The Rightful Heir

by Diana Dickinson

  That was why everyone here accepted him, what the girl had meant by ‘you lot’. Armand’s bastards were a common sight and Raoul’s resemblance to Lord de Metz was too obvious for anyone to question his presence. Even the fisher-women at Lanhalles had recognised it.

  “So you’re my grandfather.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And my father was your bastard.”

  “Yes. And I saw him for the last time when he was just a few days old – I can still remember his little red face, the golden down on his head...”

  “Who’s your heir?”

  Armand looked at Raoul in hurt surprise.

  “My son Gilles, of course.”

  Raoul gave a hysterical laugh.

  “So my grandmother lied! And I’ve no claim here!”

  “No claim to the barony, no. But as an obviously intelligent young man, I can give you a good position in my household and...”

  “No! I want nothing more from you! I’ve got too much already – my face, my temperament! I never want to see you again!”

  Raoul sprang to his feet and bounded across to the door, wrenching it open and dashing down the stairs, as Armand shouted hoarsely for the guard.

  As he reached the lower landing, a soldier emerged from the guard-room, drawn sword in hand. Using one of his tumbling tricks, Raoul sprang at him, his feet landing in the man’s belly, winding him and knocking him backwards into the others who were trying to come out. He turned a neat somersault, leaped to his feet and plunged on down the stairs. He just had time to pull open the door, dive through and slam it behind him before the guards could catch up. He sprinted across the ramparts, took the straight steps in a single flying leap and hesitated for a second in the chamber below. Through the Hall or up the other stairs? Hearing the first sounds of pursuit he chose the stairs, dashing up them. After a short distance, an archway led off into a passage. That seemed better than a possible dead-end at the stair-head. A few yards along there was a door. If his luck held and it was open, he could hide in the chamber, possibly climbing out through a window. He grabbed the handle, turned it and pushed. There were shouts below. The door rattled but failed to open. It was barred from inside.

  “What do you want?” called a high-pitched voice.

  “Open up, for the love of God!”

  Painfully slowly, the bar was removed and the door swung inwards. Without hesitating, Raoul flung himself past the young girl – the one he had seen on the top table – and swept his eyes round the room.

  “Please! Help me! Where can I hide?”

  “The bed! Quick.”

  Raoul crossed the room and dived under the fur covers heaped on the massive bed. Its curtains, unfortunately, had not been drawn.

  “Whatever’s going on?” The girl’s voice held surprised annoyance.

  For a moment Raoul thought she was addressing him then realised, just in time, that it was to someone in the passage that she was speaking.

  “There’s an intruder, my lady. A young man, dark haired. Has he passed this way?”

  “Really, captain, how would I know? I was woken up by lots of shouting. I thought the castle must be on fire.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady. Go back to bed now. Bar the door tight and don’t open it to anyone.”

  “Very well. I won’t.”

  Raoul heard the sounds of the bar being slotted back in place and peered cautiously out from under the covers.

  “You’re safe now,” the girl said. “They’ve gone. But I think you ought to stay here for a while, just in case.”

  “I’m very grateful. You may have saved my life.”

  She came over and perched on the bed beside Raoul who had tossed the furs aside and sat up. They looked at each other without speaking. The girl, in her night shift, had thin bony shoulders and long colt-like legs which she tucked underneath her. She didn’t seem at all afraid. Her hair was not brown as it had looked from a distance; it was the colour of copper beech leaves, and was tightly braided into two thick plaits, with a few curly wisps at her temples. Her skin was very pale and there was a slight sprinkling of freckles across her nose. It was the sort of face which might be beautiful when she was older but wasn’t now. Her eyes, warm chestnut in colour and presently filled with interested curiosity, looked too big for the size of her face; her mouth looked too small, her chin too pointed.

  “Are you one of my father’s bastards?” she asked after a moment.

  “No!”

  “Sorry. You just look as if you are – they’ve mostly got your colouring and shape of face.”

  “Well I’m not.”

  “Don’t be angry – I said I was sorry. And you don’t have to move. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll find you some honey cakes. I’ve no wine, I’m afraid, but the water’s fresh if you’re thirsty.”

  “Thanks.”

  Suddenly amused by the novelty of his situation, Raoul plumped up a pillow, settled it behind him and propped himself against the head of the bed. He found that he was desperately thirsty and eagerly gulped down the water which the girl poured for him. She piled a platter with small cakes, placed it in the centre of the bed, and climbed up again to sit beside him, covering her bare legs with one of the rugs.

  “I think I would have liked it if you’d been my half-brother,” she said, studying his face again, “you look nicer than the others.”

  Raoul found himself trying to work out what relation he actually was – cousin? No! Nephew! He choked on a mouthful of honey-cake. If what he had just heard was true, this child was his AUNT!

  “It’s a very funny thing,” she was saying, “my father’s got dozens of sons – possibly even hundreds of them – but I’m his only daughter – well, as far as he knows.”

  “I’m sure he’s very proud of you,” Raoul said, taking a hasty drink to soothe his throat.

