The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘Oh, come on,’ she encouraged, but when he failed to respond, she took the treasured circlet and shoved it, unceremoniously, onto her left hand.

  ‘Ha! It is done! I am your wife.’

  The sun crawled away to hide behind a cloud and the sky darkened. I was sure that the gates of Hell were about to open and swallow my soul, so evil were my thoughts. Simon’s arm found its way around my shoulders and he drew me against him, his sturdy frame supporting my weight.

  ‘Catherine?’ His voice was filled with concern.

  ‘What do I care if she faints? Leave the stupid bitch here,’ Anaïs sneered. I clenched my eyes tight. Lord, forgive me, for the first time I knew hate.

  Simon assisted me to the front pew but I cannot recall the sermon, nor the reading, only the triumphant smirk of my maid, standing at the altar awaiting her blessing.

  ‘I bestow upon you the kiss of peace,’ said the priest. He bent and brushed his lips against Gillet’s mouth. ‘You may now pass on this blessing.’ Gillet looked at Anaïs and, turning a pale shade of grey, stepped backwards. But Anaïs was having none of this and reached forward, forcing him into an embrace. She opened her mouth to kiss him but Gillet quickly turned, his chin colliding with her lips.

  ‘Come now, husband, no need to be shy,’ she giggled.

  ‘We stand in the house of the Lord, not a den of iniquity!’ he glowered.

  ‘Fine time for you to show moral restraint! After all, ’tis due to your lack thereof that we are here.’ She patted the round protrusion of her growing child.

  He stepped back further, unable to mask his disgust. ‘You have what you wanted, Anaïs. Leave me with my dignity!’ He spun on his heel and marched out. Anaïs caught my eye and, thrusting her shoulders back, strode after him.

  Simon and I remained alone within the chapel, yet I was unable to pray. Passing me his kerchief he laid the barley wreath upon the pew as I wiped my cheeks.

  ‘I do not understand Gillet’s fascination for Anaïs’ headpiece,’ I whispered, staring at the curled leaves.

  Simon did not respond. Perhaps he, too, was considering Gillet’s strange behaviour.

  ‘I wish to return to my room and seek solace.’ Rising to my feet, I made to leave. It was imperative that you be told all that had occurred.

  ‘I assure you, Catherine, this will all seem very different tomorrow.’

  ‘I doubt that, Simon, I really do,’ I declared before departing.

  Passing the stables, I suddenly struck upon a plan. Hearing the throaty laugh of Roderick, I quickly darted behind a long hedge and made my way into the back room. My guardian’s brother readily agreed to provide a courier to dispatch my letter to you. He was not interested in my reasons, but must have been aware of my recent distress. A simple lift of his brow said it all and he arranged to collect the correspondence from me later that evening. I hurriedly made my way back to finish it. As I skirted below the large kitchen windows I saw Gillet standing alone against the northwest garden fence. Even though it was dark and he was turned from me, I could sense a melancholy about him. His gaze remained fixed upon a star in the sky. I did not want him to see me, for I knew he would instantly assume that I was not acting as I should. But there did not appear to be any risk of this, so preoccupied was he that, even when the stones crunched beneath my feet, he did not turn in my direction.

  My darling, he married Anaïs, but I am sure, as he gazed at the heavens, thoughts of you consumed him.

  Roderick’s courier will see this on its way and you will have this very sorry missive. I wish I could have done more, begged more heartily or pleaded more convincingly. All I can promise you is this, though this letter may not clearly indicate my objections, I did voice them to Gillet and Simon with all my heart and soul.

  Your dedicated sister, Catherine.

  Written from Broughton Manor, 6 September, two days before the Feast of The Birth of the Blessed Virgin, 34 Edward III.

  His room was unbearably hot. Pushing open the window, Simon drank in the cool night air, but it was not enough to douse his own fire of guilt. Had he done the right thing? Deceit was a wicked man’s armour and each lie uttered only sharpened the sword.

  A movement in the bushes below caught his eye and he instantly withdrew behind the curtain. His eyebrows arched as a hooded figure slipped into the stable. It was not long before a horse galloped off. The woman quickly retraced her steps, creeping behind the neatly clipped hedge. Perplexed, he watched her until she slipped out of view, presumably through the kitchen door.

