The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  To the worthy and righteous Catherine of Pembroke be this letter delivered.

  Dearest sister, I have not lost you.

  I am hidden in an abbey that nestles amongst the meadows outside Paris. I have suffered a terrible fever and my recovery is slow. Upon waking I struggled to recall the events that brought me here but I was not to wonder for long. My memory returned in a frightful nightmare that same night.

  When I first opened my eyes I was confused but it was quickly usurped by astonishment as I beheld Monsieur de Bellegarde, his own face illuminated with joy.

  ‘She is awake! God be praised.’

  ‘Cécile!’

  I was absurdly musing on how my hand came to be grasped so firmly within his, but I turned with a cry at this new voice. ‘Armand!’ My cousin raced to my bedside and we fell into each other’s arms, his almost threatening to squeeze me back into darkness.

  ‘Thank God and all high creation! Don’t ever frighten me like that again. What would I do without my Cécile?’

  With discretion, the courier vacated his place and strode to peer out the tiny window, tiredly rubbing his eyes. He leaned against the casement and inhaled deeply.

  Aware of my distraction, my cousin smiled at him. ‘You are exhausted, my friend. Come, sit with us. It is over now, she is awake.’

  ‘Have I been such a burden?’ I asked, sliding up and taking note of the sparse monk’s cell.

  ‘No more than usual,’ quipped Armand. ‘But had it not been for Gillet, here … well, you owe this man your life, sweetheart, for he alone pulled you from the Seine. You would have drowned except that he blew life back into your lungs. What were you thinking, trying to row a boat in a storm?’

  Ignoring his rebuke, my hand slid to my chest and I tingled at this intimacy. ‘Your breath is in my body?’

  ‘Your cousin makes too much of it,’ replied Bellegarde as he sat. ‘I merely stole the chance for another kiss.’

  ‘Always the opportunist! I forget, Monsieur, you take advantage of the unconscious.’

  ‘Ho!’ erupted Armand. ‘So that’s how the land lies, eh?’ His hand curled over mine and squeezed. ‘Dismount your high horse, cousin. If Gillet had not acted promptly I would not have you here now. We owe him much gratitude.’

  ‘No,’ said Monsieur de Bellegarde, his eyes finally meeting mine. ‘I absolve you, Lady. The only debt owed was the one to your father, Comte d’Armagnac, and I trust I have now paid in full.’

  I heard it again. Something in his tone that made me feel I was a disappointment. ‘As you wish, Monsieur’ I replied, turning my attention back to my cousin.

  ‘We must get you well, chérie, and soon,’ said Armand. ‘All the bells of Paris chimed yesterday to declare the truce. Edward is to leave our shores and he searches frantically for you.’

  ‘So you will take me home?’ My heart leaped but my cousin shook his head.

  ‘Alas, the way south is still blocked by the English. It would be folly to try.’

  ‘Oh. Then where?’

  The two men glanced meaningfully at each other. ‘I think you should rest, Lady d’Armagnac,’ said Bellegarde, ‘and leave your rescue to the employ of those who know what they are doing. Armand?’

  My cousin nodded his agreement and leaned over to kiss my brow. ‘Go back to sleep, my pet, for this time I know that you will wake.’

  ‘How long have I lain here?’ I asked, eyeing them both. Blue eyes swept across to meet the dark ones.

  ‘You have been unconscious for three days,’ answered Armand.

  Three days and the courier had my cousin eating out of his hand. To me that seemed a far greater miracle than my recovery!

  That night I woke screaming and bolted upright in bed, perspiration beading my forehead. My door flew open and I fell against a solid wall of flesh, sobbing as strong arms closed securely around me.

  ‘Hush. ’Twas a dream, nothing more. You are safe here.’

  Nestling deeper against the thin batiste of his shirt, the shivering that racked my limbs eased and my weeping subsided to intermittent snivels. Gently the hair was brushed from my eyes and my face was encased between two palms.

  ‘You have remembered, yes?’

  ‘Oui,’ I whispered, ‘and I recall the shame I have brought to my papa.’

  A finger hooked under my chin, my head tilted until I was forced to meet the dusky eyes. ‘Did the Prince hurt you?’

