The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘I do not feel well either.’ My heart juddered as he placed the back of his hand against my forehead, his voice achingly gentle.

  ‘You are not feverish.’

  I returned to the window seat. ‘Nevertheless, I am unwell and it is a full moon.’

  ‘A full moon? Good Lord! What has that to do with anything?’

  I folded my arms resolutely. ‘I am not tied to you in wedlock, Sir. You are not privy to any further explanation.’

  ‘Indeed I am! I am your keeper, and your health and well-being are my concern. You will oblige me with an explanation right now.’

  ‘Ooh! Have it your way then! I am indisposed. ’

  He stepped back as though he had just encountered a leper. ‘Oh! Your pardon, Lady. I, er, well, that is to say Lady de Caux is waiting and I should go.’ He bowed courteously. ‘I am truly sorry that you will not be joining us.’

  Long after I had listened to the sound of receding hooves, I roused myself from a stupor of self-pity and went to see how fared Armand and Madame Duvall. Both were fast asleep and snoring. The moon was shining in full glory and lit my room with a celestial radiance. Too restless for my bed, I headed for the garden.

  The grounds at Amiens are not quite as splendid as those at Compiègne but they are charming, nonetheless.

  Tidy floral beds, bordered on one side by a large yew hedge, girthed the ivy-covered swing seat that beckoned me. I sat, scraping my feet along the ground, and let my thoughts meander down the path my life had taken. I felt hopelessly dejected. My heart ached for company, the need to talk with someone who could understand the events of the last weeks. Someone who would not judge me. And for once my cousin would not suffice. What I yearned for was female companionship of my own age. Only a woman could understand my predicament. There was only one. I needed you, Catherine. Tucking up my feet, my head sank onto my arms and the desperate tears flowed.

  I must have fallen asleep, for the clattering of hooves woke me. In dazed confusion, I realised that Gillet and Madame de Caux had returned. Not wishing to be found, I hurtled towards the inn’s door but stopped as I heard their voices.

  Rosslyn de Caux’s words, carried by the crisp night air, tinkled across the lavender. ‘Oh, Gillet, look at the moon. What a wonderful night. Let us not go inside immediately. Shall we sit a while in the garden?’

  Gillet’s reply was muffled but it enticed a throaty laugh from Rosslyn. Frantic, I dived behind the yew hedge, further horrified when they headed for the swing seat. Crouching in the topiary, I silently cursed my stupidity. A mere few feet separated us and to be discovered now would be to die from shame. I was a rabbit snared in a precarious warren of its own digging.

  ‘I should check on Armand and Cécile, and Madame Duvall also. None of them were well tonight,’ said Gillet.

  ‘Non,’ breathed Rosslyn silkily, ‘they will be fine. Look, no light is reflected in the casements. They are all asleep. Stay with me. I am so, how do you say? Excited after the play. It was most thrilling, was it not?’

  ‘Hmm? Yes. Yes, it was a fine production. ’Tis a pity Armand and Cécile could not come, both would have enjoyed it immensely.’

  Rosslyn de Caux pouted. ‘They are cousins, oui? Yet she is so fair and he so dark. That seems strange, non?’

  I held my breath, praying that Gillet was not so besotted by the widow’s cleavage that he would let slip the name of Armagnac to impress her. This woman and I were enemies enough!

  ‘No, not strange at all, Rosslyn. Armand’s family has many branches and one descends from the Normans and favours fair hair.

  ‘Ah. They are very close, oui?’

  Gillet turned. The moonlight struck his face casting an ethereal glow. ‘Oui, they are.’ He glanced back at the windows and frowned. There should have been at least one candle burning.

  ‘Then perhaps they will marry.’ Rosslyn tossed her red curls provocatively. ‘It is not unusual for cousins to contemplate this.’

  ‘No, I do not believe so.’

  ‘Well, maybe he has not yet asked her?’

  ‘As a matter of fact he did and Cécile refused him.’

  My mouth fell open. Was there anything about which this courier was not informed?

  ‘She refused him? But why?’ exclaimed Rosslyn.

  Gillet stretched as if he were cramping and the sultry redhead slid nearer. When his arm fell, he had no option but to rest it on the back of the swing, just below her shoulders. ‘Armand would do anything for Cécile.’

