The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “Don’t claim ownership of your wife, when you have a deceitful mistress in your bed,” Merton spat back. “The marriage between my brother and Amandine was never consummated,” Merton addressed the Hall, “and he deserted her for ten years. You have no wife. What do you say, Bishop?” Merton asked, addressing the holy man who was sat near the King.

  “If the marriage was never consummated—”

  “I didn’t desert her,” Garren stated, talking over the Bishop.

  “So you say,” Merton said. “But you were never faithful to her. You were too busy having an affair with Queen Anna to think about your wife who needed you by her side. Amandine was never good enough for you because she belonged to you. You didn’t have to deceive anyone to be with her. She bored you.”

  “Amandine was a child,” Garren stated, defending himself.

  “You had an affair with Anna?” Alden asked in disbelief. “When?”

  “Amandine was your wife,” Merton continued. “And yet, you couldn’t see the jewel before your eyes. She was nothing but a hindrance to you. She was something that had been forced upon you. You cared for her not at all. So do not pretend to do so now.”

  “You know nothing,” Garren returned.

  “I know everything. I saw how it was. I saw how you were. I know Benwick,” Merton stated, his voice trembling with determination. “I know all her secrets.”

  “We all know her,” Garren argued. “You are not the only one who grew up there.”

  “No, you don’t know her at all because you never needed to. You had a perfect life, Garren. You were the golden boy. You could do no wrong. I, on the other hand—”

  “This is a mockery and a farce,” Garren interrupted, looking at Alden. “Merton cannot go, he just passed out. He is weak. He is nothing now. I will not allow him to risk Amandine’s life. If you go to Brittany, you will end up being killed,” Garren said, turning his attention back to Merton. “And you will get Amandine killed as well. Tell us your plan, and let those who are able get her out.”

  “I cannot give you the knowledge. I cannot write it down or draw a map because it is in here,” Merton pointed to his head. It was a lie; his plan was half-baked at best. All he knew for sure was that Sampson would be a part of it. Hopefully, once he was in Brittany and he saw for himself how it was, he would be able to plan a rescue.

  “You cannot write it down because you cannot write. You always were useless,” Garren replied with rancour. “All you were ever good at was finding trouble and being handy with a sword. Now, look at you. Hiding behind Alden with a false name and every day fearing that someone is going to let it slip that you are alive. Oh, let’s kill the nuns because they heard your name. Let’s burn down a nation so you can stay safe. You haven’t got a plan, have you? HAVE YOU?” Garren yelled. “Alden, can you not see who he is? Why do you protect him so? Throw him out on the street with the rubbish, for that is where he belongs.”

  “This is the Garren I remember,” Merton answered, his eyes fixed on Garren’s face. “Vindictive and cruel. You will get your marriage annulled. Or, I will do it for you.”

  “Are you threatening me now?” Garren asked with a sneer. “You cannot even hold a sword. We all heard how Alden defeated you with one blow. This Hall is only made of wood. We heard everything.”

  “Enough,” Alden raised his voice. “Garren, sit back down and shut your mouth.”

  “I don’t take orders from you,” Garren replied looking at the King. “Or from you,” he glared at Merton. “You can have her, if she means that much to you. Why would I want your whore as my wife? I annul our union on the grounds of adultery. Not that it matters, if he goes after her, she is as good as dead anyway.”

  They all watched as Garren stormed out of the Hall.

  There was a moment when no one said anything, and the silence echoed around the room.

  “Garren was right in what he said. You cannot go,” Alden broke the silence.

  “You cannot stop me. And if you try, then we are not brothers.” Merton replied. “Amandine is mine, Alden. She is my responsibility. Would you stay behind and let someone else go in your place if it were Annis?”

  Alden frowned and breathed out unsteadily.

  “I am going, whether you like it or not. I know what I am doing, Alden. I will get her out of there. Don’t lose faith in me now.”

  “I would never lose faith in you. Never.”

  “Then support me in this,” Merton pleaded. “Please.”