  Kicking off his boots, Simon threw himself across the bed and frowned, realisation dawning. Once again he had underestimated Catherine. Without doubt a courier had just been dispatched to France. Would the sisters be able to forgive him?

  To my righteous sister, Catherine Pembroke, be this letter delivered.

  Dearest sister, I have begun this next letter immediately, for writing to you helps keep my mind occupied. Gillet departed this morning and soon Armand and I will leave for Madame Duvall’s. I look forward to seeing her plump, cheery face!

  Gillet bade me a final farewell and left with my letter to you. Perhaps the time apart will allow me to think upon a way to tell him about Edward’s child. Now that I have written of it, somehow it seems more real.

  I have arrived at Madame Duvall’s and once more take up my quill. Having been told not to expect too much, I was surprised when Armand and I rode a short distance from the town walls and turned into a delightful avenue of huge oak and ash trees, trimmed with rambling berry bushes.

  Armand flashed his incorrigible smile, all cheek and humour. ‘It is quite secluded and though the house is in need of some repair, I think you will find it enchanting.’

  I spurred Ruby to a trot. Armand responded likewise on Panache and his beast strutted with its head held high. Feeling as though we were children again, I kicked Ruby and she spirited forward.

  ‘Cécile, non!’

  Armand flew past, wheeling Panache around to block me and I was left with no alternative but to pull up short, Ruby snorting ungraciously.

  ‘No, Cécile,’ he repeated, looking almost angry.

  ‘Cousin, you are becoming stuffy!’

  His quick grin assured me that his temper, at least, was stable. ‘It is not that, Céci.’ He settled his steed to walk at my side. ‘It is just, bien …’

  ‘Armand-Amanieu d’Albret,’ I cried reproachfully, ‘we used to do this all the time.’

  His voice was sullen and he frowned. ‘Oui, but some things have changed, chérie.’

  I tugged Ruby to a halt. ‘And just what has changed?’

  Holding his mount in check, he stared at an overhanging tree as though hoping to find the right words suspended from its branches. ‘Céci, it was fine when it was but the two of us. I would watch out for you, and you would do whatever silly notion came into your head. But now …’

  I sat frozen, quaking inside that my cousin had stumbled upon a truth I had done all to keep hidden. ‘But now, what?’

  ‘Zut! It is no longer only you and me, is it? The time has come when we must make allowances for the needs of another.’

  I gripped the reins desperately. ‘Merciful God, Armand! What are you saying?’

  ‘Gillet, sweetheart. Unless I misread that charming farewell this morning.’ My heart slowed its frantic pace and we nudged our horses into a sedate walk. ‘Gillet made me promise that I would have you obey me in his absence, and that I must not abide any foolishness.’ With charisma that would have made a nun weep, he smirked cheekily. ‘He wants you safe and well for his return. He left you in my care. It is not only for me that I protect you now so I shall take no chances. Do you understand? Galloping away like that …’ His words dwindled, but his purpose possessed a new strength. It was an older, more mature Armand who turned to me with a heart-melting smile. ‘I have to protect you and me!’ His eyes rolled in an exaggerated fashion and I knew he was imagining Gillet in a rage. ‘For the sake of us both, I
must learn when to say “no” to you. Still friends, oui?’ His sidelong glance was filled with old affection.

  ‘Of course,’ I relented, touched at his concern, ‘always cher cœur. You know that.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, pointing. Maison de les Fleurs had come into view.

  The manor house was respectable in size and draped in dense ivy which almost hid its deteriorating condition, the peeling paint competing with the cracked daub. If not for this, it would be a most pretty sight. Shuttered casements were scattered over three floors and though fireplaces were numerous, smoke drifted from only one chimney. I saw gardens aplenty that were plenty overgrown! Large sprawling bushes, rambling vines and a veritable carpet of weeds covered the rolling patches of lawn. But even with its unkempt appearance, or mayhap because of it, I loved it immediately. It was wild and untamed.

