The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘So you never believed we were Salisbury’s daughters?’

  ‘I found it difficult to accept that two girls, both loving and kind, could be in any way spawned from that vicious, uncaring family.’ He twisted a lock of my hair around his finger. ‘Looking at you now, it seems so very obvious.’

  The breeze through the garden was warm and inviting, and spoke of long summer days ready to make way for autumn. The purple berries of the elder gave a hint, a sense that they would soon ripen, heralding the change in season. Simon led me to a bench hidden behind a thick hedge and we sat comfortably together.

  ‘Tell me, does Gillet know?’ I asked.

  ‘I suspect he must know something of your past, considering he was within the confidence of Mary St Pol.’

  I reflected on this for a moment, my mind turning with countless possibilities, the lies and the deceit. ‘It is amusing when you think on it that Gillet, who claims to be a knight, lowers himself to marry a maid, when in fact he could have married royalty. Yet my sister, much enamoured by him, felt she was beneath his class.’

  ‘Yes, there are many things that I feel he should discuss with both you and me.’

  ‘I agree,’ I replied absentmindedly, still pondering the many facets of a man such as Gillet. ‘Mayhap we should seek him out and share today’s revelations.’

  ‘I have searched but, alas, he cannot be found.’

  ‘Has he left?’ I cried, rising to my feet.

  ‘No. His horse remains stabled. I have a sneaking suspicion that he did not go to his marital bed last night and as a result Anaïs is ransacking the house. I’ll wager she can’t wait to lay her hands on him!’

  ‘Literally, I imagine,’ I replied, without thinking.

  He laughed, rocking backwards and forwards, completely taken by mirth. ‘Lady Catherine! I am surprised at you!’

  ‘I did not mean it like that!’ I could feel the heat building in my cheeks and turned my back upon him. ‘Why is it that you suggest the most lewd meanings for the simplest of statements?’

  ‘Why is it that you are so naïve?’

  ‘I think your question quite ridiculous,’ I huffed as I marched away the house, his laughter chasing me on the breeze.

  I walked to the stables and searched the many outbuildings, but I could not locate Gillet. I returned to the house where Anaïs’ bitter recriminations could be heard rolling out her door and into the very core of the manor. By supper time I had given up hope of finding Gillet and returned to my room, determined to write to you.

  Lady Matilda has kindly agreed to meet with me on the morrow, after the noon meal, so I am more than content as I compose this reply.

  So, my dearest, much has been revealed. What do you think, Lady Cecily Holland? So much in a name, is there not? Comte d’Armagnac did you great service when he broke your troth to the Duke, and though your love is now placed squarely at the feet of a weary knight, one wonders at the turmoil that may have been caused when a Valois Prince discovered his bride was of Plantagenet blood. Many wives have suffered greatly for a lesser offence. I think God intended that we be found. Is it that fate always takes the upper hand so that truth will find its way?

  8 September

  I cannot continue this letter to you, dearest sister, without first begging your forgiveness. For such a grievous act of betrayal have I committed against you that I would not be surprised if you felt it impossible to grant me favour at this time. For how could you, with my last letter surely breaking your heart? Please appreciate that I was acting in your best interest and, had Gillet and Simon been honest with me, this pain and anguish would not have been necessary. But of course I must explain, for you will no doubt be much confused.

  This morning, on my way to break my fast, I overheard the maids discussing that Gillet had been in the chapel all night and, sure enough, as I entered through the large oak doors, I saw your courier, kneeling in prayer. I cautiously joined him but he sighed and sat back on the pew.

  His voice was steady, yet his face reflected a new weariness that I had not previously seen. ‘I have kept a vigil for the Blessed Virgin and prayed for her guidance. Forgive me, but I cannot go through with this. Please understand I want nothing more than to see you safe, Catherine, but Céci … Céci is of my heart.’

  Abandoning any further thoughts of religious reflection, I sat on the seat next to him. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I thought your affection lay with your wife.’

  For a moment he stared at me, then clearing his throat he reached for my hand. ‘I have a confession to make. I have committed a deed both hurtful and shameful, the guilt of which weighs heavy upon my conscience.’

