‘Griffith!’ Gillet’s stool toppled as he stood. The room fell deathly silent.
But Mouse was not so easily upset. ‘No need to lock horns, my young bull,’ he chortled. ‘Here, put away that piece and hold out your arms, son. To the winner go the spoils.’ Mouse relinquished his pale-faced trophy, who blushed beet-red as an equally cherry-faced squire gently set her to the ground. Unable to cope with being at the centre of attention, Minette fled like a startled doe.
‘Agh,’ roared Mouse, dropping his arm around a disappointed Griffith, ‘you let her get away, man! Now, there is a maid who needs bedding, if I ever saw one. Come, lad, join me in your victory ale, and I promise you, if she does not return by the time we finish, I’ll go fetch her back myself.’
For the next couple of days, life was nothing short of mayhem in the Albret household. Gillet was elated as the men pitched in to complete the remaining tasks. Game was slaughtered and pickled or smoked, grain crushed and stored, and the partially-rebuilt stable would now offer sufficient protection against the coming of winter.
The cousins undertook the training of several horses, Griffith assisting, while, perched on the fence like Noël turtledoves, Mouse, Guiraud and Gabriel offered well-meant but useless advice. They all agreed upon one thing only. Their disputes would be settled in a quintain session, in full armour, on the day following Christmas.
By two days before Christmas, all minor repairs to the tenants’ cottages had been completed and stores of fuel, meat and grain were replenished, ready for winter quarter. Gabriel and Guiraud hunted with the gamekeeper, while Armand and Gillet ferreted through the armoury. Mouse offered his assistance and had been very successful collecting the quarterly rents. With pantries and cellars bursting, grain sheds overflowing, and enough wood to burn until summer, prayers of thanks for such abundance were offered up in the chapel.
The evenings in the hall were filled with revelry. The Yule log was lit and whole, succulent beasts slow-roasted on spits. The ale flowed and so did the tales, the most popular the recent hunt for the Yule boar, an event that Gillet and his companions had richly anticipated. With copious bantering they related the final trapping, and how the beast, cornered and spent and riddled with spears, made a last desperate stand.
‘The spiny pig charged,’ declared an animated Armand, as his owl-eyed audience gasped. ‘And to avoid the needle-sharp tusks we scrambled up the trees. All except Mouse, here.’
‘I do not hide under skirts! Not even those of an oak,’ blustered Mouse, gulping his ale.
‘What happened?’ Too young for whiskers, the fledgling listeners gaped in awe.
‘Bah! Damned beast ran out of wind and collapsed at my feet.’ There was a disappointed chorus of, ‘Oh.’
‘But,’ rang out Armand, and instantly shoulders straightened, ‘not before yon friend here had breathed upon it, a most foul, heinous breath, more fearsome than that of a dragon!’
‘Ooooohh.’
‘Not likely to be from his mouth,’ spluttered Guiraud, who received an elbow to the ribs.
The young charges were dismissed and the men regrouped. Cécile watched. So, this then was comradeship – the laughter that spills over between men, the humour that abounds, the many friendly punches – a brotherhood which carries an indefinable quality. It is what is taken into battle and if not for the sting of death that war delivers, Cécile thought it an enviable thing.
Noël began with ‘the light of salvation,’ the Angels’ Mass at midnight, followed by cups of mulled wine and spiced honey cakes. Cécile yawned sleepily as they rose again at dawn for the Shepherds’ Mass. With religious observances all but complete, the hall filled with the estate’s tenants, each paying tribute to Gillet as the various removes of soups, roasted game, fish sautéed in herbed butter, breads and puddings were served throughout the long day. The celebration of Christ had begun. The ale flowed steadily; so, too, the goodwill. A riotous cheer exploded near midday as the roasted Yule boar, minus its quills, was carried in by four bearers. Another separate platter followed in the regal procession. The head of the beast, now dressed and stuffed with spiced meat and complete with an apple in its mouth, was presented with much pomp and ceremony to Mouse. Another wild roar hailed the roasted bird centrepiece carried in next – ten birds, boned out and cooked one within the other; a lark, woodcock, quail, par-tridge, pigeon, pheasant, hen, duck and a goose were bound within a swan, the feathers reapplied and its head and neck still intact.