  ‘Please, Monsieur … would you light a candle? I cannot abide the darkness. It reminds me of the river.’ A spark of flint ignited the wick and a soft glow illuminated the room as he set the candle upon my bedside table. ‘Would you have me fetch your cousin in my stead?’

  ‘No. I am recovered.’ I noted he was still fully dressed. ‘You do not sleep yourself, Sir?’

  He emitted a weary sigh and raked back his midnight hair with ink-stained fingers. His face was ragged in the half shadows. ‘I have correspondences to complete. The Prince is leaving for Louviers where he will ratify his part in the treaty. You should be pleased to learn that King Jean le Bon is to be moved to the Tower in London. Luxury apartments, entertainment and a well fed belly, King Edward plays a gracious host to his prisoner now that peace is restored.’ He smiled bleakly and fell silent as though he had said too much.

  A chorus of melodic voices from the chapel heralded the mass for matins and filled the awkward moment.

  Restless, I plucked at the coverlet. ‘I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.’

  Gillet de Bellegarde leaned upon the casement and stared out into the gloom. ‘Yes, you should. The water was freezing.’ Once more I felt his underlying displeasure. ‘If you are unable to sleep,’ he said, turning suddenly, ‘I have your sister’s latest correspondence within my room. Would you have me fetch it?’ At my nod he moved to the door but paused and looked over his shoulder. ‘The bravest of men would not have dared cross the swirling torrent that night. You showed great courage, Mademoiselle.’

  He disappeared into the corridor. I had paid quite a price to earn some praise from the St Pol Steward, but at what cost to my future?

  Closing my eyes for a moment, the alarming visions that had disturbed my sleep danced into order and played out before me as in a well-rehearsed performance.

  At the Thorn and Thistle Inn I had stood in front of Edward’s chamber and prayed to Saint Christopher for the safe delivery of my letters in the courier’s pouch. Bellegarde had thundered from the courtyard on his great beast an hour earlier. I wondered which saint would now best serve me – Saint Geneviève was not answering. Saint Anthony, then? The patron saint of things lost? How appropriate it should be the feast day of Saint George. I was about to be devoured by an English dragon. Perhaps Ignatius of Antioch, thrown into the Colosseum for the sake of imperial games, would appreciate my situation.

  Resigned to my fate, I lifted the latch and stepped into the lion’s arena that would see the loss of my innocence.

  Scooped up into royal arms and laid reverently upon Edward’s bed, my petals were carefully plucked one by one. He stirred a delight that I had long waited to discover and it was not in me to play the tortured martyr. Encouraged, Edward was zealous until he realised the truth behind his less than easy possession. His eyes widened in disbelief, tears welling in mine as I stifled a whimper of pain. He stilled for a moment and gathered me in his arms.

  ‘Cécile!’ His lips upon my lashes smudged the pearled droplets. ‘I shall be as gentle as I can, my love.’ With tender patience he swept me along a new tide of emotion until the heat from his victory seared my womb.

  ‘Why did you not say?’ Wrapped in his gown, Edward sank onto the bed and held out a goblet of wine.

  ‘Would it have made a difference, Milord?’

  ‘To your presence here? No, but Lady, there are ways to approach the first time and you allowed me to believe they were not necessary. I thought you and Bellegarde had been intimate.’ He broke into cheerful laughter and kissed my fingers. ‘It matter
s not. You have made me very happy and I shall treasure your gift. Although, as vanquisher of your maidenhead, I suddenly find myself in a very tenuous position with regard to Comte d’Armagnac.’

  I was struck with a sudden pang of guilt, for I had just lain with my father’s enemy and the experience had not been entirely unpleasant.

  ‘So, Cécile d’Armagnac, what am I to do with you now? Hmm?’

  ‘Let me go home, Sire?’

  ‘Sweet Jesus! You are asking me to pull the sword from Arthur’s stone. No, I will find a way to placate your father.’ He paced to the hearth, rubbing his chin in thought. ‘Marriage then, to a family Armagnac himself could not censure.’ His head lifted and for the first time I felt the strength of purpose he carried and it frightened me. This was no fledgling youth of sixteen years who had led the attack onto the fields at Crécy. He was twice the age now and steeped in confidence.

