The Gilded Crown

by Catherine A. Wilson

  The corridors of the Hôtel-Dieu were filled with fear. Every room was jammed with bodies, old and young, some writhing in agony, some with the stillness that precedes death.

  Cécile and her companions clung to Reynaud’s belt, fearful that they might become separated. Dressed in her nun’s garb, Cécile put her head down, one hand clasping a linen square over her nose as she recited the Pater Noster. She shut her ears to the frantic cries for help, the moans of the sick, the groans of the dying, and, relying on Renaud for direction, closed her eyes to what must surely be a glimpse of Hell. It was a luxury only she could afford. Beside her Margot clutched Jean Petit beneath her cloak and an owlet-eyed Minette held onto the smithy with both hands, such was her terror at becoming detached. When Cécile finally felt the coolness of a tunnel did she open her eyes to the darkness ahead. Carefully they picked their way down the slippery slope, the rankness of brackish water a strangely welcome odour. At last the iron grill was before them and, on the other side Cécile could make out the shadowy figures of Gabriel and the horses.

  Margot turned accusingly to Reynaud. ‘I thought your mistress was to help Gabriel?’

  Reynaud studied the lock and reached into his tool sack, his face impassive. ‘She is not coming.’ He inserted a spiked iron bolt into the lock’s cavity and struck hard with his hammer. The noise echoed up and down the tunnel. Several times he smote the metal contraption until it finally gave way.

  Gabriel led the horses in and together they made their way through an intricate system of tunnels, each turn sloping downward, until they stopped beneath another grate. On the other side they could see the river.

  Reynaud took out his tools once more and struck the lock until he could prise it off. The earth smothering the base of the grill was hollowed out and, with his full measure and Gabriel’s help, they shifted the gate inwards a whole span – enough for the horses to pass. Gabriel led the animals through, one by one and the animals picked their way over stones to the edge of the river. Margot handed the baby to Cécile so she could follow Minette in climbing the rocks on the other side of the ancient steel.

  Cécile took her son and, cradling him possessively, smoothed his puckered forehead. ‘Hush, my little one,’ she crooned, fearful he might stir up one of his tantrums. ‘Whatever happens, always remember I love you.’ She kissed him hard, the intensity of her affection threatening to cause the very thing she wished to avoid. Jean Petit squirmed his discontent at such rough handling but Cécile passed him through the gate to Margot as though he were a boiling hot sack of coals. Margot’s surprise spread to the others outside when Cécile backed away and nodded to Reynaud. He lent against the grill and dragged it closed.

  ‘Cécile!’ Gabriel grabbed the bars and pushed but Reynaud was already applying a chain and new lock to the apparatus. ‘Cécile. You cannot help him!’

  Cécile stepped further back. ‘Give us one week to catch up with you. If we do not, then see my son delivered to Catherine. Tell her, when the time is right, take him to his father.’

  Margot and Minette howled their disapproval together.

  Gabriel inhaled deeply and waited for their protestation to cease. ‘And what am I to tell Gillet?’ Behind them, over the sound of Gabriel’s heavy breathing, the lapping of the water could be heard, inviting freedom.

  Cécile’s expression softened. ‘Tell Gillet that I love him more than life itself. Tell him he has my heart for all eternity and if I am to die, it will be with his name on my lips. Then tell him I could not leave Armand to face this death alone. Gillet will understand for he would do the same. God be with you all.’

  Cursing, Gabriel shook the grill with all his strength but it would not budge. By the time he looked up again, Cécile and Reynaud were gone.

  Simon collected his doublet from the chair and tiptoed to the door. His boots, cleaned overnight by a maid, had been conveniently left waiting for his collection. He looked back longingly at Catherine before lifting the latch. He knew she had not slept well; the woollen plaid lay in a twisted mess beside the bed. Any attempt to cover her would only disturb the rest she was now enjoying, so he pulled the door gently closed behind him.

  Roderick was warming his hands by the fire in the adjoining solar, his countenance reflecting a heavy night of drinking.

  ‘You are going to have to curtail your enthusiasm for Scottish ale,’ Simon observed as he tossed the clothing he was carrying on the floor beside the long table.

