The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  See there, the black lion rampant on the white shield? That is Comte de Champenoise de Provins. Watch him. He is a fierce competitor. You will find that he works with the Comte de Soisonnais.’ He pointed to a red banner bearing a white fleur de lys. ‘You were admiring him from your window.’ His arm swung in a different direction. ‘Those are the recets, the locations to which the knights may honourably retire to rest and re-arm. As this is a hastilude, the older squires will join for the experience. Each lord may only bring three squires and they in turn are only allowed knee pieces, cuisses, espauliers and a bascinet bearing their lord’s colours. They may include only two weapons, their lances, which you will see now, and broadswords.’

  I found my attention shifting from the field to stare at Gillet. ‘But will that not be a huge disadvantage to them in the mêlée? How can they hope to win against a knight who bears more weaponry?’

  ‘They cannot hope to win, nor should they,’ he burst out indignantly. ‘They are but squires-in-training, and to think to win would be arrogant and disrespectful. Armed only with broadswords marks them a squire and, as such, the knights will only cross weapons of a like nature. Nor will they be dragged from their mounts to engage in hand-to-hand combat, but you will find that the field will be quickly cleared of squires so that the fighting may begin in earnest, without fear of striking one by mistake, but that is tomorrow. Today is the running of the list.’

  I watched the swirl of blazons and crested shields sorting themselves into battle lines, lining the edge of the field’s width. Destriers nervously pawed the ground, awaiting the signal from their masters’ knees to charge. The flag dropped and a single knight broke away, as the others waited patiently. Trotting down the line of the opposition, he found the crest he sought, thumping the shield with his lance.

  ‘Ha!’ exploded Gillet. ‘Lieven has chosen Beaupre.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Both Knights d’Artois. They have a long, ongoing dispute over landholdings. Although it is forbidden, they take their personal grudges to the field for vengeance.’ Gillet waggled his eyebrows. ‘Watch Lieven. He is the one with the crest of gules and argent per fess. There! The red and white stripes,’ he added for my benefit. ‘He will gallop full speed, using his own weight and the momentum of his horse to overthrow Beaupre.’ He pointed to the azure shield with three gold oblique stripes. ‘But Beaupre’s mount is well-trained and he will use its dexterity to avoid the encounter, then wheel around to reach Lieven before he can pull up to re-engage.’

  The marshal’s flag dropped and they charged, my eyes widening as Gillet’s prediction came true. The crowd roared and I pitched a sidelong glance at my guardian. His attention was intent upon the field.

  The next knight came forward and selected his challenge but as they drew close on their charge, the horses swerved and the lances went astray. On the next run the two horses crossed over. Gillet snorted in disgust. It was not until the third pass that they actually managed to strike and one went tumbling to the ground. Gillet nodded, pulling a wry face. ‘It happens that way sometimes, though a good horse will not let you down and panic as those two mules did.’

  ‘I do not suppose Inferno has ever shied like that?’ I remarked casually.

  Gillet shook his head, watching as the next two competitors came forward to tilt. ‘No, never.’

  Hooves thudded across the field but the noise could not compare with the pounding of my heart. Gillet watched in excitement, unaware of the volumes those two last spoken words had just told me. There was a huge bellow from the field and I was wrenched to my feet as he grabbed my hand and, in accord with the spectators, jumped up in a furore. Two horses, being of like mind and courage, had collided, sending their riders to the dust, their lances bouncing like twigs amidst clanging armour. The marshal’s flag was raised and, for a time, play on the field ceased until both order and riders were restored. A burly cheer went up as both men hobbled to the recets, the injuries sustained apparently minor.

  The next knight came forward, his shield bearing a yellow lion rampant on a blue background. Gillet tapped my shoulder, nodding in his direction. ‘Gabriel de Beaumont de l’Oise.’ I watched as he crossed the field and chose his opponent. Gillet grinned. ‘De Meaux. They are well matched.’ As the two knights positioned themselves I watched a yearning unfurl in the ebony depths of Gillet’s eyes.

  The marshal’s flag lowered and the horses set off at a gallop. The crash was explosive as shards of ash wood flew over the ground and both riders were flung back in their saddles.

