The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘Breathe deeply, Madame. And again.’ He changed sides and we repeated the process. With the second cup he followed the same procedure, then moved to my back and tapped precisely on each side. He resumed his seat, his expression thoughtful. ‘Good. You may lace up your wife’s gown now.’ Leaning forward, he confided to me, ‘I like to think such tasks teach a husband humility.’ I laughed outright as Tariq’s smile displayed beautifully kept teeth. ‘Men make exceptional maids, for who knows better the fastenings of woman’s clothing?’ Heat rose to my face as he tidied his cups away and reached for a piece of vellum, dipping his quill efficiently and making notes. ‘Do you experience these fits often?’

  ‘No.’

  He held his finger firmly to the underside of my wrist, counting between his questions. ‘Does the weather affect them?’

  ‘Not that I have noticed.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He sat back, crossing his legs, and tapped his short-bearded chin. ‘I want you both to think carefully now. Here, Gillet, come, come, sit down, my boy.’ He indicated the stool. ‘Your own Christian physicians would immediately suggest phlebotomy.’

  Gillet paled, rising at once. ‘No, I will not permit it!’

  Tariq smiled. ‘Come, sit, sit. Then it is just as well I do not advocate it. I know of only a few circumstances when it is necessary, otherwise I find it a cruel and much overused practice.’

  ‘Phelbot … what?’ For a moment, they both regarded me with surprise, as though they had forgotten my existence.

  ‘Phlebotomy,’ said Gillet. ‘Blood-letting with leeches, only in your case it is hoped they would be sucking phlegm instead of blood.’

  I recoiled in horror at the thought of dozens of leeches hanging from my breasts, but Tariq shook his head adamantly.

  ‘And they call us the barbarians! Your physicians still think the body has several separate circulatory systems. We do not believe that to be the case. If so, then why does a man, drained of too much blood at the leg, find that his lips go blue? No, we had a very learned master, a man called Moses Ben Maimon, who resided in the court of King Saladin during the early crusades. It would seem that you keep good company, Lady de Bellegarde, for Maimondes, as we refer to him, attended the King’s son, Prince Al-Afdal, who also suffered this mysterious malady. Maimondes had a theory – several, in fact. His work is based on the six external factors that affect basic human health, those being,’ he counted off his fingers, ‘air, food and drink is one, movement and rest, emotions, sleeping and waking, excretion and retention, and sexual intercourse.’

  I blushed rose-red and Gillet coughed abruptly.

  Tariq’s mouth twitched but he politely ignored our sudden discomfort. ‘Maimondes made an interesting connection which, unfortunately, your Christian physicians refuse to acknowledge. Now, I want you both to think hard upon this. The times you had these attacks, which are known as “laboured breathing,” were you, at any of them, upset?’

  Gillet looked astounded. ‘Oui.’

  ‘Very upset?’

  ‘Yes, very distressed,’ I agreed.

  ‘Ah, distressed,’ he said, tugging at his beard. ‘Yes, yes, even better, even better. Anxious, too, mayhap?’ We both nodded in agreement. ‘Good, good. You see, one of the six elements Maimondes named was emotion, and he found a connection from the brain,’ he pointed to his little hat, ‘to the lungs.’ He indicated from his head, down his robe, to his thorax. ‘He called it a “defluxion that descends from the brain at certain times,” and it is highly likely that the unkind circumstances in which you found yourself caused your brain to alert the lungs, and voila! You become laboured in your breathing due to anxiety.’

  Gillet gaped, his mouth opening and closing several times, until he finally found his voice. ‘So, anguish is the cause?’

  ‘Yes, my boy, quite so, but there are still some points that need addressing. The seasons will without doubt affect this condition, which, by the way, Maimondes refers to as asthma, a Greek word that means laboured breathing. You will need to nurse it and should it attack in full force, then yes, you must heed it urgently, but for now I would think your wife’s sickness is brought about by distressing situations and nothing more. There is the question of how it began, for it usually follows a deep infection of the lungs.’

  Gillet coughed nervously. ‘Cécile has borne some unfortunate experiences this twelvemonth, one of which was almost drowning in the River Seine. She suffered a brain fever and was unconscious for three days.’