When the bell rang for the last Mass, they all filed into the chilly chapel once more. The spirited congregation conducted their hymn singing with gusto, and afterwards re-entered the warmth of the manor, the gaily decorated hall within, a stark contrast to the grey gloom outdoors.
Armand secured two full jugs of ale for his table as Margot sank beside Cécile, sighing wearily. ‘I have accepted my dis-charge from the kitchen. I am told not to return.’
‘The food has been truly magnificent, Margot,’ replied Cécile.
Gillet added his appreciation as Armand, beaming ludicrously, pushed a full tankard in Margot’s direction. ‘I can honestly declare that is the best banquet of which I have ever partaken.’ He patted his bulging stomach in acknowledge-ment and let go a gurgling belch.
‘So, when does the afternoon’s entertainment begin?’ asked Gillet, glancing suspiciously at the false wall and the manger of hay occupying the dais. He turned to Cécile. ‘A Mummer’s play? I believe this is your doing?’
‘If yonder “Joseph,” over there, is any indication,’ noted Armand, in between gulps, ‘I think there may be some problem.’
A harried man in costume was gesticulating madly in their direction, and Cécile reluctantly rose. ‘Oh dear, I do hope the donkey is not being difficult.’
‘Donkey?’
Gillet was neatly sprayed with his cousin’s ale.
Half an hour later Cécile had the gist of the matter. After much high hand-flinging, hair-wrenching and blasphemous insults that seemed rather out of place from one playing the father of Jesus, the actor explained that the young man who had been hired to perform the role of Mary had not arrived.
‘Madame, without Mary, this play simply cannot continue.’ He eyed Cécile’s condition with interest. ‘Unless, of course, there is someone else willing to take on the role, hmm?’
‘Oh, but you cannot mean me!’
He turned and calmly began to pack his equipment. Horrified at losing the Mummers she had employed for a surprise treat, Cécile grabbed his arm. ‘Wait!’ His smile would have launched a fleet of ships and sent them happily to war. Ten minutes later Cécile was suitably robed, veiled and reciting her four lines.
The raucous din from the hall subsided abruptly when the first actor strode into the crude setting of Bethlehem and began his portrayal of the prophet, Micah.
‘And thou Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, art not the least among the princes of Judah: for out of thee shall come a Gov-ernment that shall rule my people Israel.’
Nervously perched sideways on the beast, for the Mummers had been appalled at Cécile’s suggestion that the mother of Jesus should ride astride, she rehearsed her four precious lines. ‘Oh, Joseph! The inn is full. There is no room. How shall we find a bed for the night? Oh, Joseph! The inn is full. There is no room. How shall we find a bed for the night?’
Henri, the largest of the wise men, sidled over to Cécile with some last minute advice. ‘Take heed, good lady, one of an actor’s greatest achievements is to make himself believable. To do this, the audience must, must be able to hear your words. Remember to throw your voice. Throw your voice.’ Demonstrating, his hands splayed from his mouth in an exaggerated fashion resembling a waterfall. ‘You have a noisy hall tonight, Madame, so you will have to work hard to reach the four corners.’
Cécile nodded resolutely, determined that Gillet would be proud of her portrayal of the delicate Mary. Under her breath she chanted, experimenting with different emphases, ‘Oh Joseph! The inn is full. T
here is no room. How shall we find a bed for the night? Oh Joseph! The inn is full. There is no room. How shall we find a bed for the night?’ How? Or would ‘where’ sound better?
It was time. The prophet introduced the first scene of Mary and Joseph arriving at the inn. Cécile’s robed companion urged the compliant animal forward.
‘Oh, Joseph,’ rehearsed Cécile. ‘The inn is full. There is no room. Where shall we find a bed for the night?’
‘Remember, milady,’ whispered Henri, ‘throw your voice.’
‘Throw my voice. Oh, Joseph! The inn is full. There is no room. How shall we find a bed for the night?’ She was ready.
Joseph led Cécile out into view and made his way to the ‘inn door.’ A boisterous outburst from one particular table greeted her entrance. A quick sideways glance confirmed Gillet’s stunned look, his head, shaking in disbelief, descended to nestle into his outspread palm as the other four guffawed loudly.
As Joseph conversed with the innkeeper, Cécile ignored her ungracious spectators, and watched intently as he projected his voice. She would do the same, and muttered nervously to herself. ‘Oh, Joseph! The inn is full. There is no room. How shall we find a bed for the night?’ Was it how or where?