  ‘Fear not,’ said Gillet, smiling at my gasp. ‘Both men are well seated and have the mien to win. Mark me, this one will go to three passes.’

  Two flags were raised, both knights had one score apiece. The horses returned to the starting point and the riders collected another lance. Gillet’s hand rubbed his chin in a show of nervousness and I touched his shoulder gently. ‘Are you afraid that Armand’s companion will fail?’

  ‘No. He may not win but neither will Gabriel fail. See, there are four ways in which a jouster can be unsuccessful. Firstly, because they fear the whole encounter itself, their own instinct for self-preservation can override their confidence to engage. Our friend most certainly does not suffer that! Second is a fear of the point of contact. A knight will either stray from the line of charge or pull the lance away at the last moment. The third way is in bracing yourself for the strike. If a knight braces his arm too tightly or closes his eyes it will cause the lance to deviate from the target. You must keep your mind set and clear, with absolutely no thought of failure. And lastly, overconfidence. Being too anxious to win can be just as detrimental.’ His eyes fastened upon Gabriel with pride. ‘Our friend will not display any of these.’

  The horses pelted down the run and another resounding crash saw de Meaux wobble dangerously in his seat. Gillet nodded. ‘He had trouble cradling his lance at the last moment. A good pass by Gabriel. His aim is excellent.’

  ‘Oh? And I suppose you know all about aiming correctly, too?’ But Gillet’s attention was focused on the field and my sarcasm was lost.

  ‘If you can take the advantage you lower your shield. A good jouster will always take some risk.’ His hands hovered in demonstration. ‘You drop it to beneath the point at which you wish to strike. That way you can see your target clearly and it stops you from bringing the lance down too far. Then you must focus, set your eyes firmly upon the target and remain set in your intentions. Above all, do not look away.’

  The jousters had collected their third lance and were almost ready. Second flags were raised. They were now two apiece. The golden lion on Gabriel’s shield glinted in the sun as they thundered down the pass, the two horses speeding towards one another to a third resounding strike but, at the last minute, Gabriel dropped his shield and leaned into his saddle. His body was thrown back by the force of de Meaux’s lance striking against his chest but Gabriel’s lance had hit with deadly accuracy. De Meaux tumbled over backwards and rolled into the dirt, a ball of arms, legs and armour. The hordes shouted approval as Gabriel slowed his snorting mount to a steady canter.

  Gillet watched the next competitors as intently, but the growing excitement I had witnessed all morning seemed to wane. He became subdued. When it was finally time for a break, he pulled me to my feet with a downcast smile. ‘Come. We are to meet Armand under the oak near the pavilion, where refreshments await us.’

  The afternoon’s proceedings were to take the form of a mock battle, both squires and knights alike, mounted but armed only with the broadswords. They were divided into two groups, roughly twenty men to each side.

  ‘This is a warm up for tomorrow’s mêlée. It will give the squires a small taste of what they will face,’ said Gillet as we returned to our seats.

  The knights broke away, each riding to the barriers and I watched as the azure shield bearing the gilt lion headed in our direction.

  Gillet stiffened. ‘It appears that Gabriel wishes to collect your
favour.’

  Sidling his grey horse along the rail of the barricade, Gabriel beckoned to me. He slipped his helm from his head, his hair falling about his shoulders in golden waves. ‘Milady, it would be my honour to take your favour into the field.’

  ‘Monsieur, I … I …’ I faltered. ‘I cannot.’

  ‘Why not? It is a perfectly respectable request.’ He shot a glance at Gillet. ‘And traditional. Your guardian has no reason to refuse.’

  Gillet shifted beside me and I could feel the tension rising.

  ‘But I carry no favour.’

  ‘Come here.’ Gabriel removed his gauntlet and whipped out his hand to tug my blue ribbon loose.

  ‘This will do nicely. Come, tie it around my forearm, double knot it and I shall wear it proudly.’

  Behind me the crowd cheered their pleasure. ‘Please,’ I whispered, tying the blue silk, ‘this ribbon is special to me.’