  Tariq nodded encouragingly. ‘Aah, that would definitely establish from whence the asthma has sprung. In that case, allow me to check your wife’s heart rhythms. No need to disrobe for this one,’ he added, winking at me. He rummaged in his bag and brought forth a different kind of cup, wider at the base but longer in the tube.

  Gillet began to thank him. ‘It was kind of you to see us with such little notice.’

  Tariq counted the beats, ‘One, two, three, I have been invited to the court of King Edward but currently his household is being transported to the Isle of Sheppey. In the interim I await a summons from his son, the Prince of Wales.’ I felt my heart race immediately. Tariq frowned and put down his cup. ‘Do you often experience these palpitations?’

  Panicking, I looked to Gillet and his face was taut as he rubbed his chin. ‘I have been thinking, Cécile, that we should be completely honest.’

  Tariq leaned back in his chair, his quiet contemplation resting on each of us in turn. ‘Is something I said of particular concern?’

  Gillet inhaled deeply. ‘Cécile is not my wife …’

  Tariq held up his hand, interrupting. ‘My dear boy, I guessed as much but it is of no concern to me.’

  ‘She is also with child. I did not know whether this was relevant to her breathing condition.’ Gillet was out of his chair now, pacing the room. ‘She was held against her will by the Black Prince earlier this year and her favours extorted.’ He paused by the window casement, staring beyond, his countenance stony. ‘Her efforts to escape ended with her near drowning.’

  Tariq exuded a long, slow sigh. ‘That would certainly explain your tremor.’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘Being of royal blood should not give licence to rape. Are there any other lasting effects?’

  Gillet’s hands alighted on my shoulders and gripped them gently. ‘Bad dreams that disturb her sleep.’ He smiled dryly at my gasp. ‘You do not always wake, Cécile, but sometimes you scream out in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Ah, yes, quite understandable,’ said Tariq. ‘Well, let us discuss remedies. For the asthma, I prescribe some ephedra, lungwort and lovage. Thyme and ivy may be substituted, should the former become difficult to obtain. Burn some leaves of coltsfoot and breathe the smoke during an attack. Cress may be used in the same manner. You can also place your whole face over a bowl of steaming water infused with lavender, and inhale deeply for as long as possible. Maintain a healthful diet, obtain fresh air, sustain moderate exercise and remain warm in winter.’ His probing gaze rested on Gillet. ‘For the nightmares, I prescribe a mild sedative of spurge or a relaxant of coriander and lemon balm, and sooth the skin before sleep with oil of lavender. But the best cure of all will be time and love.’

  Gillet seated himself, awkwardly clearing his throat. ‘Speaking of love, some are of the conviction that total abstinence is necessary for a woman with child. As a matter of interest, what principal do you hold?’

  My cheeks grew pink at Gillet’s question, but Tariq smiled openly and nodded. ‘In my opinion the Christian religion has many outlandish beliefs but far be it for me to ridicule them. My faith does not embrace such bizarre doctrines and our men are fortunate to never be denied their wives,’ he glanced at me, ‘the health of the mother always being of primary concern, of course. There is a theory regarding abstinence and asthma but as yet I have seen nothing to suggest that it is true. Rather, I would say it depends upon the well-being of the woman. If she is able to participate in such activities and is agreeable, then I see n
o reason why she should not. Overall happiness has a marked effect upon one’s health.’

  Gillet’s face started to glow as mine ripened to the colour of beets but our physician continued, unembarrassed, ‘I recommend abstinence only in the last month. Moderation is the key that will fit this lock.’ He smiled with compassion at me. ‘Do you know how long you have carried?’

  It was Gillet who answered. ‘Since before the first week in May.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I know exactly because I rescued her from the Seine the day before the peace treaty was signed in Bretigny.’

  ‘Hmm. If you have no objections, I should probably examine her. I should be able to feel the child within.’ Tariq rose to draw the curtains around his canopied bed and indicated I was to take my place. Gillet sat in the chair, brooding with discontent.