  ‘Uisge beatha, dear brother, not ale!’

  ‘Regardless of what it may be called, it does your health no good.’

  ‘Scotland treats me ill. Never have I felt the cold more.’

  ‘I have no wish to linger in the north any longer than you do. Once we return the sword we can remove ourselves to Cambridge, or in your case, Guildford.’ The muscles in Roderick’s neck stiffened and though he had said nothing to the contrary, Simon suspected that his brother was not keen to go home. If only he had more time to spend with Roderick. Something was not right. ‘I am going to seek out Robert. I need to determine if it was he who redirected our travelling party to the castle.’ Simon filled his trencher and sat at the bench. ‘I want you to come with me.’

  ‘And Catherine?’

  ‘Will be fine. Lady Dunbar will be joining her shortly.’

  Roderick nodded. ‘A woman to be avoided!’

  ‘I believe her reputation has served her well over the years, though I am sure she is not as formidable as believed.’

  Roderick harrumphed. ‘She scares the devil out of me!’

  Simon laughed. ‘That I do believe.’

  ‘And my role today?’ Roderick questioned as he dragged his hands through his unkempt hair.

  ‘Observation. You might spot something, a twitch, a flicker, that I do not.’ Tearing a hunk of bread from the loaf on the tray, Simon pulled out the soft centre and tossed the hard crust into the fire. ‘You oft see more than I.’

  ‘You miss little,’ Roderick mumbled.

  ‘Perhaps, but not of late.’

  ‘You have been otherwise occupied.’

  ‘Precisely why I did not wish to remarry.’ Simon washed down the dough with a large mug of ale. ‘When my wife is in the room I find it difficult to see anything other than her face.’

  ‘You are a lucky man, brother. There are many who envy you.’ Roderick sat opposite Simon and picked at a bannock.

  ‘A circumstance of which I am well aware.’

  ‘Then perhaps Lady Dunbar is insufficient protection.’

  ‘Fifty trained knights or one old woman, it matters little, for neither can defy the will of their King. The quicker we get out of Scotland, the better.’

  ‘Then let us hope Robert has the information you seek.’

  Simon swallowed the remainder of his ale. He seriously doubted Robert Stewart would willingly assist them, not unless it suited him, but with no other to approach, Simon knew he had to take that chance.

  Lady Dunbar was waiting in the solar when Catherine appeared over an hour later. ‘How did you sleep?’ the older woman asked.

  ‘Well, I believe. ’Tis quite an indulgence to rest upon an over-stuffed mattress,’ Catherine reflected. ‘It has taken some time for me to become accustomed to such softness. The bedding at Denny Abbey was not quite so forgiving.’

  ‘I have nay the opportunity to know Lady Pembroke. I am told she is most … revered.’

  ‘She expects a great deal from the novices and even more from those who have taken their vows.’ Catherine accepted Lady Dunbar’s hand and took the seat beside her, close by the fire. She had taken extra care with her appearance this morning and allowed English Mary to fuss over her hair. Catherine had been feeling the loss of female companionship and now that she had been provided the pleasure of Lady Dunbar’s company, she was determined to prove her worth. ‘I wish to thank you for your offer to assist me during my visit to Edinburgh. Your advice will be most gratefully received.’

  ‘I believe we will b
oth enjoy the experience.’ Agnes smiled. ‘It does my heart good to spend time wit’ the young. Now, I am told your husband has just ridden oot wit his brother?’

  ‘He often leaves me to sleep on.’ Catherine grimaced. ‘He believes I am in need of additional rest!’

  ‘And that bothers you?’

  ‘A little, for I am not ill. In fact I feel very well indeed.’

  ‘Men are strange creatures. They think nothing of our safety when they take up arms in the name of their king, leaving us to defend their castles, yet when we undertake the duty we were born to, that of motherhood, we are suddenly seen as frail and delicate.’

  ‘Perhaps their future sons are worth more to them than mere property?’

  ‘Not to all, Catherine.’ Lady Dunbar frowned. ‘I have known men, and some women, who would sacrifice their entire family to protect their inherited rights.’

  Catherine recalled her first night at Craigmillar and the dreadful scene between Beatrix, Walter and Simon. Beatrix had become extremely upset at the notion of losing property to her brother’s, as yet, unborn children.

