The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  A man, then, not without some compassion.

  As I lay there in the dark, only my thoughts for company, I could not believe that which I feared to be true. Could we be the offspring of such a man as Salisbury and did this confirm that our mother is Lady Joan, the Maid of Kent, therefore making us of royal blood?

  How desperately I ached for your company, your advice, your comfort. For whom can I trust with this information, so deep the connotations?

  It was many hours before I drifted into a restless sleep.

  Not long past the morning hour of nine my solitude was broken by the noisy return of Anaïs, whose expedition to the seamstress appeared to have been a productive success. Without knocking, she burst through the door with several maids in tow, her arms laden with parcels.

  ‘Still in bed?’ she exclaimed. ‘Ill, are we?’

  I had not the desire to speak with her, so mumbled an inaudible apology.

  ‘Well, I have had a most delightful time at Madam Poufrey’s, as you can see. It would appear that Gillet’s purse is much open to my needs and overflows with generosity.’

  I watched as she pranced around the room and it struck me how quickly she had recovered her health now that she was dressed in the finest silk and weaves.

  Shooing the maids out the door, she continued chatting amiably, opening parcels and displaying their contents, most unaware of my condition or depression or, worse, simply choosing to ignore it. Finally realising that I had failed to reply to any of her more pointed comments she threw off her cloak and sat heavily on my bed.

  ‘If I did not know better, sweet Catherine, I would think you jealous,’ she winked, placing her newly-slippered foot upon the coverlet. ‘But then, how could this be? For you are much too devout and far too forgiving to feel anything but gratitude towards me.’

  ‘Gratitude? That is not what I feel for you, Anaïs. I cannot imagine why you would think thus.’

  ‘Really, Sister Mary Catherine, have you forgotten so quickly that I, too, made sacrifices in order to play your nursemaid?’

  ‘I don’t understand what has happened to you. Where is the Anaïs with whom I grew up?’ My hand slapped the covers as my newfound temper burst forth. ‘Where is the Anaïs who walked me to morning prayer, sat with me, ate with me and prayed with me? Where has she gone?’ I sat up and placed my hands upon her arms. ‘Where is my friend, my confidante and protector?’

  She said nothing, her face solemn and reflective and for an instant she reminded me of the young woman of my youth. But just as quickly it was gone and in her place a stranger, stiffness in her bearing and a chill in her embrace. She stood quickly and reached down for her discarded cap before turning her spiteful gaze upon me.

  ‘You don’t know me, Catherine. You never did. All those years a captive, a prisoner to another’s whim. I longed for freedom and for finery, a home, a lover, a husband and child. Your silly ideology provides small amusement but your naïveté begs belief!’

  I sat back, pulling myself further up the bed.

  ‘You may think me fooled by your silly excuses,’ she spat, ‘but I know you seek solace with Wexford, even if it is only privacy you want. But what is he after?’ She laughed, a shrill and uneven noise that echoed through my aching head. ‘He will soon become impatient and will take you, willing or not, and then we will see how repentant the nun when no longer virginal.’

  ‘How dare you speak to me this way! To suggest that Lord Wexford would act in such a manner is nothing but despicable, for he is an honourable man and far above those with whom you are familiar.’

  ‘So, because he is gentry he will act like gentry,’ she smiled, taking much pleasure in our disagreement. ‘Tell me, devout Catherine, why does a lord such as Wexford take care to personally choose clothing, much like an emerald green gown of the finest silk, for a ward of no consequence?’

  I was unable to reply, for if this were true and he had chosen the gown, what would be his reasons?

  ‘I see that you cannot answer. Methinks you need time to consider and then …’ But she was unable to continue, her manner so completely altered upon the appearance of Lord Wexford at the door that she was rendered speechless.

  ‘Should I have a horsewhip to hand, I feel sure that I would want to use it now.’ His face was flushed and his words squeezed through pursed lips. ‘Anaïs, retire to my library where I will speak to you directly,’ he articulated, his eyes remaining fixed upon my face, ‘and when I turn you will be gone.’ She did not hesitate but swept instantly out of the room. He bowed to me before following her.