  This quaint physician rubbed his hands together to warm them before sliding them beneath my gown. Gently he prodded, manœuvring my stomach until I squirmed. His concentration deepened into a scowl.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Tariq remained without comment, and I was shown back to my seat. He sat at his table, writing, his silence unnerving. Finally, he deigned to speak. ‘Cécile, your baby has put himself into an awkward position. The child’s legs are wrapped near his head and this can make for a difficult time, should he not turn.’ I gasped in alarm and the blood drained from Gillet’s face. ‘I do not wish to frighten either of you unnecessarily, for he yet may right himself of his own accord, but I would feel lacking in my duty if I did not warn you of the complications should he not.’

  The physician sat in thought for a few moments, whilst I felt the rhythmic pounding on my ribs. ‘Gillet, two things are essential. Cécile will need plenty of rest, mayhap even complete confinement in the last stages. I gather that you have not yet reached your destination but must recommend that you do so without delay, and remain until the child is born. To be constantly travelling there would surely be only one consequence. She would lose the child and in doing so,’ he paused, ‘the chance is the mother would also be lost.’ Gillet’s pallor faded to the colour of chalk. ‘It is not my wish to scare you, only to warn you of the possibilities. If you heed my advice, then in all likelihood all will be well. The lady requires a copious amount of rest.’

  Gillet gulped, his voice husky. ‘You said two things. What is the second?’

  Tariq sat back and pulled on his beard. ‘I recommend that when you arrive at your destination you find a midwife, a reputable one. If the baby does not reposition himself, Cécile will need much assistance, for it could become a difficult birth.’

  I felt sickened, for Edward haunted me still.

  ‘Allah has chosen you to bear this child,’ said Tariq, patting my knee, ‘and I am sure He intends that you will do so safely. Put simply, good care is all that is required and prayer can provide faith. Do either of you have any questions?’ Both Gillet and I shook our heads numbly. ‘Excellent, then we are done.’

  ‘One last thing, Tariq,’ said Gillet. ‘You declare that you await a summons from the Black Prince. It is vital that he does not learn the whereabouts of this woman.’

  ‘Have no fear on that account, my boy. We physicians are held to an oath.’ A warm and genuine smile assured us of this man’s trustworthiness and he bowed reverently. ‘I wish you well. Go in peace, and may the grace of Allah be with you both.’

  We rode back to the Port Royal Inn in silence, each submerged in our own thoughts. We found Armand within the room and at least his news was better. Guiraud had discovered a suitable boat was docked. Both Armand and Gillet were to meet him, to secure the arrangements of our passage. He had also met with Bertrand, our courier. With a satisfied smile Armand handed me your latest letter.

  I tore open the seal and watched mystified as the men began to pack some clothing into a bag. ‘Gillet?’

  He smiled amiably, fastening the strap. ‘We shall see to the loading of the horses. Armand will stay the night aboard but both of us stink to high heaven and wish to visit the local baths.’

  But the plans changed as soon as I revealed the news in your latest correspondence. Our shock subsiding, the men planned their strategies.

  ‘It could work in your favour to get an inn closer to the boat, anyway,’ said Armand.

  ‘Right,’ said Gillet. ‘If Moleyns believes we are still here at the Port Royal, it may just give us the time we need to slip away. We were at the Oar and Anchor this morning. I’m sure they had some rooms available.’

  We gathered our belongings and within the hour had re-located to the dockside inn. Gillet booked two chambers and ordered a bath to be brought to my room.

  He pressed his lips to my forehead. ‘Enjoy your soak, Cherub, and then rest. Armand and I will see to the loading of our luggage and the horses. I shall not be long. Do not open your door to anyone.’ His face looked strained. I knew he was still mulling over the words from the physician.

  So now I sit in a different room, waiting as the maids fill my tub. I will finish this letter before we depart tomorrow. I am so sorry, Catherine, that you have had such a terrible time. Please do not take too much to heart. You did what you had to do.