  As Armand and I arrived at the portly entrance, he chortled saucily. ‘Here comes one of the two flowers now.’ Madame Rosetta Duvall burst through the doorway, barely waiting for Armand to dismount before she bestowed a smacking kiss to each of his cheeks. I laughed heartily, for I could remember our childhood when Maman would do exactly the same. Back then, a much younger Armand would be like a captured cat, all arms and legs, trying to escape. But now he returned his affection enthusiastically. He was right. Some things had changed.

  With an arm tucked around each of us, Madame Duvall guided us inside and the first thing I noticed was the way it smelled, fresh and lively, though the furnishings and fittings belied a very different picture. Not that they were unsightly. I would say … beloved. A coat of paint would not go astray and there were numerous cracks to be repaired and shutters to re-hang, but for all that the house had a wonderful charm. Even with its worn, dilapidated appearance it appealed to me and for the first time since leaving Larressingle I felt the aura of a home.

  Madame Duvall led us towards the kitchen at the rear of the manor and we sat at a large, well-scrubbed table. She disappeared into the pantry and returned, laden with goblets and a generous jug of perry as her sister glided in to the room. The resemblance was startling, except that this replica was significantly thinner, her manner immaculate as she removed a pair of expensive kid gloves.

  Madame Duvall smiled jovially. ‘This is my sister, Violetta, and since we are upon the subject of names, please, no more “Madame Duvall.” Call me Rosetta.’

  Violetta laid her gloves upon the table. ‘You can always tell a true lady by the state of her hands. Let me see yours, dear.’

  I held them out, blushing as she tutted sadly. She turned them over and shook her head. ‘Oh my goodness!’ Hers, by comparison, were soft, white and delicate.

  I could do nothing to hide the hardened pads of skin, a legacy from long days in the saddle, for I had not always worn my gloves. She tutted again at my unsightly nails, chipped from my labours on Ruby’s hooves. Armand watched with a great deal of amusement.

  ‘Oh, non, non, non. This will never do,’ she expostulated. ‘We shall certainly have to do something with these while you are here.’

  ‘Do you think to make a lady of Cécile during her stay, Dame Violetta?’ said Armand, his grin growing wider.

  She gaped as if he had just stated that the Pope had taken a wife. ‘Of course, my boy. Can you think of a better way for your cousin to spend her time with us?’

  I buried my hands in my lap and frowned at Armand as Violetta sighed wistfully. ‘I was once presented to the Duchesse de Valois, during the reign of our dear King Philippe. I will show you how to curtsey before royalty, my dear, with such elegance that you will catch the eye of everyone at court. I know. I did it!’ Her eyes took on a faraway glaze as Madame Rosetta placed four cups of perry on the table.

  ‘She did,’ declared the more robust sister, earnestly nodding her corroboration, ‘and would be delighted to teach you, child, if you so wish.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘But I have no need to know. Court is the last place I desire to be.’

  Violetta’s head flew up, startled like a tiny bird who had just landed in the wrong nest. ‘No wish to go to court? Oh, non, non, non. That will never do! You must attend, for where else will you meet a handsome young man to wed? Oh, non, non, non. We shall make you such a lady that knights will be drawing swords for the honour of your company.’

  Armand smiled beguilingly. ‘I think what Cécile really meant, Madame, is that she has no need to attend court for the purpose of wooing. I believe her heart has already been successfully captured.’ He exchanged a glance of conspiracy with Madame Rosetta.

  ‘Well, that is lovely, dear,’ said Violetta, sniffing back her disappointment, ‘but I shall show you the curtsey nevertheless. And we do need to repair those hands.’

  ‘You may achieve a measure of success with your lotions in the two weeks or so that Céci will be here,’ chuckled Armand, ‘but I wish you well if you think to turn her into a lady in such a short time. She has had years of practice to the contrary. Besides,’ he added, winking at me, ‘I believe the man who has her heart likes her just as she is. Eh, Lady Sprite?’

  Supper was a light-hearted affair, with Armand telling anecdotes that had both ladies giggling into their cups, and at times squealing and blushing like young maidens. As he began a recital that I knew backwards, I excused myself and slipped outside to find a place of shadowed seclusion. There I searched the night sky for the brightest star.

