The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘No, not until recently. The letter from Cécile changed everything.’

  ‘Then you were happy as a novice?’

  ‘I am not sure. It was more that I accepted what I was handed. Is it not better to swim with the tide rather than fight against it?’

  He seemed to consider my question at length, his gaze searching the night sky.

  ‘My father was, for a short period, a member of the Knights Templar. He oft spoke somewhat wistfully of the time he spent with them.’ Simon’s easy manner was refreshing and I relaxed, allowing myself to lean against the barn. ‘Impressed by his tales I joined the group. They were though, by this time, very much a secret society.’

  ‘Lady Mary said they were heretics and were burned at the stake,’ I declared, wide-eyed, aware that Lord Wexford was revealing a great secret.

  ‘Friday the thirteenth of October. Yes, several hundred poor, innocent souls, but the Templars numbered in the thousands. The rest hid and continue their work to this day, offering protection and care for those in need.’ He turned and looked at me, drawing me into his tale. ‘I had been seneschal knight to my uncle during a campaign in Scotland. It became clear that we did not suit one another, so I was encouraged to join the Templars. I was sent to the East, where my interest in healing could be better served. It was there I met my wife.’

  I gasped, unable to hide my surprise. ‘I did not realise that you were married!’

  ‘I am no longer,’ he clarified. ‘You see, we believe that choices we make are right for us at the time but that does not mean, in the end, it was so. With maturity and hind-sight we see things differently.’

  I was able to comprehend his meaning for I have grown so much in such a short period of time. Would this have occurred had I remained within the walls of the abbey?

  ‘What was she like?’

  He smiled warmly, seeming to cherish the memory. ‘I first saw her helping the Tabib with the tending of a sick child. Her name was Amina. She was tall and strong, her skin glistened like burnished copper, the most exotic creature I had ever seen. Young and foolish, I pursued her, much against the wishes of her chief. Disheartened by all that I had seen in Scotland, I knew she was the answer to my loneliness and I grasped it without care for her or her family. In the end our differences were too great.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Perhaps if I had swum with the tide the outcome might have been different.’ His sorrow revealed the genuine man beneath the bravado and my heart was touched. Without thought, I placed my hand over his. Our eyes locked and I was mesmerised by the intensity of emotion pooling beneath the surface. ‘Catherine …’

  ‘I … I … think I should retire,’ I stammered, rising to my feet. I fled into the barn, terrified by the softness of his voice.

  He did not follow me.

  I was woken the next day by the noise of my guardian hacking away at our transport with an axe. Tearing off the canvas, he suggested that we quickly relieve ourselves as he did not intend stopping at the side of the road. His coarseness is at times quite unbelievable and I think meant to shock and offend.

  The new day was bright and cheery and even though my rear end was less than happy to spend another day travelling, my spirits were high and my heart glad. Anaïs climbed into the modified carriage and made herself comfortable. If not for her cold indifference and at times outright dislike of me, I would have considered joining her but chose instead to sit next to Simon.

  He was silent that morning, as was Anaïs, so I retrieved my rosary and began my daily devotions.

  ‘You still pray, then?’ He appeared genuinely surprised to see my head bowed. ‘I do not hold much faith in prayer, that I think you know. Do I shock you?’

  ‘A little, but each of us worship in our own way.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said, his eyes back on the road. ‘Do you intend to return to a religious institution at some point in the future?’

  ‘I had thought that to be the case but now I am not so sure. I have come to realise that something was missing in my life.’

  ‘Really, what’s that?’

  ‘My freedom,’ I whispered.

  Near midday, my hunger was screaming for attention and I was relieved when Simon directed the carriage off the main thoroughfare into a barn at the rear of a small roadside inn.

  ‘Ladies,’ he announced as he nimbly alighted, ‘we have arrived. I have arranged for us to stay here at the Shalford Inn. It is quite conveniently owned by someone I know very well.’

  ‘Yes, someone, in fact, to whom you still owe a considerable purse.’ A tall man, slightly larger than Simon, emerged from the shadows. He was somewhat younger, yet the likeness was unmistakable. Simon opened his arms to embrace him before both gave hearty laughs and exchanged back-slaps.