  ‘Do not look so upset, little one. If it is held in such high esteem, I will see it unharmed. Now lean forward.’ Gabriel edged sideways in his saddle and touched his lips to mine. He replaced his helm, bowed to the appreciative audience, and nodded triumphantly to Gillet before returning to the field. I resumed my seat but when no word was spoken for five minutes, I dared to break the silence.

  ‘You are very quiet.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, you have hardly said a word.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Through the rest of the afternoon, it became obvious Gillet was upset with me. His answers to my attempts at conversation remained curt and monosyllabic. It was only when he cut a length of lacing from a nearby banner and handed it to me that he strung more than a brace of words together. As I stared at the leather in my hand, he huffed.

  ‘Well? I cannot see a thing! Your hair keeps blowing all over my face!’

  He sat, arms and legs crossed defensively, apparently indifferent to the rising excitement of everyone around us. As the squires were dispatched one by one, the knights resolutely set about their swordplay. It was only when the last two knights on the field were Gabriel de Beaumont de l’Oise and Jehan le Meingre, Maréchal Boucicaut, that Gillet forgot his ill mood and finally showed some interest. The competitors rallied and charged, engaged and circled, swords clashing ominously but in the end the spoils of the mêlée went to the seasoned Boucicaut. Gillet grabbed my hand and pulled me from my seat.

  ‘Lucky bastard to cross swords with Boucicaut. Come, I have a devil of a thirst and the tavern will be filled to overflowing by the next tolling of the bells.’

  Gillet met Armand and for a moment I thought they were arguing. ‘I cannot stay,’ explained Armand as they approached the table. ‘My company has arrived and I must find my captain.’ Unable to hide his excitement, he downed his ale and left. Gillet placed my cider in front of me, then slid across the bench and gulped a draught from his tankard before placing it on the table none too gently.

  ‘Gabriel has asked Armand if he can take you to the banquet of the noblesse tonight. Your cousin has given acquiescence, should you wish to go. There will be dancing after the feast.’

  ‘Dancing? Oh, how long it has been since I have danced!’

  ‘I take it that you accept?’ He looked ill pleased, and then I remembered.

  ‘No. I cannot go,’ I sighed.

  His brow lifted and he drew a goodly sip of ale. ‘Why not?’

  My time for confession had finally arrived, though somehow I thought that I would prefer Gillet’s anger to this new, cold indifference.

  ‘Because I have no gown,’ I declared jadedly as Gillet gulped his brew again. ‘I have a confession to make, and you will not like it.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I sold my velvet gown in Amiens.’ His eyes never left mine, even as he downed another generous swig. ‘I am sorry. I know it was an expensive piece, but I was desperate to make amends.’ I reached out to touch his hand. ‘Clarissa wanted my ribbon, too, but I would not part with it.’

  He slid back, removing his arm from the table. ‘Well, I am glad you considered it worthy enough to keep.’

  ‘Gillet! I would never give it away!’

  ‘You did just so this very afternoon, to Gabriel de Beaumont de l’Oise.’

  ‘I did not surrender it to him. He took it upon himself to remove it.’

  He scoffed into his tankard. ‘But you willingly sold your gown in Amiens.’

  ‘Oui, I did but at the time I wanted desperately to make amends, and …’

  ‘Save your explanation, Cécile.’ He tossed down his cup. ‘Drink up. You had better come with me.’

  He led me to the room that he and Armand shared and grabbed his travelling bag from the floor. Carefully he lifted out a folded piece of linen and unwrapped it. It was my blue velvet gown. He spread it on the bed and sat down beside it with a sigh. ‘You may decline the invitation but not for this reason.’

  Shocked and struggling for words, I sank onto the nearby stool. ‘How did you come by it?’

  ‘When I made inquiries as to how Madame Duvall had managed to consume undiluted wine, Étienne confessed.

  Thomas learned of the staggering amount of coin Êtienne had received and offered a refund, or instead, “perhaps I would consider a beautiful gown for the young lady.” You can imagine my surprise when he showed me this one.’