  My chest constricted. What was he to reveal? What could be worse than his marriage to Anaïs?

  ‘I must tell you something of an intrigue, a ruse so despicable that I would not have been able to commit it had it not been done simply out of love, for both yourself and your sister.’

  I looked down at my hand, so small and insignificant when held inside his. His thumb rubbed gently over mine, an act of affection? Or one to calm me, to prepare for the brewing storm?

  ‘My marriage, yesterday, to Anaïs was a sham.’ The squeeze to my hand was not reassuring.

  ‘Sham? What does that mean?’ I asked.

  ‘I did not really marry Anaïs. It was a trick, a play, to convince her that she was my wife. But this is not so. I have come to realise that no matter the cost, I love your sister. I cannot maintain this charade.’

  ‘What?’ I gasped, quickly rising to my feet.

  ‘Please do not be angry, Catherine. Simon deduced that it would be the only way to keep both you and Céci safe.’

  ‘Lord Wexford,’ I whispered, not at all surprised at his involvement in such an act. ‘How can this be? I saw you. I heard you.’

  ‘The vows were real enough for a man and woman pledging to marry some time in the future, but not on the day.’ Simon had silently entered the chapel and was now standing only inches behind me.

  ‘This cannot be right, please God, this cannot be right.’ My raised voice swirled around the empty chapel, my rage within building.

  ‘Catherine, you need to calm yourself,’ instructed Lord Wexford.

  Pulling my hand from Gillet’s I stumbled towards the altar and directed my temper at Lord Wexford. ‘How could you commit such an … an … evil act?’

  ‘You are overwrought.’

  ‘How could you do this without telling me?’

  Simon stepped towards me, his gentle urgings somewhat conciliatory. ‘I will explain.’

  ‘What? That you are relying on a few misplaced words to absolve Gillet from a promise he made in the eyes of God. Why could you not have been honest with me?’

  ‘Honest? How dare you! Since we are each on trial, perhaps you might like to confess your own sin?’

  ‘I am sure I do not know what you mean!’

  ‘I am referring to a letter, handed to my brother.’

  Turning my back on Lord Wexford, I watched as Gillet’s gaze flew to me.

  ‘Gillet, I … I believed Anaïs to be your wife.’

  ‘Yes, but only you think that is so,’ he said.

  ‘She and Cécile,’ clarified Simon as he moved to stand beside Gillet. ‘Is that not to whom you sent your secret correspondence last night?’

  ‘What? What are you saying?’ Gillet paled, as though suddenly doused with ice water. ‘Cécile knows?’ Gillet slapped his forehead. ‘ Christ Almighty!’ He paced the aisle uttering a string of French expletives but, catching sight of the altar, quickly crossed himself.

  ‘I did not want her to be hurt,’ I cried, wringing my hands. ‘I tried to tell you yesterday, but you wouldn’t listen. Why did you not share the truth with me then?’

  ‘That was my decision,’ replied Simon. ‘Had you known of the plan you might have given us away. You said yourself that you found it very difficult to lie?’

  What could I say? This was true, I could not deliberate
ly mislead another, but surely this was not a fault in my character? I kneeled heavily on the altar steps, mutely begging the Lord to fix the terrible mistake I had made.

  ‘You see, I needed you to be Anaïs’ witness,’ explained Simon, ‘for your disappointment, your indignation, was extremely convincing and completely spontaneous. For this reason alone we could not tell you.’

  ‘So you used me as a pawn in the game of marriage?’

  ‘Well, not use you, per se, but your emotional response. But now you have risked it all. Why could you not have waited?’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Tears sprang to my eyes.

  ‘Sorry? Sorry? Is that all you have to offer?’

  ‘You tricked me, misled me. How was I to know?’

  ‘Sometimes it is necessary. Your immaturity and naïveté have prevented you from conceiving this.’

  ‘Enough!’ interrupted Gillet. ‘Cécile needs me. I am leaving.’

  ‘If you ride for France now, all that you have achieved thus far will be for naught,’ stated Simon.

  ‘She means more to me than this.’ Gillet turned to me, his face softening. ‘Catherine was right all along. ’Tis better I stand beside Cécile.’