Joseph tugged his signal on the rein. It was Cécile’s turn. In her peripheral vision she saw Monsieur Waterfall spill over again, but the heckling from the front table unnerved her. Gillet grinned absurdly, Armand winked, and Gabriel, Guiraud and Mouse blew kisses, saluting with their cups. Cécile’s heart began to pound and to her greatest horror, her mind went blank.
Joseph whispered frantically, ‘Madame! The inn … the room … the bed.’
Memory flooded back just as she caught Gillet’s eye. She threw her hand to her brow in a dramatic portrayal and proclaimed in her loudest voice. ‘Oh Gillet! There is no inn. The room is full. Where will you bed me tonight?’
The hall fell deadly silent, stunned … then burst into ear-splitting chaos. Gillet doubled over in a fit of convulsions, Mouse collapsed onto the board, his head quivering in the crook of his arm as one fist hammered the table, and Gabriel gripped his stomach and howled at the moon. Guiraud and Armand had fallen from their seats, in a frenzy of fists and feet. Joseph was gaping open-mouthed and Monsieur Waterfall, his eyes like two full moons, had dried up.
Cécile watched it all in confusion. What had she said?
The boys were having trouble regaining control. Gillet was first, and he wiped his eyes, his voice high-pitched. ‘I thought there were supposed to be three wise men in this play,’ he puffed, out of breath. ‘Oh, oh. I could have told them it was not very wise to use Cécile.’ Another riotous round of laughter burst forth. ‘Oh, Céci, you are precious!’
Armand lifted his head and gulped. ‘Oui, precious! Like gold, ooohhh, but she has no frankin-sense.’ His voice rose hysterically as tears rolled down his face, ‘But she gives us plenty of myrrh-th.’ He held his stomach and groaned as though in pain. ‘Oh! Oh! Gillet, you are truly blessed; she’s all three gifts in one!’ Another outburst of laughing exploded. Gillet jerked forward, almost touching his boots as he gripped his waist, his shoulders rocking. Armand rolled, pounding his fists onto the floor, hooting like an owl, and both Mouse and Gabriel buried their heads beneath the cloth. It was then that the donkey spied the hay in the corner.
‘Sacré Bleu,’ squealed Joseph, spinning out of its way as it bolted across the floor with Cécile hanging on for dear life.
Somehow, the Mummers managed to finish their recital. They warmed to their now passionate audience, but for Cécile, it had been a Pyrrhic victory.
Gillet welcomed her return to the table and drew her onto his lap. ‘It was the best play I have ever seen,’ he exulted, still sparkling with unbridled amusement.
Peals of laughter broke out as Mouse scuttled towards Cécile on all fours, braying. Upon his back rode Gabriel, a cloth wound around his hair and held, with no finesse, under his chin. Armand almost choked.
‘Oh, Gillet,’ shrilled Gabriel, one hand mockingly flung to his forehead. ‘Where will you bed me tonight?’ His lashes fluttered with exaggeration. Gillet could not contain himself and burst out laughing yet again.
Further along, heavily encouraged by ale, voices were heartily raised in song, and the hall rattled as tankards were thumped upon the board. ‘Boute, boute, boute … boute compa-gnon … vide nous ce verre et nous le remplirons … l’eau ne vaut rien, que pourrir les poumons … Boute, boute, boute … boute compagnon … vide nous ce verre et nous le remplirons. Parle Norman! That water will rot your lungs, so drink, drink, drink this cup, my friend, and we will fill it up again for you.’
By evening, families began to trickle from the hall, sleeping children draped over their fathers’ shoulders like well-worn cloaks. Several chessboards slid onto the tables.
Cécile left Gillet and Gabriel to their game. Her intention to retire was waylaid as she caught sight of the gently crackling fire in the solar. A few moments to catch her thoughts then. She sank blissfully into the chair and toed off her slippers, musing upon the events of the day and eyeing the gift boxes decorating one corner. They would be opened the following morn, but Cécile decided that, in choosing to spend the season of joy with them, Armand and the boys had already given Gillet the greatest gift of all. She had never seen him so animated. Her thoughts moved to the play and she frowned. Alone, in her own company, she could at last admit her bitter disappointment.