  Rosslyn lightly touched Gillet’s chest, tiptoeing her fingers up his doublet. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

  Gillet offered his smile to the moon as my stomach somersaulted like a tumbler at a fair. ‘Yes, if you knew Cécile.’

  She dropped her hand and gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Love can be a precious gift, non? One must take it when one can, for we know not when we shall be denied.’ She tilted her head back, her lips glistening in the silvery light. ‘You may kiss me, Gillet, if you so desire.’

  I stifled my gasp and craned to see. My heart pounded so loudly I was afraid they would hear it. Gillet appeared frozen as he stared at her but the widow’s eyes slowly closed and she surrendered her mouth. He bent slowly and their lips met. His arms slid around her, pulling her close. I screwed my eyes tightly shut and covered my ears, hating a world that held poxy princes and conniving couriers. I had seen enough. Too much, in fact, and I took the opportunity, knowing that they were oblivious to all else in that one moment, to steal away as quietly as I could. My only option was to head for the stable and somehow that seemed preferable to the confines of my room.

  The stench of manure greeted me as I pushed open the heavy door, and the equine shadows shifted nervously for the disturbance. Inferno lifted his head with a snort of disgust and thumped his hoof against his wooden stall. His ears flattened as I delivered a whack to his rump. Ruby whickered as I let myself into her enclosure. Gratefully accepting her nuzzling, I felt sickened at what I had just allowed myself to witness. Spying was not a noble profession. What Gillet did with his time was his business, I reminded myself. I had my own concerns.

  Raking some hay into a corner, I curled into a miserable, foetal ball and closed my eyes. I had never felt so wretched and numb, beyond even tears. The smell of fresh straw evoked memories of Larressingle, and I clung to them like a person drowning. As I drifted into an uneasy slumber, I wished myself back to the warm comfort of the cellar. So many times I had fallen asleep here, licking my wounds after a scolding from Maman, only to find myself wake drowsily as Papa would lift me into his strong arms and carry me to my room. He had found me again. I felt the weightlessness overcome my body as hands slid beneath me to lift me from the hay. Cold night air rushed against my face and I snuggled against Papa as we made our journey from cellar to house. I roused only slightly when I was laid upon my bed and my cloak and boots were removed. My eyes too heavy to open, and I gave a weary smile for the covers that were pulled around my shoulders.

  ‘Papa?’

  ‘Ssh, Cécile. Go back to sleep.’ Fingers brushed my forehead and a kiss alighted on my brow.

  ‘Papa?’ I listened to the heavy tread of steps as flint was struck and a candle lit but the effort to wake was too great.

  ‘Hush, Cécile. Sleep.’

  I snuggled into my bolster, smiling with contentment. Papa was here. I need worry no more. He would know what to do.

  ‘It’s a contagion of the throat and highly infectious.’ The physician took a needle with a long piece of string from his bag and began to thread live worms. ‘If you wish to avoid the illness, Monsieur, I would advise that you distance yourself from the Demoiselle for at least five days. And your other two companions who suffer the same malady.’ He looked up at Gillet, who stood with his arms folded, brooding like a mother hen who had counted her clutch of eggs and discovered one missing. His eyes fell on me with an expression of frustration.

  I spluttered a resounding sneeze that sent my head pounding. M
y lie of the previous evening had become truth.

  ‘Keep the shutters closed and burn incense. Only liquid foods.’ The physician regarded Gillet’s clothing for a moment, then added, ‘If you have the coin I shall send a nurse from the hospice to call once a day.’

  Gillet grimaced in displeasure. ‘Anything else? An arm? A leg, mayhap?’

  The physician held out his grisly necklace, seven slimy worms squirmed from the thread. ‘Have her wear this at her throat and remove it only when they are all dead.’ He packed his equipment and with a curt nod departed.

  ‘You wut tink I hat the plague!’ I poked out my tongue. ‘Is it swollen?’

  ‘Lady, you are a plague,’ said Gillet, approaching with the grotesque ornament. ‘And you need only worry about a swollen tongue if you have been telling lies.’ He fastened the string around my throat and I shuddered as the worms slithered against my skin. ‘Clarissa has offered to tend you all. Madame Duvall is giving instruction for the potions required. In the meantime I have some business to which I must attend.’ He moved to the door and, turning, pointed at my neck. ‘ Keep … them … on.’