  In relation to the family news, I admit I can feel nothing. Exonerate me, Catherine, make allowances, for I am not as gracious as you. I have grown with a family that provided me with much love and comfort but I appreciate that you need this bond far more than I. Take it, with my blessing, but please do not forget me. As for Joan, I am sorry but I cannot forgive a woman who abandons her child of her own free will. You say it was done for our protection, but I ask you, who protects us now? And from whom?

  You must know that I take the news of their association with the Prince of Wales very ill. Would Joan have an order created for me if I were to display the intimacy I have shared with the Black Prince? I cannot wear it upon my leg like a garter. Instead, it grows within my womb.

  As to Joan’s love of France and choosing our colours to be displayed so royally by the English, I find this despicable.

  She did not love France well enough to search for me. I despise them for supporting King Edward’s bid. An English king claiming rights to the French throne through the female line is abhorrent, but not as much as his son raping its population.

  You speak of my having strength to face our parents, to tell them of this baby and of Gillet. I will tell them gladly and need no strength to do it. I will tell them how I am cursed with an illness and can only offer a husband a body already used.

  I will tell them proudly of the man who saved me, saved my life and salvaged my soul, and who has my love for eternity. I will need no strength, for I carry anger. For all the betrayals I have felt this year, that of our parents was the worst.

  I may have been spawned from the loins of an English lion but my heart is forever loyal to the lilies of France.

  Written by Cécile d’Armagnac, the Oar and Anchor , Calais, 18 September 10 Jean II.

  18 September 1360

  The kitchen servants removed the tub as Cécile d’Armagnac tied the laces to her blue velvet gown. It had not escaped her attention that she and Gillet were to spend the night in adjoining rooms, unchaperoned. She sat down to wait.

  When Gillet returned to the Oar and Anchor, she noticed immediately that his pale and brooding countenance had not improved. They sat in his chamber to eat and Gillet selected a small knob of cheese from the plate. He began to cube it. Then he quartered the pieces without taking a bite, but when he began to halve again, Cécile reached out to stay his knife.

  ‘Do you plan on providing platters to a fleas’ banquet? What ails you, Milord? Did all not go well at the boat?’ She had not expected his answer to be delivered with such brutal honesty.

  ‘We are in readiness for our departure, but ’tis you who ails me.’ His observance of the mashed cheese remained steadfast, lines of worry etched into his face. Alarum bells began to sound in Cécile’s head.

  ‘Milord?’

  He pushed
back his stool and kneeled at her side, winding his arms around her waist. He lowered his head into her lap with a deep shuddering breath.

  ‘Gillet? You are scaring me.’

  ‘Cécile, I am sworn to protect you but when I heard the physician’s words today, never have I felt so helpless. How can I protect a woman from the birth of her own babe?’

  Soothingly she combed the long, damp locks, fresh from his visit to the soldiers’ bath house. ‘I will not allow a child spawned by Edward to separate us now.’

  He shifted uneasily and tightened his hold.

  ‘Gillet,’ whispered Cécile, with sudden insight, ‘have you known someone who died in childbirth?’

  His eyes lifted slowly, an intense pain swirling in the ebony depths. ‘Yes. Well, no, not exactly.’

  Cécile’s fingers, entwined in his black tendrils, stilled. ‘What do you mean not exactly?’

  He buried his head, his heavy sigh heating the skin beneath her skirt. ‘My mother died a few months after I was born.’

  ‘Oh, Lord! For what reason was she lost?’ Cécile felt the tremor that passed through him.

  ‘Mea culpa,’ replied Gillet harshly, ‘she never recovered from my birth.’

  Seeking to ease a pain he obviously had been made to bear, she gently smoothed the hair from his brow. ‘You will not lose me, Gillet. Not that way.’ They sat for a long moment, Cécile’s thoughts with a family of whom she knew nothing, at a time when she had not even existed. Of such hardships she had heard before, where the curse was passed to the child. Cécile tried in vain to lift Gillet’s head. ‘Does your family blame you for this?’

  His hands tightened around her waist. Cécile’s heart bled anew for the innocence of a young boy made to suffer for the inconvenience of his existence.

  At length, he raised his head, his voice constricted. ‘My father hated me for the loss of his wife. The shame of it is, here and now, I begin to understand what he must have felt. But at least the child was his.’