‘Such a face is not warranted for the hostess of a wonderfully successful day, ché rie.’ Armand bore a smile that only babes and angels possessed. ‘I did not knock in case you had fallen asleep. Gillet and Gabriel are still involved in their game, so I offer you my company. May I purchase the thought that was so poorly reflected upon your face just now?’ he asked, dropping into the chair at her side.
‘Armand,’ she sighed. ‘If the King’s jester hears of my performance tonight, he will hire me for his apprentice. But the truth is that I did not care for everyone laughing at me.’ Though she fought it, her eyes began to well.
Armand looked surprised. ‘At you! No, Céci, you have it all wrong. You gave them cause to laugh, that’s true, but that is something very different. It is a gift. And if the King’s jester were to hear, he would pack up his bells in disgust at such a noble usurper.’ Despite his well-meaning words, Armand laughed. ‘I swear, it was so entertaining. Oh, no sweetheart!’ He slid to the stool and took her hand. ‘Listen, Cécile. Tonight I saw a miracle, and it had nothing to do with the birth of Jesus. For the first time ever I witnessed my cousin really enjoying himself, and it was all thanks to you.’
‘You call making Gillet laugh a miracle?’ asked Cécile, brushing her cheeks.
‘Sometimes it is. Look, that cup of wine in your hands, how does it differ from the one you drank this morning?’
She gazed into the dark, murrey contents. ‘It is mulled and spiced?’ Her answer was tentative for she was unsure of Armand’s meaning.
‘Exactly! Until you came along, Gillet’s existence was an ordinary cup of wine. Now he delights in a warmed, aromatic concoction. Sweetheart, to bring joy into someone’s life is a gift beyond reckoning and you are the seasoning, the spice that Gillet sorely needed in his cup of wine.’
‘Was his childhood really so harsh, Armand?’
‘It certainly was not like ours, Céc. But I have never seen him look as happy as he does now.’ He bent to kiss her hand. ‘And that, ma petite, is because of you. So, no more mooching around. You’ve had a busy day and another due tomorrow. Off to bed with you!’
The following morn, after the manor’s fires had been prodded to life, an intimate group gathered in the solar and the ritual of swapping goodwill gifts began.
Armand presented Cécile with a beautiful setting of Venetian glassware, blessedly intact, and, in turn, he proudly strutted in a thickly padded doublet the rich deep blue of lapis lazuli. Mouse and Gabriel sported new chaperons, the belled liripipes threatening to upend the gobl
ets as they played ‘the fool between the holly,’ and Guiraud was well pleased with his enamelled platelet and Cordovan belt.
Gabriel abandoned his horseplay and, winking at Gillet, placed a striking shell comb into Cécile’s lap. ‘For when you tie your hair using a certain blue ribbon. Jesu, Albret,’ he straightened. ‘I still choke when I think how close I came to facing your sword in Arras. You might have warned me!’ A look of comradeship flew between them. ‘I am still honourably owed a kiss, though. Do you suppose I might collect it now?’
Gillet’s eye’s flashed menacingly. ‘No. You may not.’ It was Gabriel’s cheek that received Cécile’s thanks.
‘Eh, bien,’ sighed the blonde giant wistfully. ‘I shall save it for a more fitting occasion.’
He withdrew gracefully to where Mouse was tossing chestnuts into the fire. Gillet kneeled at Cécile’s side and slid a small jewel-cask onto her lap. ‘Thank you for the hawking glove,’ he whispered, ‘and the falchion.’
‘You have already given me a gift,’ she cried, tracing the carved lid of the cask nervously. A writing slope, complete with ink, quills and wax sat beside her, buried under a dark mantle, fully lined with sable.
‘This one is special,’ he replied. ‘Open it.’
Cécile released the catch and gasped as she withdrew an endless rope of shimmering droplets, their blue sheen glowing iridescently.
‘Moonstones,’ said Gillet. ‘It is said they carry properties believed to protect a mother and child and these particular ones are rumoured to have been made from the moonlight itself.’
‘Gillet, they are the most beautiful gems I have ever seen!’
Gillet’s hand gently closed over hers and he whispered, ‘Better than rubies? Moonstones represent “new beginnings,” and are the true gift between lovers.’
She flung herself at him, half-laughing and half-crying. Cécile knew much thought had gone into the gift, and the significance was not lost on her.
The Order of the Lily Page 26