  ‘You are risking your life and ours.’

  Ignoring Lord Wexford’s comment, I went to Gillet and laid my hand upon his arm. ‘Go to her, Gillet. She may be angry at first but she has great forgiveness. And I know she would much rather face any danger with you by her side than suffer this farce.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Simon. ‘Then you will be gratified to learn, lad, that you did not swear your love, or anything else for that matter, upon the Bible.’ Reaching into his doublet, he pulled out the small, battered book I had seen in the hands of the priest. ‘I took the liberty of replacing it with one written much further afield. A very precious volume of eastern philosophy, a gift, some years ago, from your father.’ Any anger that had remained between them now slid gently sideways as Simon embraced Gillet. ‘Go to her, my boy, and if she loves you in the way that you perceive, then she will understand.’

  Gillet nodded and turned to me. ‘Have your letter ready within the hour. I will ensure that your sister receives it prior to my arrival. No doubt she will accept your explanation far better than mine.’

  ‘Gillet, I am so sorry.’ My tears had slowed but my grief remained.

  ‘I understand, Catherine. You acted out of love. Now I must do the same.’ He bent and kissed my fingers and marched swiftly from the chapel, his destination as sure as his heart.

  ‘I surmise that you are somewhat angry.’

  ‘Yes, Simon, an emotion quite new to me.’

  ‘Good. I see that you finally have some colour in your cheeks. I had thought you incapable of feeling anything. I am pleased to see that I was wrong.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I gasped.

  ‘I was beginning to think that Lady Pembroke had succeeded in crushing the life out of you, but at last some fire, some spark, arises from within.’

  ‘How dare you! Lady Mary is kind and …’

  ‘Mary St Pol is a bully!’

  ‘If I were reprimanded, it was because I deserved to be,’ I sniffed.

  ‘You were imprisoned and abused!’ His sudden outburst of rage seemed unjustified and I instinctively took a step back. ‘I know what it is like at Denny Abbey. No more than a babe and forced to work, given little to eat and left for days in solitude, a hair shirt at the age of ten. You yourself confessed to her evil ways.’

  ‘Simon,’ I began, perplexed by his response and embarrassed that he knew so much of my past.

  ‘The walls are gone, Catherine, yet your heart remains as constricted as ever. Why? You are now free to express yourself in any way that you choose!’

  ‘It is the Devil who spits with an angry tongue!’

  ‘No, Catherine, it is the normal response of a woman betrayed.’

  ‘Lord Wexford, I find your behaviour appalling, and your flippant attitude towards the church and its sacraments beyond comprehension,’ I replied. ‘You used both me and my sister to your own ends! I do not feel that I will ever be able to forgive you. I intend to ask Lady Holland if I might make my home here, with her. I would like you to leave immediately.’

  He straightened, his height and bulk used to intimidating effect, but I refused to be swayed or frightened by him. I turned and walked away.

  Simon said nothing.

  So, my dearest, I had discharged my guardian and intended to approach Lady Matilda to request permission to remain at Broughton Manor. But once again I was out-manœuvred, for Lord Wexford has taken action to stop me. As I was about to finish this missive to you our aunt knocked upon my door and entered the room, indicating that I should remain seated.

  ‘Dear Catherine, Simon has just told me of the matters you discussed in the chapel.’ She reached for my quill and placed it upon the desk, seating herself at the same time.

  ‘Lady Matilda, how I wish to sit with you, but I must beg your leave. Gillet waits for me to finish this letter so that he may depart.’

  She dismissively brushed the air with her hand. ‘We have a little time. Gillet is attending to a loose shoe upon his horse,’ she said. ‘I am more concerned with your outburst this afternoon. You have hurt Simon. He is much distressed.’

  ‘Hurt him? Lord Wexford is the most mean-spirited man I have ever met! He goads me and encourages my temper to the point of …’

  ‘Catherine,’ she said calmly, as though the waves of the ocean would comply with her wishes. ‘I have known Simon for many years and though his exterior is roughened, his heart still bleeds.’

  ‘But he baits me, he deliberately tests my faith.’