  5 September

  Between noon and the hour of one the thudding of hooves announced Gabriel’s arrival and thus my cousin’s departure. With him were the eight men-at-arms who had accompanied us from Compiègne. My heart fell. As Armand bade farewell to the Mesdames, Panache saddled and waiting foreby, Gabriel dismounted and sauntered over to me, his blue eyes shining with mischief.

  ‘Care to make good on my compensation yet?’

  ‘Gabriel, I …’

  ‘I tease you, Lady,’ he chuckled. ‘Gillet is a lucky man. Take care, Cécile, and should you find yourself with a change of heart,’ he winked in Armand’s direction, ‘I am sure your cousin would inform you of my whereabouts. ’Twould be my pleasure to continue that which almost began.’ He grinned and flew into his saddle, almost as expertly as Gillet. Almost.

  Armand approached and I fell into his arms, blinking away the tears.

  ‘I shall miss you, Céc. It has been my honour to be at your side these last few weeks.’ He drew back, staring into my eyes, one finger lightly scoring down my cheek. ‘If you become sad, think of the happy times, and if that does not work … think of me.’

  He was turning my own well-worn parting words from our youth back upon me. I swallowed heavily. ‘Thank you for being here for me, Armand.’

  ‘Sweetheart, where else would I be? Gillet is a good man. You have made a sound choice. And far more enjoyable than a convent, I would think.’

  ‘Armand-Amanieu d’Albret,’ I admonished, wiping my eyes, ‘you are incorrigible and I love you for it.’

  His eyes misted over. ‘And I love you, cousin. Never change, chérie, and do not dwell upon things that cannot be changed. Gillet shall soon return and if this ransom is slow to arrive, mayhap I will have time enough to ride back for a visit. The distance between Calais and Arras is not so far. I will bring Guiraud, for I am sure he would love to see you.’

  ‘Guiraud is in Calais?’ I drew back, surprised. ‘How long since I have seen your brother?’

  ‘I should say a long time, Céc, but he remembers you,’ he chucked me under the chin, ‘and who would not?’

  Armand had a plethora of brothers and sisters but with such a large family it was inevitable that he would lose some. His younger brother, Amanieu, died in 1347. At only six years of age he was in the first wave of victims of the terrible plague that raged through several countries. Armand was nine and staying with us for the Yule feasting. It had been a very sad time. Then, at age thirteen he lost his eldest brother, Bernard, at the Combat of the Thirty in Bretagne, defending the Castle of Josse
lin for Beaumanoir on behalf of Charles de Blois against the English. That was before the Albrets swore allegiance to Edward, the Prince of Wales. Beaumanoir emerged victorious but two of his best knights were killed in the battle, Bernard one of them. Eight others lost their lives in the prisoner exchange that followed and the only satisfaction gleaned was that Robert Bemborough, the commander for the English, had paid with his own life. It was the twenty-sixth day of March but the news took four days to reach us, arriving on the thirtieth, Armand’s day of birth. He, Jean le Bossu and I quietly crept away to the cellar, leaving our parents to talk amongst themselves in subdued whispers, our cousin’s special day forgotten in the wake of his brother’s death. It was the only time Armand had ever cried in my arms. But the loss of his younger brother, Jean, was to cut deeper still. Four years ago, at just sixteen, Jean d’Albret was newly appointed as squire at the Battle of Nouailles near Poitiers, and he had relished the chance to be fighting with his older brother. Armand was eighteen. On his next visit to Larressingle, Armand would not speak of Jean’s death, not even to me, but he had held me so tightly.

  Then he faced sorrow yet again with the death of his father two years ago, only to be closely followed, last year, with the loss of his brother, Gales, to fever. When his mother, Dame Martha, spread her wings to gather her little chicks into her loving embrace in these times of sadness, it was my arms that had held Armand in our cellar at Larressingle. I was his best friend in the whole world, if you didn’t count his elusive cousin, Ghillebert.

  He kissed me soundly, our special kiss, more intimate than that of siblings and less so than one of lovers, a kiss that was ours alone. Then he leaped into his saddle and he and Gabriel were gone, leaving me to fight my tears. An arm slid around my shoulders and with gentle persuasion Madame Rosetta led me inside to their homely kitchen, where a cup of perry awaited. My heart felt like it was breaking. To have given farewell to my two travel companions within such a short time was harder than I could ever have imagined.