  My head was spinning. ‘And you have had it all this time? And the night of the play?’ My voice rose in disbelief. ‘The play to which you accompanied Madame de Caux? You knew I had nothing suitable to wear?’ Gillet nodded, his face blank. Unreasonable anger surged through me. ‘Why? Why did you not offer it to me then? You knew I wanted to see that play!’

  ‘Do you not remember? At first, I wanted you to trust me, Cécile. I wanted you to tell me of your own accord what you had done, but I swear it was my intention to give it to you, with or without your confession. But then …’ His cheeks turned pink and he stumbled over his words.

  ‘But what?’

  ‘You said you were inflicted with the moon’s phase, and, well,’ he raked his hands through his hair, ‘I … I thought that I would surprise you with it on another occasion, albeit this is not what I had in mind.’

  ‘Oh!’ My cheeks flushed with guilt.

  ‘I know that you were not pleased with my association with Rosslyn but I had my own reasons. When I learned she was heading to Foix territory, I had to gain her confidence in order to know more.’

  ‘And did you expect such knowledge to slide from her tongue to yours as you kissed her?’

  ‘Cécile, be fair! How was I to know you were watching?’

  ‘Oh, you insufferable cur! So my not knowing makes it acceptable?’ I held out my hand. ‘Since I have a gown to wear after all, can you give me any reason why I should not attend tonight with Gabriel? Just one!’

  He stared at me for a moment then dropped his head. ‘I have no right to stop you.’

  ‘Have you not? Then I suppose I have no reason not to attend.’

  Later that evening, seated at a long table with the blonde knight at my side, I could think of a hundred reasons why I should not have accepted. I had made a terrible mistake in coming and, worse, it was unfair to my escort. I stared dispassionately at the extravagant dishes cluttering the board, copious amounts of fare served with each remove, but I had no appetite for food and even less for socialising.

  ‘You are very quiet,’ said Gabriel. ‘You have barely spoken all night. I trust I have said nothing to offend you?’

  ‘Heavens no! I’m just … a little tired after the tourney today.’

  ‘Speaking of which, I believe this is yours. It will match your attire nicely.’ He handed me the blue ribbon. ‘Well, I am glad I can finally put a smile on that pretty face.’ He sat back and surveyed the crowded hall as I tied the ribbon around my wrist. ‘I do believe, Cécile,
that you are the most alluring woman here tonight.’ He leaned forward, running a finger over my hand. ‘’Tis plain that the men envy me. See how they stare.’

  Following his observation, I looked around. Though it was a different court, it had the usual assortment of courtiers, the same dour faces on the wives as their husbands flirted outrageously, the fierce looks from the women, and the beguiling advances from the men. I was suddenly tired of it all.

  ‘Gabriel, I am sorry but I must go.’

  ‘What now? But they have not yet brought forth the subtlety! It is supposed to be a huge castle worked in spun sugar, and the dancing is yet to come.’

  ‘Your pardon, Sir. Stay if you will, Monsieur de Beaumont de l’Oise but please, I wish to return to my lodgings.’

  ‘No, wait!’ He jumped up and solicitously led me from the room. He was silent as we walked the short distance to the inn.

  I hated myself for what I had done and, as we approached the rear entrance, I smiled at him. ‘Thank you for your kind invitation tonight, Sir. I am truly sorry I was such poor company. Please return to the banquet, if that is your desire.’

  He leaned over and placed one arm against the stones to support his weight. ‘I know what I desire, Cécile, if you would but grant it. I have craved it since first laying eyes on you. Call it compensation for having our time together cut short. One kiss, Lady. That is my price.’

  It was a small enough request for the ruination of his evening and I nodded.

  His lips swooped confidently onto mine but as he moved to take me into his embrace something inside me panicked. Babbling inane excuses, I pushed him away and, bursting into tears, scurried for the door. I ploughed headlong into Gillet. His arm fell around me.

  A dark and foreboding expression swept over his face and he snarled at Gabriel. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing! I but asked the lady for a kiss and she accepted.’

  ‘One kiss does not make a lady weep.’ His hand curled around the dagger at his hip, his voice demonic. ‘I will ask you only one more time. What … did … you … do?’