  ‘Have you seen much of the castle?’ Lady Dunbar inquired, drawing Catherine’s thoughts back to the present. ‘The weather is kind. Perhaps we might take a wee walk?’

  Catherine carefully navigated the stairs that led to the lower level of the round tower in which she, Simon and their travelling party had been housed. It was built to accommodate the bailey wall that looked, from the outside, to run through the centre of the building.

  ‘David has great plans for this fortress. He brought many an idea back wit him from London.’

  ‘I have not visited the White Tower but Lord Wexford tells me it is most impressive.’

  ‘As a Scotswoman, I have no wish to visit your capital,’ Lady Dunbar exclaimed.

  ‘Nor does it hold any appeal to me!’

  The two women chatted companionably as they crossed the inner ward. A small group of ladies appeared at the entrance of the hall and Lady Dunbar indicated to one young woman to join them.

  ‘Lady Wexford, may I introduce my niece, Agnes Dunbar.’

  The girl curtsied. ‘It is a great pleasure to meet you, Lady Wexford. My aunt tells me you are not long arrived from Cambridge.’

  Catherine was struck by the girl’s deep-brown eyes and dark eyelashes. ‘Yes. This is my first visit to Scotland.’

  ‘I hope you are enjoying your stay.’

  ‘I am, though I have yet to see much other than Edinburgh.’

  ‘I am sure my aunt will escort you, perhaps to Dunbar?’

  ‘That would be lovely, though I fear my husband has plans for us to visit Dumbarton. Is that close to Dunbar?’

  ‘Dumbarton?’ exclaimed Lady Dunbar. ‘Why would Lord Wexford want to visit Dumbarton?’

  ‘A family matter I believe.’ Catherine felt herself trip over the words. Even to her ears the lie was not convincing.

  A long moment of silence ensued broken finally by Agnes. ‘I am sure you will find the beauty of Scotland enchanting regardless of which town you may choose to visit, Lady Wexford.’

  ‘Thank you, Agnes,’ replied Catherine.

  Lady Dunbar pushed back the sides of her cloak and crossed her arms. ‘I hope you will join me later in the bower, Agnes? There is still a matter we need to discuss.’

  The young woman stiffened. ‘I will ask Lady Logie if I may be excused.’

  ‘You were to ask yesterday and though I waited, you did not grace me with your presence.’

  The friction between aunt and niece was stifling and Catherine stepped away.

  ‘I do not believe we have anything new to say to each other!’ Agnes huffed. ‘And I am told that I need only answer to my King.’

  ‘Can you not see—?’

  ‘I am sorry, Aunt,’ Agnes interrupted, ‘I will take your request to Lady Logie.’

  Catherine observed the discussion from a polite distance. She felt some sympathy for the older woman who looked flushed and annoyed and offered a reassuring smile as Lady Dunbar re-joined her.

  ‘You must forgive my niece,’ Lady Dunbar begged. ‘She is a defiant young woman.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive.’ Catherine said as she followed Lady Dunbar down a path that led to a small, stone building.

  ‘Saint Margaret’s Chapel, built by her son, the first King David of Scotland,’ Lady Dunbar explained as she pushed open the heavy door. ‘Shall we look inside?’

  Catherine shivered; the air within was far cooler than the breeze outside.

  ‘I often sit within these walls when I wish to be alone. I find Edinburgh Castle to be a very noisy place, with soldiers coming and going at all hours o’ the day and night.’

  ‘Is Dunbar far from here?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Not really. No more than a day’s ride. I like to travel along the coast, to North Berwick so that I can keep sight o’ the sea. It is the same aspect I enjoy from my solar at Dunbar Castle.’

  ‘Cambridge Castle is far inland, though the surrounding township is quite beautiful.’

  ‘Is Cambridge to be your home?’ Lady Dunbar enquired.

  ‘I hope so, for I find London to be as you find Edinburgh!’

  Lady Dunbar nodded. ‘We have much in common.’

  Exiting the chapel, Lady Dunbar walked Catherine around the inner wall pointing out the many landmarks visible in the distance.