  Padding across to the window casement, I opened the shutters and, pulling off the worms, dropped them, one by one, to the ground below. I could not stand the tickling. Two horses clattered upon the cobblestones towards the village. Gillet was riding out with Madame de Caux.

  ‘Ha! Bidness indeed. Poxy ret-haired bidness!’ I let go of the string and slammed the shutter. ‘Watch your owd tong doesn’t swell.’

  The sickness hit me and for the next four days dizziness and nausea kept my head firmly on the bolster. But Madame Duvall’s potions and foul smelling poultices had begun to take effect. By the third day I could swallow without gagging. Physically I was healing but my spirits had never ebbed lower. Gillet had taken the physician at his word and had not visited once. Also a certain guest was still resident at the inn. As though thinking of Madame de Caux had a summoning power, a knock sounded at my door and she entered, delicately holding a silk square over her nose.

  ‘I wanted to see how you were faring. Oh! But you look just dreadful! All puffed up and red with a swollen nose. Goodness, you are a sight.’

  ‘Your concern is touching,’ I grumbled. ‘Do you not have somewhere else to be? Compiègne, was it not?’ That she had materialised from my thoughts was disconcerting enough but for some reason this woman frightened me.

  She sat on my bed and lowered her cloth, her voice laced with hostility. ‘Yes, you would like that. I saw how you looked at your guardian and I am here to warn you.’

  ‘Warn me, Madame? Of what do you warn me?’

  ‘It’s quite simple, dear.’ The green eyes flashed. ‘Monsieur de Bellegarde is a wonderful host. He is charming, witty and extremely handsome, do you not agree? Four days in his company and any woman would lose her heart.’ She slid her finger over my throat. ‘You really do look quite hideous.’ My windpipe was pinched between her fingers and her voice dropped. ‘I can play a very nasty game, so do not think to interfere, little one.’ She pressed harder and I coughed painfully. ‘I want Gillet de Bellegarde and I will have him. And no meddlesome little ward is going to get in my way.’

  Rosslyn stood and daintily brushed out her skirts. I rubbed my neck in disbelief.

  ‘We are going to another play tonight, followed by a late supper. I rather think we will stay the night in town. One advantage of being a widow, my dear.’ She blew me a kiss. ‘Don’t wait up.’

  The door closed and I was left with my imaginings of her in Gillet’s arms. My chest began to heave. It felt as though the air were being sucked from my lungs, deep painful gasps that became a terrible wheezing. I knew I had been ill but this was something different. This was the horror I had felt when drowning in the Seine. Fighting for breath, I closed my eyes and prayed desperately. It took between the ringing of hour bells before I knew respite.

  Feeling cloistered, I perched upon the window seat and threw open my shutters to gaze upon the world. In the distance, the spire of the great cathedral jutted into the heavens. Scaffolding untidily clamoured up the southern side where a new tower was being added and below, the thatched dwellings of the village nestled for protection.

  To the north a forest stretched as far as the eye could see and, to the west, peasants wearing large straw hats tilled the charred fields. A farmer herding his sheep down a lane was set on a collision course with a cart loaded with barrels. A woman’s rippling laughter sounded close by and I watched as a couple strolled beside the wooded verge. Her cloak slipped from one shoulder and the man assisted her to right it. She captured his hand and, staring up at him, held it against her cheek. It was Gillet and the wanton widow.

  Dismally I lowered my chin to the ledge. Never had I felt so alone in my whole life.

  ‘I don’t suppose a game of chess would cheer you?’

  ‘Armand!’ With a squeal I threw my arms around his neck and promptly burst into tears.

  ‘Whoa, whoa,’ he said, loosening my grip. ‘Hush now. Come back to bed. Something tells me you have been too long in your own company.’ He pulled the covers over me and sat on the stool, his hair damp from a recent washing. ‘I realise that not seeing me for so long can have such an effect on a woman,’ he teased, ‘but I rather think it is something else. What has you so upset, sweetheart?’

  ‘I see you are feeling better. Do you not fear a second dose coming in here?’