  ‘An Albret-Armagnac alliance would serve me well and since your father has raised one of their pups, he could hardly refuse.’ He returned to sit beside me, his voice gentle. ‘Or perhaps an elderly lord, the payment of whose debts would ensure his obedience. Either way you need not fear. The marriage will be in name only. You shall receive titles and wealth but above all you shall stay by my side. Armagnac will concede,’ he whispered, lowering his lips to mine, ‘if he ever wants to see his daughter again.’

  The rising of the sun the following morning had not made my future any brighter. The Prince of Wales took his leave and Odette, my new confidante, informed me that Marguerite and Philippe were granted absence to attend to their latest duties. Edward installed his own staff at the inn but Guillaume remained as master of his kitchen domain. Odette was re-assigned as my personal maid.

  She carefully placed a tray upon the table and with the familiarity that had grown between us, slid onto the bed with a giggle.

  ‘So, how was it? You look suitably bedraggled.’

  I pulled up the covers, hugging my knees to my chin, and shrugged.

  ‘His kisses were not so bad then.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed reluctantly, ‘but I did not choose this path. He may use me but he does not possess my heart.’

  ‘Well,’ she declared, taking on a worldly look as she tugged her skirt to cover her exposed ankle. ‘Not yet, but he intends to. I was chatting to one of the boys in the stable. He said your courier has a dispatch for Edith de Willesford when he gets to London. I daresay the girl will be none too pleased. She is to be discreetly retired to the country.’ She smiled knowledgably. ‘She was Edward’s mistress.’

  ‘But the Prince is only using me to gain my father’s compliance!’

  ‘And what a weapon you would be if he won your love, eh?’

  ‘Well, he shall not! You know I intend to escape soon.’

  Odette shook her head and tutted. ‘Men know more tactics under the sheets than upon the battlefield. You must protect yourself if you do not wish to succumb to his charm. You must deter his advances until your opportunity for escape presents itself. How long shall you wait?’

  ‘Two weeks. That should give my sister time to hide.’

  ‘Then tell his Lordship that you are inflicted with your courses. That will occupy one week.’

  ‘Odette! I cannot say that to a man.’

  My maid snorted and rolled her eyes. ‘You think they don’t know? All you have to say is that you are “indisposed” and most back away as though you have a dose of the crabs.’

  ‘Oh! And what of the second week?’

  ‘Hmm.’ She gnawed at her thumbnail as though it were a juicy bone. ‘You must keep the advantage at all times. Ply him with wine and render him off guard, then encourage him to mount. By the finish he will only wish for sleep.’ She caught my arm. ‘Under no circumstances must you let his hands or kisses venture below your waist. This is crucial. To do so will give him the advantage and you will be lost. Meanwhile, I will see what arrangements I can make.’ She slid off the bed and began to tidy the covers. ‘It may bode well that his Highness is much occupied with this treaty thing. If you are able to deny him a week, then he will certainly fulfil his own needs first.’

  Odette’s predictions were surprisingly correct and I tried not to fathom why I felt so dissatisfied. Edward looked less than pleased when I informed him, with head sagaciously bowed, that Madame Nature had played him false. Bitterly he retreated each night alone, but by the end of the week and as surely as a homing pigeon returns to roost, I was re-installed in his coop. I heeded Odette’s warning and his wine cup had been repeatedly filled. Lips and fingers that wandered too far were carefully drawn back and I learned how to arch my hips in a manner that Edward could not resist. Even so, his skill was not wanting and I found myself precariously plunging into deeper waters. I knew the time to leave was nigh when one evening I had very nearly allowed his exploring hands their freedom.

  Edward cupped my face within his palms, panting softly. ‘I have been a selfish lover. Tomorrow night no wine and I will more than make up for it. I believe, Lady, you are warming to me at last.’ In a playful moment he caught the corner of the brown coverlet and draped it over my head, the tasselled edge fringing my brow. He sucked in his breath suddenly, a soft oath slipping out on its release. My hand, pressed against his chest, felt his heart crack from a canter to a gallop.

  ‘How long have you been buried in Armagnac’s nest?’

  ‘Ten and seven years, Milord.’

  His eyes widened as he removed the quilt and reverently picked up a lock of my hair. ‘And his is the only home you have known?’