  I did not know what to think but I knew I had to act, for I could not risk losing my safe haven as a result of one silly outburst. I dressed quickly, forcing a ruffled cap onto my head. I could hear raised voices from below and recognised Lord Wexford’s distinctive tones. Making my way to the hall, I tried to glimpse the library door from atop the stairs but was unable to see much more than the rug on the floor. Correcting my posture, I threw back my head and marched down the stairs as confidently as possible. I had done no wrong, so what was there to fear? But my knees were weak and my heart pounding. What if the Earl were to throw us out? Surely this he was considering after the outrageous display he had just witnessed? I hesitated a moment before knocking and entered at his command.

  He was once again seated at his desk, surrounded by a mountainous pile of parchments, some so aged their colour was a deep jaundiced hue. Directing me to a chair, he rose and moved to sit on the edge of his imposing oak table. ‘I have spoken with Anaïs. She will not be returning to your room.’ I could not deny the feeling of relief that this statement brought me. ‘I have informed her that her delicate …’ he coughed slightly before continuing, ‘her delicate condition will not withstand such outbursts from you, so, in the interest of her own health, she will be removed to my private chamber.’

  I hung my head in shame, for this was my fault.

  ‘Catherine, we must placate this woman, as you very well know. I have come to realise, especially after this morning’s confrontation, that I was asking too much of you and sacrificing very little myself. As my home is currently under renovation, I will move down here, into the library, and you will have your privacy, without fear of, what did she call it? Ah, yes.’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Without fear of me losing my patience.’ He smiled broadly as though the very idea was completely amusing. Colour flooded my cheeks. ‘Anaïs is a bitter woman, intent on manipulating those around her to her own ends. You must not believe what she has said. I am well known for my arrogance and my stubbornness and I am very much aware that I terrify you. However, you must believe me when I tell you that I am not in the habit of taking liberties with my young guests.’ He smiled. ‘I can assure you that your maidenhood is safe with me.’ He moved to the window, his silhouette stark against the heavy drapes hanging from the ceiling. ‘Gillet placed you in my care because he trusts me, and you, my dear, must do the same.’ I nodded, unable to find any words to contradict him. ‘I must add that your show of defiance this morning was a welcome sight. I was beginning to think you more a mouse than a young woman.’

  I did not know what to say, for a show of temper was a sure sign of evil, according to Lady Mary Pembroke.

  ‘Gillet will be gone for some time as you know. You cannot wait for his return to discuss any concerns you may have or indeed share any information you have gathered.’ His look was one of unease but I sensed his curiosity. He was eager to learn what I had discovered from the Lady Elizabeth.

  I was undecided as to what to do. Apart from you I trust no other but Gillet. However, neither of you are here with me in England. I knew that it would be impossible to discover much more without help, but to trust Lord Wexford required enormous faith.

  ‘I cannot adequately protect you, nor Gillet protect your sister, if you do not trust me.’

  I had to relent, for he was right and I could not risk any further danger to you. My head pounded mercilessly and I stilled the wringing of my han
ds but my wavering voice betrayed my heightened emotions. ‘Lady Elizabeth was very forthcoming. She was gracious with her time and knowledge and provided me with much to consider.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘She told me of the scandal between the Lady Joan, Maid of Kent, and Lord Salisbury.’

  ‘Salisbury,’ he replied, his face now clouded with contempt.

  ‘Yes, it appears that whilst Joan’s husband, Thomas Holland, was in Prussia she was bigamously married to William Salisbury.’

  ‘Good Lord!’

  ‘She indicated it was a marriage of … convenience and I now fear … I fear …’ I stumbled, unable to speak those most terrible words.

  ‘You fear that you are the child of William of Salisbury and Joan of Kent!’

  ‘You know that Lady Joan is our mother?’ I exclaimed, unable to believe what I had just heard.