  ‘Pah! Lightning only strikes once in the same place. Besides, I am also bored with my own company.’

  ‘Has Gillet not been to see you either?’

  ‘He has been kept very busy the last few days.’

  ‘Oui,’ I harrumphed. ‘I saw that from my window.’

  ‘Shrew,’ smiled Armand. ‘Gillet has been working for Thomas, delivering vegetables to the market. They bartered services while Clarissa has been nursing us poor wretches.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Is there something else you wish to tell me?’ He brushed the hair from my brow and glanced pointedly towards the window casement. ‘What is it, Céci?’

  ‘I had a visit from Rosslyn de Caux just now. She was sprouting her grand plans for seduction tonight.’

  ‘Ah. And you would rather not know.’

  ‘I would rather Gillet not …’ I swallowed my words as Armand’s brow arched.

  ‘Aah, I see.’

  ‘No! You do not!’

  ‘Tell you what. How would you like Gillet to yourself for the evening, chérie? Would that cheer the sourpuss in you?’

  ‘A performer of miracles, are you now, Saint Armand?’

  ‘Mayhap I am,’ he laughed. ‘Leave it to me. Meanwhile, I shall inform Madame Duvall your spirits are much lifted and you require a bath. Much as I love you, cousin, you stink!’

  By sundown I was bathed, fed and re-installed into my bed of fresh linens. A fire had been lit to dry my hair. It was spread over my shoulders like a mantle. Despite my pleas for company, both Armand and Madame Duvall retired and I was rereading your last letter when a tapping sounded at my door.

  ‘Well, you are looking much better.’ Gillet ventured into the room, leaving the door open a crack, and perched on the end of my bed. ‘How do you feel?’ He was himself freshly attired, his hair still damp.

  ‘I do not know. Should I feel honoured that his lordship has finally deigned to visit?’ I glanced to see if skirts were hovering impatiently in the hallway.

  ‘Malcontent! I visited every day,’ he tugged a lock of my hair, grinning, ‘but you, ungrateful wench, would not bother to wake.’

  ‘You did? And here I thought it was the angel of death hovering in my dreams.’

  ‘I see you are feeling better.’ He noted my distraction and peered into the darkened corridor. ‘Are you expecting someone?’

  ‘Non, I … I … was told you had plans for the evening.’

  ‘They were cancelled. It would seem that Rosslyn came down with a sudden and dire case of “indisposition�
�� after eating, one requiring a clear track to the garderobe.’ His eyebrows raised in a comical expression. ‘I don’t suppose you would have had anything to do with that, would you, Sprite?’

  ‘Moi? I do not see how. I have not left my bed!’ Guessing that I had accomplices working for me I burst out laughing, much to Gillet’s feigned indignation. The she-wolf had been outdone by a cunning fox! ‘Non, Gillet. Believe me. This time I am not guilty.’

  ‘I believe you. But I do think that there could be evil forces at work here.’ He grinned. ‘Do you think your Adh Seidh were about their mischievous work again?’

  ‘If they are, this time I had naught to do with it.’

  ‘Well, it seems that we are left to entertain ourselves. What would you like to do?’

  ‘Armand has been teaching me chess. I could challenge you to a game.’

  ‘Very well, Lady d’Armagnac. Chess it is.’

  Gillet collected the equipment and I arranged myself beneath the covers, smoothing a flat area between us. We set out the board and I held out my hands, concealing two foot soldiers. He made his choice, he would move second. His expression was one of mock disappointment and I struggled to keep a straight face. Gillet cocked his head, perusing the patient troops lined up on the coverlet before his arm shot out and grabbed my closed fist. A tussle began between us that saw the two little armies knocked into oblivion without having seen a battle. We were both laughing by the time he managed to prise open my fingers to reveal a piece of the same colour as his.

  ‘I can see Armand has taught you well. I shall have to keep an eye on you, a close one.’

  We began the game, making some traditional and predictable moves, but I was the first to take one of Gillet’s pieces, and clearly he had not expected it. Frowning in thought he toed off his boots and sprawled across the bed, shifting his head to rest comfortably on the column of his arm.

  A number of moves later, Gillet captured my second castle.

  ‘As in life, now I have nowhere to live,’ I sighed.