  At my nod he drew away and to my astonishment burst out laughing. Holding the sheet to my breast, I slid up against the bolster as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his wine. Drinking with the thirst of a dying man, he refilled his goblet and raised it into the air with a beaming smile. ‘A salute, my love. I know which Lord you will marry.’

  Panic struck in my breast as Edward donned his wrap and strode to the door, yelling for his guard. ‘Send to Chartres for Salisbury!’

  ‘I do not care of the whys and wherefores, Odette. I must leave today!’ I stuffed the linen-covered slices of ham into the bag, setting the cheese to one side, and pulled the string so tight that if bells had been attached they would have tolled louder than Nôtre Dame.

  ‘Well, what else did he say afterwards?’

  ‘Nothing. He refused to speak any more upon it.’

  ‘Then how did he act?’ My profuse blush needed no words. ‘What, again? You certainly have his attention. More times in one night than …’

  ‘Odette! Concentrate! Is the boat in place?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sat back pouting and crossed her arms. ‘He would not let Salisbury touch you. Are you sure you are doing the right thing? He could mean to marry you himself. Word is he has never been so besotted.’

  ‘God’s sake, Odette! And pigs fly at full moon, and every fifth sheep is born with a golden fleece. Do not be so ridiculous! It is a ploy, a ruse, some game, and I have no wish to play it.’ With a huff I threw my scant provisions onto the bed and went to her side, biting down my frustration. ‘For the Prince to marry me I would need noble blood and if perchance any exists in my veins, then it just means I am someone’s by-blow.’ Reaching out to stroke her braid, I smiled wistfully. ‘Conceived on the wrong side of the blanket … a foul contagion to be hidden. That at least would make sense. But Salisbury is a different matter. He has already attacked my sister. I cannot risk it. I must be gone from here before he arrives.’

  She sighed sadly and rose to embrace me. ‘I shall miss you, Milady.’

  ‘And I you, Odette. You have been a wonderful friend when I needed one.’

  She swatted her moistened eyes, her lips quivering. ‘Now, do you remember where I have hidden the boat?’

  ‘Oui. Come, secure my sack beneath your robe and let us proceed to the evening mass. Let us pray the same two dotards are our guards tonight.’

  ‘Lord! I hope this storm
holds off for a little while longer.’

  I swapped my cloak for Odette’s outside the confessional – a poor priest was about to receive a list of sins longer than the baggage wains of an army as I escaped. The duration of the mass thereafter was the only head start I would have. With a howling wind at my back I brutally grazed my knuckles pushing the small boat into the water. The rising waves on the Seine, spurred by a tempest that blew from under Hell’s door, whipped my cloak into a disobedient sail. I battled helplessly with the oars in the blinding deluge of rain. But fate played me cruel and the two guards found me. Hair slick in the drenching torrents as they yelled from the bank, their voices fell uselessly on an air pounded with fury. The boat, swaying as precariously as a drunken reveller, tipped, dumping me into the icy depths. I was sucked to the bottom and blackness swirled around my head as my heavy clothing cocooned me into a doomed chrysalis.

  My eyes flew open. Gasping for air, I thrashed at the imaginary waves of the monastic blanket that lapped at my face.

  ‘Cécile?’ Strong arms anchored mine and I dived into the safe harbour, burrowing deep into Bellegarde’s chest.

  ‘Lady, you are trembling.’ He dropped his parchment onto the bed and gathered me properly into his embrace.

  ‘Please,’ I whispered, ‘don’t let Edward find me. I have no strength to fight him.’

  23 May

  It has taken me two weeks to write this much, so weak is my constitution. Monsieur de Bellegarde has left our company but promises to call before he returns to you. He is fulfilling his duties to Edward and has informed Armand that the Prince has left behind a small contingent of soldiers who are to continue searching for me.

  ‘The royal seal of the Dauphin has been applied to the “Treaty of Bretigny,”’ explained Armand, one afternoon. ‘Gascony is firmly tucked under English rule and the Aquitaine has been given directly to the Black Prince. King Edward was finally granted Guienne and Calais free of homage. The deal was sweetened with large stretches of territory between the Loire and the Pyrenees.’ He sighed with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘King Edward agrees to cease attempts to take the French throne but England still reigns over nearly one third of France.’