  “He’s not. He hates me. When I was born he accused my mother of being unfaithful and had her flogged. And that was totally stupid as he’d had her locked up in the North Tower for years even then. I can’t imagine who she could have cuckolded him with!”

  “But she’d borne him sons already, hadn’t she? And she’s pregnant again now.”

  “Oh yes, but none of them ever survives for more than a day or two.”

  “What about Gilles?” Raoul knew it was pointless but he still wanted to know about Armand’s legitimate offspring.

  “He’s Lady Isabelle’s son – my father’s first wife.”

  “And has he brothers?”

  “No, there’s just the two of us: Gilles and me. And the bastards, of course.”

  “I see. And what’s your name?” He couldn’t call her ‘my lady’ – or ‘Aunt’! He suppressed a hysterical laugh. He didn’t want to offend her or provoke her into sending for the guards.

  “I’m Catherine,” she said. “Ahmed says if Mother never has any children that live, my father had better lie with me when I’m old enough – to save Gilles the bother of having to marry. But I don’t much like the idea. What do you think?”

  “It’s obscene! And a mortal sin!” His desire to laugh had evaporated.

  “Are you very devout, then?”

  “No, not really. And certainly not now. Considering who I am, I’ve no reason to be. But such an idea is disgusting.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But Sévrine says priests nowadays worry far too much about sin. She’s told me about the old religion with sacrifices and dancing and orgies and I think it sounds much better.”

  Her frankness shocked him. Were all of Armand’s children equally corrupt?

  “You shouldn’t be talking about things like that. How old are you anyway?”

  “Nearly thirteen. Oh, I know I look younger; you don’t have to tell me. Sévrine says she had fully grown breasts and had had her first bleeding by the time she was my age. I’m just slow, I suppose.” She looked down disgustedly at her flat chest.

  “Why shouldn’t Gilles marry?”

  “He doesn’t
like women. He prefers boys.” She suddenly giggled. “You’re the first man that’s ever been in my bed. Does that make you my lover?”

  “No it does not. There’s a lot more to it!”

  He realised with a sense of relief that she hadn’t understood all that she had been saying. Personally, she was still innocent, as her last question showed.

  She giggled again. “I thought there probably was.”

  She shot him a look from under her long dark lashes and Raoul smiled. She’d break hearts when she was older.

  “Actually you’re very lucky,” she said, selecting another cake, “because Sévrine usually sleeps in here with me and she’d have handed you over to the guards straight away.”

  “Who is Sévrine??”

  “She’s my nurse.” Catherine set down the cake with an annoyed frown. “No, she’s not! She’s my maid. I’m much too grown up to have a nurse but she still tries to order me about! I think she should have let me go along tonight but she said I wasn’t old enough. Do people make you really cross by telling you what to do?”

  “Not now, no. But when I was your age they did.”

  “How did you stop them?”

  “I ran away from home.”

  Catherine sighed eloquently. “They’d never let me do that!”

  “It’s not usually something you’re allowed to do!” Raoul said with a grin.

  “No, of course not! How silly I am!”

  She laughed too, an infectious giggle. Raoul found himself smiling at her indulgently. He liked this girl, whoever her father might be.

  “Is your maid also a...friend of your father’s?”

  “A friend? Oh, you mean is she his mistress? No, that’s Odette at the moment. I hate her. Sévrine’s an ugly old thing. Even Father wouldn’t want her. She doesn’t get much excitement – that’s why she’s gone tonight. Though I expect Odette has too, and I’d really have liked to.”

  “Where did you want to go?”

  “Not even everyone in the castle knows about it. It’s a big secret, but Sévrine told me. There’s a ceremony on Melgorn every year at this time. It’s the festival of Lugh, God of the Harvest. There’s a sacrifice and the harvesters’ sickles are dipped in fresh blood. It stops the rain coming to spoil the corn, you see. They light fires and there’s dancing. And later, when the crop’s been collected, the body’s buried by the altar stone – and that persuades the God to make the corn grow well again the following season.”

  “What do they sacrifice? A goat?”

  “That’s the really exciting part.” Catherine’s eyes were wide with fascinated horror. “Usually it’s a goat, but it’s even better if it can be a person. And this year it will be! It has to be a woman and she has to be a stranger for the charm to work. They cut her throat and -”

  “Oh my God!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  Raoul grabbed the girl by her shoulders, his face filled with terror.

  “Catherine, I have to get out of here before it’s too late!”

  “I don’t understand...”

  “Don’t ask questions, just help me. How can I get out of the castle?”

  “You can’t! Only a monkey or a squirrel could climb over the walls. And anyway they’d see you when you went into the courtyard.”

  “This nurse...maid of yours – are any of her clothes here?”

  “Yes. A whole chest full – over there.”

  Catherine jumped down and went to a coffer in the corner. Raoul followed her and opened it. He dragged out a gown and a head veil and started to put them on.

  “Are you going to dress up in women’s clothes?” Catherine exclaimed incredulously.

  “I certainly am. And it won’t be for the first time, either. Tie this for me, can you?”