  “I don’t like it,” Alden stated, he glanced at James, hoping that his general would have some wisdom to share with them all. But in this instance James didn’t say anything, he was sat with his head in his hands.

  This was the part of kingship Alden hated. He hated being the decision maker. If he agreed, if he let Merton go, and something happened to Merton, then it would be on his head. But if he didn’t… “If you think you can pull this off…” he heard himself saying, “…then…who am I to stand in your way? As you said, Amandine is yours, and if I were in your shoes, I too would want to go. But I want to help you as much as I can. What can I do? What do you need from me?”

  Merton sighed his relief, glad that he did not have to waste any more time fighting his brother on this point. “My men,” Merton turned to look back at Alan. “Alan, if you are not to busy saving nuns, or uniting these Knights of yours—”

  “Uniting the Knights can wait, Amandine cannot. I will come.”

  “Is that it?” Alden asked.

  “No. I need Sampson—”

  “Sire, I would be a hindrance,” Sampson interrupted, his face showing his fear at the thought of going back to Brittany with Merton. He feared that Merton would not be content with rescuing Amandine, he would want to have his revenge as well, and Samson could not condone that. It would be better if he remained in Cerniw.

  “You will do as you are told,” Alden glared at the monk and turned his attention back to his brother. “I will come,” Alden stated. “I should never have believed Bastian. I should have checked.”

  “No,” Merton shook his head. “You are needed here. War is coming, and you have to be ready to face her head on. And Alden, it wasn’t your fault. Bastian and Josephine lied to us all…”

  “When will you leave?”

  “There is still time to catch the evening tide. I want to go today. I cannot bear to leave her alone a moment longer.”

  Alden clicked his fingers, and a servant dashed up to the throne. Alden whispered in the servant’s ear, and then they all watched as the servant rushed out of the room. Alden then rose to his feet and addressed the Hall.

  “I know that many of you have never met Lady Amandine, and what with the current instabilities I am sure most of you are thinking that trying to rescue her is unwise. Foolish even.”

  “I don’t think any of us think that,” James said, raising his head to look at his King. “We all know Benwick Castle is impregnable — from the outside at least. And we understand that this rescue mission, this noble quest of Galahad’s, could be a futile one.”

  Merton went to disagree but James gave him such a looked that it curbed his tongue.

  “But,” James chuckled softly, “Galahad has always been lucky.”

  There was laughter at James’s words.

  Merton chucked along with the others and when the laughter died out, he stood once again. “I never believed in luck. Or fate. Or destiny. I—”

  “We,” Yrre interrupted.

  “We…?” Merton queried with a frown looking down at his comrade.

  “I am getting a little fed up that it is always about you,” Yrre said with good humour. “We were lucky too. Look what you put us through and yet, we are still alive. If that isn’t lucky, I don’t know what is.”

  More laughter accompanied Yrre’s words and the atmosphere in the Hall changed, it became more relaxed.

  “Thank you for that…contribution, Yrre,” Merton stated.

  Yrre sat back and stretched out
his legs, looking very pleased with himself. “It needed to be said,” he replied with a grin.

  “What I was going to say,” Merton continued, glancing at Yrre briefly in case he thought to interrupt him again. When he remained quiet, Merton continued. “I know you all see me as something broken, and you are right, I am. But, I am still a du Lac and I think you will find that there is fight in this old dog yet. I will find Amandine, Sire, and I will bring her home and then, together, we will put an end to this madness because I don’t know about you, but I am fed up of waiting for this war to come to us.”

  There was a general muttering of agreement and Alden rose from his throne and raised his goblet. “You are right. The essence of a game is always at the end. It is time we stopped watching and started playing. Rescue Amandine, and then come straight back, for we are going to war.”

  Everyone cheered at Alden’s words.

  “And we are going to win,” Alden yelled, before raising his goblet to his mouth.