  I sit now, my dearest, within this quaint little inn, in the highest room overlooking the meadows. The neat squares of green intersected by fields of wheat remind me of the many tapestries adorning the walls of Lady Pembroke’s private chamber. I can see the whole of the village and its accompanying manor house, the home of Lord Roderick of Shalford, half-brother to Simon.

  We are to stay here, in this safe refuge, whilst Lord Wexford makes plans for our journey to Broughton. This brings me great trepidation, for how will I be received? There remains so much that I wish to tell you, my dearest, but Simon insists that this letter be away, for Gillet, too, must be informed of all that has occurred.

  Please extend my best wishes to Gillet. I keep you in my prayers and send a loving blessing from Our Lady, the Virgin.

  Your devoted sister, Catherine.

  Written at the Shalford Inn , Feast of Saint Lydia, 3 August 34 Edward III.

  Simon had lied. The incident on the road was far more worrying that he wished to convey. Salisbury was a nasty piece of work but Moleyns was far worse. As for Anaïs, she had to go. Regardless of Catherine’s feelings, the maid was dangerous.

  He could not forget Catherine’s distress when she discovered her correspondence missing. And then to be attacked in broad daylight by Salisbury’s minion! He could not let anything happen to her. Would not let anything happen to her. Because of the promise he had made to Gillet? Or was it something more?

  As he tethered the horse in Roderick’s barn, he tried to dismiss her image from his mind, yet there she was upon her knees, praying to a God in whom he had lost faith. Rubbing his brow, he turned from the prying eyes of his brother. Roderick had a keen sense and was sure to see that which Simon knew must be kept hidden.

  To Catherine of Pembroke, guest of Shalford Inn , be this letter taken.

  Our journey has been delayed due to the injuries Gillet and Armand suffered at the tavern. Your letter arrived in the morning, eighth day of August.

  To the violation of our privacy do I address my anger most bitterly. The actions of your maid are cowardly and beyond contempt, but to have imparted such information, causing you to be dragged from your bed and flee in the middle of the night, the woman deserves nothing less than horsewhipping! I fear more now for your safety than ever before.

  Gillet’s fist struck the stone with rancour as the pages fluttered to his lap. ‘Putain! I should like to strangle her scrawny neck. Let her read that!’ Seated beside him in the small, enclosed garden of the inn, I blushed as he handed back your letter. It had been his idea to take refreshment out of doors.

  ‘It does put a rather bleak outlook on things, does it not?’

  ‘Oui,’ he growled. ‘She has strengthened her bargaining power.’ He caught my horrified look and his expression softened. ‘Try not to worry, Cécile. Simon is more than capable of managing Anaïs and protecting your sister. As for knowing about us, I will put a stop to her little game when I return to London.’

  Knowing about us? I glanced at Madame Duvall who, for propriety’s sake, was sitting on the next seat, bent over her needlework.

  ‘Come,’ said Gillet, standing, ‘we should retire inside.’

  Nodding obediently,
I rose and shook cake crumbs from my skirt. I suppose Gillet meant that Anaïs was now aware he was in France with me but I secretly took pleasure in knowing that she would have read about his kiss.

  Gillet’s humour did not improve when he learned later that day two of the horses had gone lame. Our departure has been postponed yet again.

  12 August

  We gathered in the salon for nuncheon to discuss our plans for leaving but it would seem that we are doomed once more. Madame Duvall and Armand looked terrible, both complaining the onset of fever. Gillet was moody. A sultry looking woman gowned in dark wine damask sidled up to our table. Her deep auburn hair was a mass of soft curls, tiny wisps escaping the black silk ribbon to lie wilfully upon her cheek. Her full lips were cherry red against creamy, flawless skin and her long lashes shuttered the most brilliant green eyes I had ever seen. In short, she was beautiful and she certainly had the attention of the men.

  ‘Excuse me, Sirs, but Thomas the innkeeper said you might be able to help me.’

  Armand and Gillet jumped up with genial smiles, my cousin quite forgetting his ailment.

  ‘How may we be of assistance, Madame?’ offered Gillet.