  ‘This must be what it is like to be a bird! I am sure I can see England from here,’ Catherine exclaimed.

  ‘I don’t know, my dear, but we are certainly up high. The King has spoken about constructing a tower on this very spot, a building that will be visible from the borders.’

  ‘I think I would be quite fearful, standing atop such a thing!’

  ‘Yes, I believe I would also, but what a striking statement for David to make, and one that will amply bolster his vanity.’ Lady Dunbar laughed. ‘He certainly is a handsome man, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘King David? I suppose so,’ Catherine replied. ‘I had not given it much thought.’

  ‘He greatly admires you!’

  Catherine turned away from the vista below and snatched up her wayward veil.

  ‘I am not sure I wish to attract his admiration.’

  ‘There are many who do, including my niece.’

  ‘You worry for her?’

  ‘Most certainly. The Stewarts do not want the King to sire a child.’

  ‘I did not know … that is to say, I had thought that Lady Logie was his consort?’

  ‘Just one o’ many, but as long as his wife, Queen Joan, resides in London, there can be no legitimate heir to the throne.’ Agnes lowered her voice and drew Catherine closer. ‘Many say she is ill and should she die, David would be free to marry again.’

  ‘Do you suppose your niece waits for such an event?’

  ‘I think she is counting on it and at great risk, for she would be forced to join the queue.’

  ‘I did not think so many could love one man!’

  Lady Dunbar threw her head back and laughed. ‘Love? Dear God, you dinna honestly believe they each have an emotional attachment to the King?’

  Catherine coloured. That was exactly what she thought. ‘You must pardon my ignorance.’

  ‘No, I shall not,’ Black Agnes retorted. ‘You are delightful and honest and pure, unlike so many at court. Margaret and my niece and dare I say, even poor Katherine Mortimer had one eye on David but the other eye was most definitely on the crown.’

  ‘I have yet to meet Katherine.’

  ‘Unfortunately you will no have the pleasure. She lies cold in her grave some thirty miles from here, murdered for the political good.’

  Catherine gasped.

  ‘If ever David is to love again, his future mistress will have the ghost o’ Katherine to defeat, along with half of the Scottish court.’

  ‘I can see why you would not wish that to be your niece, Agnes.’

  ‘Perhaps you can help me convince her
to return home before she becomes too deeply embroiled.’

  ‘She does not know me,’ Catherine argued, ‘I doubt she will listen to anything I say.’

  ‘The young do not like advice offered by the old.’ Lady Dunbar sighed. ‘Agnes is worse than naïve. David has no need for a wife, only a lover, but common sense is silenced by lust. I dinna want to see my niece attacked and left to die in a muddy field.’

  ‘I will ask her to meet with me.’

  ‘Thank you, Catherine,’ the older woman smiled.

  Simon and Roderick rode through the reinforced gates of Edinburgh Castle and headed for the meadows at the base of the edifice. A large contingent of knights could be seen practising quintains on the flat grassed area, their squires darting in and out of the action, collecting broken and discarded lances. Simon spotted Robert on the edge of the field, his banner fluttering madly, whipped up by the wind off the ocean.

  Seeing them approach, Robert dismissed several men around him, waving them away as though they were annoying flies. ‘Come to join the melee?’ he asked as Simon dismounted.

  ‘No, M’lord. Please excuse the intrusion but I was hoping you might allow me a moment to speak with you.’

  Robert nodded and pulling off his gauntlets, tossed them to the ground beside his helm. ‘How fares your wife and son?’

  ‘They are both well. They—’

  ‘I hear rumours from London, about Lady Wexford’s mother,’ Robert interrupted. ‘I am told that she wishes the rubies she wears around her neck to be fashioned into a crown?’

  ‘I have no knowledge of what is taking place across the border, M’lord, and nor does Catherine,’ Simon insisted.

  ‘No?’ Robert snatched up a goblet from the table, placed beneath the canopy of a large oak tree. ‘Lady Holland does not write to her daughter?’

  Simon watched Robert fill the expensive drinking vessel whilst he considered his reply. Roderick had tied their horses to a nearby stump and though he appeared to be adjusting a girth strap, Simon sensed his brother’s full attention.