  The cheering became louder, goblets were banged against the tables and there were ready smiles as everyone contemplated the heroic part they would play in such a war. Alden looked to where Merton still stood. “To Galahad,” he raised his goblet again. “May God go with you and see you victorious.”

  “Have no fear, Sire,” Merton raised his cup as well. “I have a feeling God will not be far.” Merton resisted the urge to look at Sampson, but he could feel the monks penetrating and knowing gaze upon him.

  34

  Benwick Castle, The Kingdom of Brittany. One day later.

  “Tomorrow,” Bastian spoke just one word and then he turned to leave Amandine’s chamber.

  “What time?” Amandine asked, her voice came out strong and clear, which secretly pleased her. She wanted to sound brave, flippant almost, about her upcoming death. She wanted everyone to know that she was not afraid. Amandine was determined to follow Merton’s example. He had faced death with bravery. She would do the same.

  “Noon,” Bastian replied over his shoulder. He shut the door behind him with a resounding thud. And when he turned the key in the lock, the sound seemed abnormally loud and strangely final.

  Silence descended. The room was quiet, too quiet. Amandine closed her eyes and thought of Merton. She smiled when she recalled the teasing light that made his eyes sparkle, and she remembered the feeling of rightness that would wash over her whenever he was near. She recollected the time she had taken it upon herself to teach him to dance. Merton had been utterly hopeless, never had she met such an appalling dancer. But he didn’t care what he looked like, as long as he could make her laugh. These were the memories that she wanted to take to her grave. She was determined to think of nothing else but Merton in these last few hours of her life. She would not allow herself to think of what was to come, because if she did… Amandine felt a sob rise in her throat, and she quickly slapped her hand across her mouth, for she would allow no heart-breaking sound to break the tranquillity of this room. This prison.

  When Amandine felt that she had her emotions once again under control, she scrambled under the bed. Lying flat, Amandine stretched to reach her precious silver hairbrush, which she had hidden there. She pulled it out and stood up, brushing off a piece of reed that had stuck to her clothes.

  The silver brush, the one that she had treasured from the moment Garren had given it to her, had taken a beating. As it turned out, the brush wasn’t pure silver, as Amandine had first thought. But that worked to her advantage. She had rubbed the once smooth, curved base of the handle against the stone wall of her chamber until it became pointed and sharp. Amandine touched the now jagged edge with her fingertip. With determination she crossed to the corner of the room and sat down, crossing her legs under her. Amandine moved the reeds from this corner of the floor with a quick brush of her hand. And then she sat back and admired her handy work. She was to have no headstone. No lasting acknowledgement that she had ever lived. So she thought to leave her own monument here. Already she had carved her name into the corner of the wall. The engraving was not neat. But then she only had the end of a hairbrush in which to work with, and she had never carved anything in stone before. Now she was concentrating on carving Merton’s name. She would tangle his name with hers in such a way that they could never be separated.

  The blisters on her hands hurt as she continued to scratch at the stone, digging a thin channel, with the end of her hairbrush. She was determined to finish, despite the pain in her hands. She pushed the unwelcome feeling of panic away. She would finish the carving before noon tomorrow, even if it meant staying up all night. Especially if it meant staying up all night, for this was her last night in this world, she wasn’t going to waste it to sleep. Amandine took heart in the fact that Philippe promised that her death would be quick. She tried not to think about what death would be like. She had heard many conflicting stories in her time about how death takes a soul. Amandine knew that sometimes death was swift. Other times it was slow and drawn-out. Her death would be quick, she probably would not even feel the pain, and even if she did, it would be short lived. No. She told herself firmly. It was best not to think of death at all. All she needed to concentrate on was finishing this memorial. If she had to think, then she would think only of the positive. This time tomorrow, she would be with Merton in the next life. So whatever lay in store for her, it would have a happy ending.

  Amandine had not seen Philippe since the night he told her she was to die. He was avoiding her, she assumed, and she was glad he was because she didn’t want to set eyes on him ever again. The coward.