  Her voice was pure honey, sweet and sickly, as she trickled on. ‘Monsieur Thomas has told me you arrived from Compiègne and as I am travelling that way I thought you might suggest a decent wayside inn. I am a widow, you see, and quite alone. Perhaps you could suggest somewhere reputable.’

  ‘We are about to eat. Would you care to join us and we can discuss it?’ said Armand.

  She smiled triumphantly. ‘Thank you. I should like that.’ Gillet shifted along the bench opposite me, allowing her room. She flicked me a perfunctory glance as she sat. A decent inn? Thomas would have been able to tell her that. It was an innkeeper’s duty to have recommendations for the next town.

  ‘I am staying here for … well, I am not sure how long.’ She paused and quite deliberately pouted before continuing. ‘A while, anyway.’ Her hand rose to her neck chain and I noted her exquisitely manicured nails. Self-consciously I slid my own from the table. I had spent the morning picking out Ruby’s hooves and the dirt beneath them could fill a barrow. Her eyes flashed at me with a perception only females would understand. She had noticed!

  ‘Forgive me,’ her glance slid to Gillet, ‘I have not introduced myself. I am Rosslyn, Lady de Caux.’

  ‘Would you care for a drink, Lady de Caux,’ asked Gillet, signalling Clarissa. ‘Wine?’

  ‘I am feeling a little bit devilish today and it’s been so hot. May I?’ Reaching across him, she picked up his ale, sipping with an angelic air and running her tongue seductively along the rim. ‘Hmm, I think this will do nicely.’

  Astounded by her behaviour I grabbed my wine and gulped, coughing inelegantly as it burned my throat.

  ‘I am travelling to my poor Henri’s family,’ she was saying, ‘in Ferrières-sur-Ariège to offer them comfort.’

  Ferrières-sur-Ariège? I pricked to attention. That was in Foix territory. Shifting uneasily, I glanced at Armand but he was too intent on lifting her fingers to his lips as Gillet began the introductions.

  ‘Albret?’ purred Lady de Caux. ‘I have heard of them.’

  Gillet flashed me a quick smile. ‘And this is Cécile, Armand’s cousin.’

  ‘Non,’ she exclaimed, seemingly astonished. ‘I thought you were brothers and sister. You look so much alike.’ For the second time in less than a minute, wine seared my throat. Was the woman dimwitted? Discreetly I regarded her again. Non, beautiful, cunning perhaps, but not idiotic. As she held out her hand to Gillet I decided it was time to put an end to this nonsense. My goblet toppled over and its contents rushed to the edges of the board, thoroughly soaking his legs.

  ‘What the devil?’ He jumped up, angrily brushing at his chausses.

  ‘Sorry. It slipped.’

  ‘If you wanted my attention, Cécile, you had but to speak.’ Thomas appeared with our meal and grinning, threw his cloth to Gillet.

  Something sat ill with me. The lady was heading to the Ariège region and the last I had heard the Comte de Foix was raiding my papa’s lands again.

  A pang of regret pierced my heart. I missed Papa and Jean le Bossu. The conversation faded, my own thoughts back in Larressingle. It was deemed too dangerous to send a letter so far south, although Madame de Caux was heading in that direction. I glanced up at the beautiful widow. She had effortlessly mesmerised my companions. So could a serpent. No. I would not trust her to deliver milk to her own baby!

  ‘I am sure one or both of these gentlemen would be happy to accompany you, Madame de Caux. As you have correctly ascertained, neither man is attached,’ Madame Duvall was saying.

  What had I missed?

  ‘I must withdraw from the invitation,’ replied Armand. ‘I really do not feel well.’

  ‘Then I am sure,’ continued my chaperon, ‘that Monsieur de Bellegarde will be happy to escort you.’ She punctuated the end of her sentence with a blustering sneeze.

  ‘What function?’ I asked.

  Gillet raised his eyebrows. ‘Were you not listening? Lady de Caux informs us there is to be a play in the village tonight. She wished to attend but had not wanted to go alone.’

  ‘And you are to escort her?’ I looked anxiously at Madame Duvall.

  ‘That was the idea,’ replied Gillet, making a great show of wiping his sodden chausses. He looked up with a grin. ‘Would you like to come?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ I caught the flicker of disappointment in Lady de Caux’s eyes.