  ‘Simon tells me that you have ordered him to leave.’

  ‘Yes, I was hoping to ask your permission to remain here, with you.’

  ‘Oh, my darling, how I would like that if only it were possible. But you forget, you are in the care and protection of Lord Wexford and must do as he directs.’

  ‘I have but exchanged one captor for another,’ I replied dejectedly.

  ‘No. In time you will see that Simon is much more than you presume.’ Her smile was genuine, though I felt that her emotions were possibly a little confused.

  ‘I cannot forgive his recent behaviour. ’Tis as though he is prepared to go to any length to protect me …’

  ‘He is, my dear, he is,’ Matilda interrupted. ‘When you lose something precious it tends to cloud your judgment.’

  ‘He has told me of his wife.’

  ‘Has he? I am most surprised, for he rarely speaks of Amina or Rassaq.’

  ‘Rassaq?’

  ‘His son. Time has done nothing to lessen his guilt.’ Under Matilda’s scrutiny I felt myself pale. ‘I can see that I have surprised you!’

  ‘Yes, I was unaware that Lord Wexford has a child.’

  ‘I do not know all the circumstances. Simon is a man who reveals little, but I can tell you this. I know that he was to return to England with Rassaq. The trip was delayed as Simon was called to duty. When he finally went back for the boy, it was too late.’

  ‘Too late?’ I gasped.

  ‘In his absence, the heathens murdered his wife and son. It broke Simon’s heart.’

  ‘Dear Lord!’ Though the room was warm, a cold chill had captured my soul.

  ‘It was many years before he returned to London, ravaged by guilt and sick with rage. He attended court but spent hours at dice, gambling his fortune away and drinking to excess. Gillet’s arrival was a saving grace, for both you and him. So you see, my dear, Lord Wexford will go to any lengths to protect you. He fears failure more than others fear death.’

  ‘It does not excuse his recent actions.’

  ‘Perhaps you are too quick to judge.’

  I could not answer, for I no longer know how I feel.

  ‘Finish your missive, dear, and race it down to Gillet,’ instructed Matilda. ‘Meanwhile, I shall inform Lord Wexford he is to remain.’

/>   So, my dearest, how I want to say more but there is no time. Anaïs, who has learned of Gillet’s impending departure, can be heard wailing long and hard and without prudence, from bell tower to basement. She is happy to tell all that they have yet to consummate their marriage, but this may prove to be a grave mistake on her part. It also appears that she is so deluded that she has no idea why he is leaving or where he is going. Let us hope her confusion is long enjoyed.

  Cécile, please be gentle with Gillet’s heart, for it has been stomped upon most fine by me.

  Your devoted sister, Catherine, Lady Holland.

  Completed in haste at Broughton Manor, England, The Feast of The Birth of the Blessed Virgin, 8 September 34 Edward III.

  Kneeling before the altar, Simon Marshall closed his eyes. Catherine’s anger had pierced the armour protecting his heart, the wound beneath as raw as the passion she had ignited within him.

  She was not as fiery as Amina. When angered, his wife would shake her fist and screech obscenities. She was as harsh as the landscape around her.

  Rassaq was different. The boy was neither boisterous nor demanding like the other children. He listened with an ear not usually found on the young. It was as though he understood the fear he inspired in his mother’s family, yet knew he was powerless to do anything about it.

  Begging God for forgiveness, Simon revisited the question he asked himself each night as he struggled to find sleep. Why had he not foreseen the treachery? He had trusted them, believed that Rassaq was safe, for surely Amina’s family would protect them both. His wife had assumed the same. It was an error in judgment that had cost them their lives.

  He shuddered as the haunting image reappeared.

  The area was abandoned, the tents gone and camel tracks wiped clean by the hot dry wind of the desert. Lowering the protective covering wrapped around his face, he’d squinted into the sun, searching for something familiar. Turning back towards a small mound of rocks, his breath caught in his throat, his heart momentarily stopped beating. A juniper bush, dislodged in the sandstorm, had tangled itself on a wooden marker. It was an inverted cross, set between two lonely graves, one much smaller than the other.