  Pausing, she rubbed a hand over her eyes and looked again at Merton’s tunic that she had laid out on the bed. She was going to wear his tunic when they came for her. If she were to die because they thought her Merton’s whore, then who was she to disappoint them? It would provoke the Church’s anger, no doubt, but what else could they do to her?

  With a deep sigh, she turned back to her carving. Their names would be immortalised here, forever together, etched in stone. Maybe, in a hundred years time, someone would happen upon her engraving, and they would wonder who she was and who Merton was. They would know though, just by looking at the carving, that she had loved him and he had loved her. For why else would their names be so entwined?

  She worked for many hours on the engraving. She did not notice the fire die down in the hearth. It was only when seeing became difficult that she thought to light a candle. She stood up, her left leg had gone to sleep, and she spent several minutes rubbing it, trying to bring the life back into it. Once feeling had been sufficiently restored, she made the fire back up, lit the candle, and sat back down in the corner of the room. She brushed the loose stone dust away from the carving and sat back and studied her work. Yes, it would do.

  Amandine sat there for a long time, just staring at her name and Merton’s. She kissed her fingers and touched Merton’s name.

  “I love you,” Amandine whispered to the engraving. “You’d better not forget your promise. You said you would find me. I am counting on it.”

  There was a short, sharp knock on her door. And before Amandine could stand and hide the carving with the reeds, the door opened. Bastian hesitated in the doorway, and when he looked at her, she noticed he wore a grim expression on his face. His mouth looked pinched, and there was a simmering fury in his eyes.

  “Are you coming in?” Amandine asked when all he did was stand in the doorway and stare at her. Rising quickly to her feet, she watched him and wondered why he looked so foreboding.

  “I have just been told…” Bastian’s voice was rough, and although he maintained eye contact with her, she could see it was taking all of his willpower not to look away. “…that tomorrow you will be purged of the demon inside you.”

  “Purged?” she shook her head, not understanding what he was saying. “What…? I don’t understand.”

  “The Church demands it,” Bastian stated.

  Amandine stared at him in horror. “How?” She wish
ed her voice were stronger than a stammered whisper. All she could think about was how they had purged Merton of the devil. She wasn’t as brave as he was.

  “They will use…” Bastian swallowed several times, and she stared in disbelief as she saw tears form in the old warrior’s eyes. “Fire. They will use fire.”

  “Fire?” Amandine’s bottom lip began to tremble, and so she bit it. The iron taste of blood filled her mouth. She felt suddenly sick and very, very, scared. “The King promised me a swift death,” she looked at Bastian for help. “He promised.” She knew she sounded like a child, but she couldn’t help that as all her good intentions to put on a brave face abandoned her. Amandine found her legs could no longer support her. So she sat down on the bed, which was devoid of any covers. “He promised,” she whispered again, and then the tears came. Philippe couldn’t do this to her. How could he be so cruel?

  “The King has changed his mind,” Bastian answered. He moved Merton’s tunic, making no comment about the garment, and sat down beside her on the bed. And then, in an uncharacteristic move, Bastian put his arm around her, offering comfort. “The King has had his mind changed,” he corrected bitterly.

  “I must…I must talk to him,” Amandine said, turning her head so she could look into Bastian’s face. “Can you ask Philippe for an audience? He will see me. I know he will.” She touched the blue ribbon that was still tied around her wrist. “If I can talk to him—”

  “He won’t see you,” Bastian interrupted. “He won’t see anyone. He has locked himself in his chamber.”

  Amandine could not digest this new development. It had to be a joke — a cruel one — but a joke, nonetheless. “I am to die on what…a pyre?” Amandine’s voice rose as she spoke, almost to the edge of hysteria.

  “Next to Traitor’s Rock,” Bastian confirmed. “The platform will be built first thing tomorrow, after high tide. You will be tied to a stake and then faggots will be placed around you, but not too many. The Church wants you to…to be conscious for as long as possible. They say it is the only way to purge you of the demon. They say that if you succumb to the smoke, they will douse the fire to wake you and then start again.”