  ‘How delightful,’ she murmured. Her hand gently alighted on Gillet’s. ‘And please, call me Rosslyn.’

  In between eating and Madame Duvall’s sneezes, we learned that Lady de Caux had been married just short of a year before her husband was killed in Picardie. During her heart-rending account, I studied her face and begrudgingly decided she must be no older than Gillet, whom I knew was well into his twenty-fifth year, and no younger than Armand, who was just over his twenty-third.

  ‘You must forgive my curiosity,’ she said, her eyes intent upon the men’s fading bruises. ‘I thought a truce had been declared but you both look as though you have seen battle recently.’

  ‘Merely a local dispute,’ answered Armand.

  ‘Then I hope the spoils warranted the peril.’

  ‘All part of a knight’s duty, Madame,’ he replied, winking at me. ‘Saving maidens in distress.’

  ‘How honourable.’ Her gaze slid to the sickly yellows and pale purples that swirled over Gillet’s cheek. ‘Had you worn such colours for a widow, she would have been able to thank you properly.’

  The men exchanged looks and shifted uncomfortably as Madame Duvall covered another resounding sneeze.

  ‘Madame Duvall, you are as flushed as a smithy,’ observed Gillet, frowning.

  ‘In truth, I do not feel well at all. If you have no objection, I will confine myself to my chamber.’ She rose at once. ‘Cécile, would you mind assisting me, dear?’

  Armand slid out, brushing his own brow. ‘I think I will follow your good example, Madame.’ He bowed apologetically to Lady de Caux. ‘If you would excuse me, I am feeling a little unwell but I’m sure Gillet would be happy to advise you on the accommodations in Compiègne.’

  ‘Yes,’ I added, sliding out. ‘How soon did you say you were leaving?’

  ‘Oh! What a darling girl,’ she tittered. ‘So innocent.’

  I hurried after Armand, inwardly cursing. She had missed the look of displeasure that crossed Gillet’s face. Her remark had reminded him of the one thorn that lay between us – my lack of innocence, thanks to Edward, the Black Prince.

  ‘You look as though you’ve just discovered someone has cut the coin purse from your belt.’ I plumped the cushion behind my cousin’s head. Madame Duvall was abed and I helped Armand into his.

  ‘Faith be, Céci, I feel as though someone has cut my throat instead! I might have to postpone our chess instruction today. Think you ca
n amuse yourself this afternoon?’

  ‘Of course. I promised Ruby a good rub down. That’s if Gillet can tear himself away from Madame de Caux long enough to take me for our daily ride.’

  Armand laughed. ‘What? Jealous?’

  I spluttered inelegantly and thumped another cushion into place. ‘No, are you?’

  ‘Oh, I have a sneaking suspicion that I am not in the running.’

  With my cousin settled, I headed for the stables and met Gillet at the bottom of the stairs. He received one of my very best smiles.

  ‘Ah, Cécile, good. Turns out this play is to be held at the mayor’s residence so wear your best velvet, Lady Sprite.’ He winked at me and, humming to himself, took the stairs by twos. My smile was left to hang as wan as an old, ragged tapestry. Clarissa!

  Half an hour later I was brushing Ruby with far more gusto than the poor mare deserved. Dropping the brush in favour of the comb, I attacked her tail. Ruby eyed me warily, stomping her hoof as I ruthlessly pulled at a knot. The comb landed next to the brush and I collapsed with despair onto the straw, tears welling. Clarissa’s father had already sold my blue velvet gown.

  Gazing out from my chamber window as the vesper bells chimed, I sighed wretchedly at the silhouetted landscape. A full, golden moon was on the rise. The evening would be a perfect one but it would not be mine to enjoy. My stomach lurched as the inevitable knock sounded. I opened my door to Gillet’s quizzical stare. He observed my green bliaut with distaste. ‘Cécile, we are to leave soon. You are not attired!’

  ‘I cannot go.’

  His brows shot up in astonishment. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘I just cannot. Can we leave it at that?’

  ‘Non, we cannot. Cécile, look at me. Do you not want to come?’

  ‘Oui, I do but … I … I … do not …’

  ‘Yes?’