  ‘I suspected as much but I did not know that Joan had been married to Salisbury. If Holland wished to have the marriage dissolved it would be a great reason indeed to hide the offspring.’

  My dearest, I do not know what to say. To finally know the truth about our mother is wonderful, but our father? Even Lord Wexford was speechless, unable it seems to offer any words of comfort, his gaze fixed upon a point somewhere above my head. Oh, how can this be? How could we be the daughters of such a despicable man? My heart was broken and with my spirit so weak the tears came easily and ran down my face unchecked.

  The Earl passed me his silk kerchief.

  ‘We must not place too much credence on the word of one lady, gossip though she may be. I must make additional inquiries before we can assume the worst, for I think that this does not fully explain Salisbury’s conduct at Denny Abbey.’ He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. ‘For why would a man, even a man like Salisbury, threaten a daughter so?’

  ‘He claimed he was due compensation.’ I dabbed my eyes.

  ‘I do not quite understand his meaning, unless he intended to sell you. But that hardly makes sense.’ He grimaced. ‘I will ask about this so-called marriage. There are many at court with knowledge of such facts and their counsel must be sought.’ He turned, looking directly at me. ‘Now dry your eyes and return to your room. Have no fear on account of Anaïs and take rest this afternoon. I will keep you informed of anything I discover.’

  ‘But you must tell me how it is that you knew the identity of my mother?’

  ‘Gillet told me that he believed your mother to be Joan but was unable to discuss the matter with me. Considering what you were told by Lady Elizabeth, I assume this to be correct. I cannot imagine why you have not had this conversation with Gillet.’

  ‘Thank you, Lord Wexford,’ I said, ‘for your advice and for giving up your quarters for Anaïs. I will take great pleasure in the solitude.’

  ‘I imagine you will, but you may join me at any time in the library if by the smallest chance you discover that you miss my company.’ Once again he smiled, knowing full well that this was highly unlikely. ‘And I will be most offended if you continue to address me in such a formal manner for I have told you previously, my name is Simon.’

  What a strange man, so brusque and rude. Yet he can also be so considerate and caring. Are all men this way inclined?

  By the time I had reached my room, Anaïs and all her parcels, bags and bits and pieces had been miraculously removed. Even my bed, so recently pushed to the back wall, had been returned to its former place under the window. I retrieved your letters, holding them against my breast before returning them to the chest that was now solely for my use. At last I could read them whenever I liked, without fear of prying eyes.

  There is much more to Gillet than we believe and I feel sure I have uttered such words before. I have thought long and hard on Lord Wexford’s comment. Have I never discussed our mother with Gillet? I believe I have. Possibly not directly but to a point and at no time did he offer any advice or reveal that which he obviously thinks to be true, that the Maid of Kent is our mother.

  I implore you to speak with him. You must make him see that by concealing information from us he does more harm than good.

  I wanted so much to write further to you but because of what I have just discovered I know that I must dispatch this letter with haste.

  My dearest, take care, take due consideration in all things and pray as I do for your safekeeping. Above all, may the Lord’s blessing be upon you each day and night that we are separated, one from the other.

  Your devoted sister, Catherine

  Written at Blackfriars, London, 12 July, the Feast of Saint Jason, 34 Edward III.

  Closing the door to his library, Simon returned to his desk. Salisbury! No wonder she had swooned. Lifting her crumpled body, he had almost cried out with despair. She was so slight. Though he had asked the maids to provide numerous tempting delicacies, she had refused all, continuing to punish herself by eating only bread, fish and the occasional slice of cheese. Clenching his fist, his temper rose to choke him. Given the opportunity he would like nothing more than to wring Mary St Pol’s skinny little neck. God only knew what wicked mischief she had played out.

  But what to do?

  He had fought the urge to hold Catherine, to comfort her, for surely she would misunderstand and push him away, particularly now that Anaïs had filled her head with foolishness. How could he make her understand that he meant no harm? He had to find a way to rebuild the bridge torn down by religious zealots. He was, after all, only offering friendship. Of that he was sure.