  “Of course! I knew I’d seen you before. You’re one of the minstrels that were here, aren’t you? You played Iseult.”

  “Catherine, hurry!”

  Prompted by the urgency in his voice, she fastened the laces and helped to arrange the veil.

  “Now can you direct me to the easiest part of the battlements to climb? Somewhere that goes down onto land, not into the sea.”

  “The wall by the North Tower would be best. I’ll take you there.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe for you to go out? Can’t you just tell me?”

  “It’s all right. I’ll pretend that I’m going to see my mother.”

  “At this time of night?”

  “I’ll say I dreamed that the baby was starting – if anyone dares to ask me!” She raised her chin imperiously. “And I made Sévrine come with me, of course.”

  “Catherine, you’re a marvel.”

  He seized her hand and kissed it. She blushed delightedly.

  “Lead on, my lady!”

  Catherine put a cloak over her shift and reached down a flambeau from one of the wall sconces while Raoul unbarred the door. Holding the torch high, she then marched purposefully down the stairs, through the now dark chamber and the empty Hall. In a very few minutes they had crossed the courtyard and reached the tower. In its shadow Catherine doused the flambeau then led Raoul up the steps close by which ascended to the battlements. The tower blocked the guards’ view from the gatehouse so it was the perfect spot to have chosen.

  “There’s actually a postern gate in this tower,” Catherine whispered to Raoul when they reached the top. “But my father keeps the key locked up in his chamber. Someone stole it from him once and escaped that way. They say he put half the castle garrison to death and burned all the houses in Lanhalles afterwards.”

  “You mustn’t tell anyone that you helped me,” Raoul said anxiously. “I wouldn’t want you to be punished.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  Raoul stripped off the borrowed clothes and rolled them into a neat bundle.

  “You’d better take these back, if you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want them found or it would give too much away.”

  “Can you really climb down there?” She peered doubtfully over the parapet.

  “Easy as wink. But you go now. Don’t stay to watch.”

  He bent down, kissed her and gave her a quick hug. It would have been good to have had a little sister like her.

  It wasn’t quite as simple a descent as Raoul had told Catherine, but it was perfectly manageable. Perhaps twenty minutes after he had parted from the girl, he reached the ground at the bottom. There was a narrow path round the base of the tower and Raoul followed it, past the postern and out onto the open ground in front of the main gates.

  The mummers had been told to camp to the north of the castle so Raoul set off at a run in that direction. He passed the squat shape of a small stone building, possibly a church, with a longer lower building beyond it. Then the ground rose and Raoul was forced to slow down. From the brow of the hill he could just make out the faint luminous line of the surf to his left. Ahead the ground was level for about a mile until the shape of a rocky headland was silhouetted against the sky. Controlling his breathing and maintaining as much speed as he could, Raoul ran on, filled with a sickening feeling of dread. Just before the dunes ended, he distinguished the dark outlines of the two wagons with the hobbled oxen sleeping nearby.

  “Pol! Pol! Wake up, for God’s sake!”

  He dashed to the smaller wagon, calling frantically.

  “What’s the matter? Who’s....?”

  “Is Berthe here?”

  “What?”

  “Is Berthe here?”

  “No, no. They wanted her at the castle, you heard her didn’t you? Now, go away and let me sleep.”

  “Pol, listen to me. I think she’s in terrible danger. There’s some pagan festival tonight – for the harvest. I...I’m afraid that Berthe had been made to take part in it...”

  “What?”

  Not only Pol but Jean and Damona were awake now.

  “You’ve got to try to find her before it’s too late!”

  “Where is it happening? Do you know?” Jean
was already pulling on his boots.

  “South of the castle. On an island close in by the shore. You can walk across if the tide’s low. I don’t know whether it’s possible now or not.”

  “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

  Jean jumped down from the wagon and went to the other one.

  “Daniel! Maeve! Cof! Wake up. Berthe’s in trouble. The more of us that go, the more chance we have of rescuing her.”

  In a matter of minutes, everyone was dressed and had seized whatever weapons they had.

  “Have the sword, Daniel,” Raoul said, taking it out of his coffer. “It could be useful to you.”

  “You’re not coming with us?”

  “I’ll stay with the women and the babies. Someone has to.”

  “Can I go, Da?” said Connell.

  “Yes, lad,” Guennec said. “You’re nearly grown now.”

  “If you think I’m staying here, Daniel Guennec, you’re very much mistaken.”

  Maeve had a stout stick in her hand and clearly meant to use it.

  “Come on, then.”

  They set off over the dunes, each one full of grim purpose. As he watched them go, Raoul felt strange. It was as if all his previous life had been wiped out by what he had learned at the castle. His grandmother was an adulteress. He had no inheritance. Because of who he was, even his blood was tainted. From now on, he must just accept whatever pleasures he was offered in life – before Death struck him down.

  “I suppose you think you’ve been very noble offering to guard me instead of going to help,” Damona said with a sneer. “You can sit up and keep watch if you like but I’m going to get some sleep.”

  “Not so fast!” Raoul grabbed her arm. “You and I have an old score to settle.”