby? If someone asked, you could say a wheel needed repairing, couldn’t you?”

  “I don’t like it,” Daniel said.

  “We need the money, Dan,” Maeve insisted. “We’ve nothing saved for the winter and Breton folks are poor. If the girl’s willing...”

  “And Pol?”

  “I’ll make it right with Pol,” Berthe wheedled. “Daniel, please.”

  “Very well – but I’m not happy.”

  Without waiting to hear any more, Raoul slipped away, beckoning to Connell to join him in the doorway that led up to what had been their chamber.

  “Look, Con, I’ll catch you up later but I’m going to stay on here for a while. Cover for me will you?”

  The boy grinned.

  “It’s that girl, isn’t it? The one who was winking at you?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Oh ho! So your halo’s slipping, is it?”

  “Well...we’re all human, aren’t we? But help me, will you? Try to stop your father from noticing that I’m not there. You can laugh as much as you like when I come back.”

  “Right. You can do the same for me one day. Will you tell me what she was like?”

  “Dirty young pup! I’ll tell you as much as I think you ought to know. Go on now! Say I’m asleep in your wagon.”

  Connell gave a lewd wink and hurried through the raised portcullis after the two carts. Raoul stayed in the shadows until it was let down again, and then crossed cautiously to the kitchen, a thatched single storey building to his right. Luckily the girl was there and she saw him at once.

  “Have your friends gone without you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And were you lookin’ for me?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? Have you got a room? Somewhere we can go?”

  “I’m supposed to be cuttin’ up these!”

  Raoul took some coins from his purse.

  “Would the cook spare you for a while in return for this?”