  To Catherine Pembroke, guest of Lord Wexford, London, be this letter delivered.

  We arrived in Amiens on the eighth day of July after a discouraging journey. Never have the effects of war been pressed upon me more harshly than by the sight of the districts through which we travelled. Barren farm-houses, abandoned mills and desolate churches, most of them all but destroyed. The charred wastelands stretched as far as the eye could see, a desert of scorched earth to remind us of the recent English occupation. I doubt the village will celebrate Lammastide next month. No crops have survived this devastation.

  In his true fashion, Armand tried to cheer our dour company by saying that our destination of the Artois region, protected under Burgundy’s rule, would not display such wanton destruction. Bellegarde grunted his agreement but I could see his heart was as heavy as mine. As Amiens came into view, by one accord we drew rein to stare forlornly at the burned sections of the town. I almost cried.

  Bellegarde ordered the soldiers to decorticate the Albret regalia. It would be impolitic to ride in bearing the Anglo-Gascon colours. The banners were folded away, their blood-red surcottes stripped and the horses divested of their fringed caparisons. For some, that meant removing the saddle first and the vocal disgruntlement at this task was quickly silenced by their Captain. Upon completion, the hoary bearded man, whose name was Alfred de Verdon, commanded his soldiers to kneel in the dirt whilst he recited a prayer to offer thanks for the peace treaty. He begged God to show mercy and restore the ravaged land.

  We located an inn on the outskirts, its undamaged beauty almost an insult to the nearby desecrated buildings. The soldiers made their way into town to seek lodgings more suited to their taste.

  15 July

  The week of respite has been beneficial to us all as we await the arrival of the courier, Bertrand. Our spirits, somewhat revived, received an unexpected boost but it was a double-edged sword. It happened this morning when the bells of Amiens began to chime between the hours, the town criers spreading the news faster than a plague. King Jean le Bon reached Calais on the same day we arrived in Amiens and though it is English territory it is at least French soil. Until his ransom is secured, he remains in custody and within the company of the Prince of Wales.

  Bellegarde greeted this declaration with insipidness. ‘Well, at least we have the Prince’s location confirmed.’ As the townsfolk began to rejoice the imminent return of their monarch, Bellegarde retired to the stable to inspect Inferno’s ulcerated
gum.

  17 July

  True sister of mine own, of that there is no more doubt. Your letter arrived today and brings much news to digest but it lies in my stomach as heavy as bread baked from sour grain, one kernel in particular. If Bellegarde has known the identity of our mother all along, why then did he not say?

  I sought the privacy of the garden to examine your letter more thoroughly. Though the skies were laden with grey clouds, it was nothing to the storm that brewed within my breast. As I read your words for a third time Bellegarde found me and, with the conceit of a rooster mindful of his hen house, seated himself at my side.

  ‘Ah, Cécile, I see your sister’s news has arrived. I hope she is well?’

  ‘You impertinent cesspit of deceit!’ Before he could reply I stood and struck each of his cheeks in turn. ‘Did you think I would not learn of it? Defend your honour – if you have any!’

  He rose, and with a sweep of his arm, dismissed the gaping gardeners. ‘I assume broadswords will suffice? The first cut? Or would you rather cross lances? No, wait – daggers are your preference, are they not?’ He rubbed one cheek, testing his jaw. ‘For a woman you display a fine hand but perhaps you should inform me of what I stand accused.’

  ‘You should have told us,’ I hissed.

  ‘Told you what? Pray be more specific.’

  ‘Three words, Sir, just three words – Maid … of … Kent. ’

  ‘Ah, I see. Your sister has discovered something of your parentage and you are angry with me. May I ask why?’

  ‘Do not play the innocent! You allow Catherine to reside in London beneath the shadow of the Crown, under the King’s very nose, and all the time you knew. You knew.’