The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “I need to examine her,” a no-nonsense voice stated, and Amandine turned her head to look at the Royal Healer.

  “You are safe, for now,” Brother Daniel said as he took the blanket from his lap and stood. “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he smiled at her with a gentle reassurance. Her eyes followed him as he left the chamber.

  “I suppose you need to relieve yourself. Do you need my help to stand?” The healer asked as soon as the door closed behind the monk. She didn’t bother with any pleasantries, like, how are you feeling? Are you in pain? Sorry about what happened to your hair, but it will grow back.

  Amandine breathed out unsteadily and looked at the healer King Philippe had ordered to attend her. Franseza was an odd choice for a Royal Healer. Firstly, she was a woman. Most of the women who had practised the art of healing had been rounded up after the death of King Arthur and tied to a pyre or strapped to the dunking chair, condemned by the Church as witches. Those that still practised the craft tended to keep their heads down to avoid detection. But not Franseza. She had more courage than most, but Amandine had never felt comfortable in her presence. Franseza always came across as judgemental, cold. She lacked compassion. Empathy. Healing was a job to her, nothing more and nothing less. It put meat on the table and kept a roof over her head.

  “I am sure I can manage,” Amandine stated, smiling weakly, hoping as ardently as a newborn baby would, that her smile would be returned.

  “With the state of your feet?” Franseza scoffed. “I very much doubt it.”

  No answering smile then, just mockery and scorn.

  “I haven’t got all day, do you need to relieve yourself or not?”

  “Have I offended you in some way?” Amandine asked cautiously. For Franseza’s voice was filled with animosity, much more so than usual.

  “Your lover murdered my brother,” Franseza threw the words at her, and her nostrils flared as she spoke. Her eyes were so filled with hatred and accusation that Amandine broke eye contact and looked down at her hands.

  Amandine should have known that Merton would be to blame. He always was.

  “He was a soldier, you see,” Franseza continued, her words spoken between clenched teeth. “He was so proud to wear the uniform of Brittany. He loved his country, so very much. He had just wanted to serve the King,” she explained as she swiped at her tears, for the pain was still fresh. “He wanted to make a name for himself and when Good King Philippe offered a chest full of gold to the man who killed Merton du Lac, he…” her voice faded away. “Don’t you dare think of defending him,” she warned Amandine, her voice as gritty as gravel.

  Amandine had learnt long ago to remain silent, but inside she raged. It was always Merton’s fault. It was never anyone else’s. It could not have possibly been Franseza’s brother’s fault. Franseza’s brother had the choice not to fight Merton, but he did it for money and honour. Merton hadn’t been given any choice. He had been made to fight by Philippe, and he died in the most dreadful of ways. Tortured, flayed alive and thrown into the dark to rot. Yet, no one was held accountable for his suffering. Instead, he was condemned. He had it coming. He deserved it.

  “If your brother had killed Merton then he would have been a hero,” Amandine said instead. “He would have been celebrated. A feast, no doubt, would have been ordered in his honour. You would have celebrated his success, and Merton’s death, with him.”

  “Yes, I most certainly would have,” Franseza returned, her eyes blazing in rage.

  “At least you can be comforted by Merton’s death,” Amandine stated.

  “I will be more comforted when you join your lover in Hell,” Franseza shot back with so much ill-will that Amandine felt her chest tighten in fright.

  “I think you should go,” Amandine said quietly, still looking at her hands. The Abbot had taught her the wisdom of silence. The old Amandine may well have defended the love that she had for Merton, but not now. No one cared. No one wanted to see things from her point of view. And no one wanted to be told that Merton had been more honourable than half the so-called knights in this castle.

  “I have been ordered by the King to attend you. So that is what I will do. I need to listen to your chest,” Franseza stated. And without any further words, she helped Amandine into a sitting position.

  Amandine was in no position to object. She tried not to flinch when the healer touched her, although the last thing she wanted was this woman’s hands on her. Amandine was surprised by how gently Franseza was when she examined her. But when she dared to look into her eyes, they were cold with hatred.

  “Your lungs sound clear, so that is a good thing. There must be someone up there looking after you, or maybe there is someone down there.” She looked down at the floor and then went back to her basket.

  “I am not in league with the Devil,” Amandine’s voice shook as she spoke. She wondered how long she was going to have to contend with these constant innuendos and taunts.

  “I saw your chastisement, as did everyone else, and I felt pleasure at it. I didn’t realise I would have to help heal your wounds afterwards.”

  There was so much malice, so much hate, in Franseza’s words that Amandine began to tremble. She wanted her gone from her room. But if she ordered her away, then Philippe may take that as an insult, and she could not risk such a thing. Philippe’s protection was the only thing that stopped her from being placed upon a pyre.

  “I have made a poultice for the wounds on your back. It will help with the healing. But in my opinion, ten lashes were nowhere near enough. And I want to have a look at your feet,” she whisked the fur off Amandine as she spoke and picked up Amandine’s foot, examining it in the light. “They have blistered, but I will soon clear that up, never you fear. The peasantry has to put up with such things all the time — there isn’t always the wood for a fire.” Franseza glanced up at Amandine as if this were her fault, and then looked away, in disgust. “But first, let’s get you out of bed so that you can see to your needs,” she spoke with scorn, and when the time came, Amandine found that she could not make her bladder cooperate. Franseza hissed and huffed, complaining that she was taking too long. In the end, Amandine gave up trying and climbed back into bed.

  Despite the glances filled with hatred, Franseza had been gentle, and she appeared mindful of Amandine’s wounds. She was very thorough in her care; she even went as far as tucking her back into bed. However, she tucked the fur in so tight that Amandine felt trapped, but she did not complain. She could loosen the fur when Franseza left.

  “For what it is worth, thank you. I am grateful to you and the King, for this kindness towards me,” Amandine said, hoping that if she appeared grateful and humble, then Franseza may soften towards her a little.

  “There is no need to thank me,” Franseza stated as she began to pack the tools of her trade back into a basket. “I am doing what I am paid to do. I will instruct the kitchen to make you up some more gruel. As you know, it is not the most appetising of dishes, but it is good at restoring strength. I suggest that you pray to God, or whoever it is you may pray to—”

  “Franseza, I am no Devil worshipper. Do you think Brother Daniel would be wasting his time with me—”

  “If your lungs do fill up then there isn’t an awful lot I can do for you,” Franseza stated. “And please, do not waste your breath trying to justify yourself to me. Once a demon lover always a demon lover, and we all know that Merton du Lac signed a pact with the Devil.”

  “Did he? He must have forgotten to mention that while he was taking me to Heaven,” Amandine had not meant to say that. That was something that the old Amandine may have said, but not now. Not when her life was dependent on her being weak and humble. She was not afraid to die. Most of the time she longed for it, but she didn’t want to die on a pyre or by an axe. Or worse still, lying on the floor of an unforgiving church.

  Franseza’s eyes grew wide at her apparent confession. “Then what they say about you is true, you really were his
whore.”

  Amandine raised her head and refused to lower her gaze. This was her chamber. She was the King’s ward. She didn’t have to listen to this.

  Franseza looked away and quickly began to gather up her belongings.

  “Don’t trouble yourself with coming back,” Amandine stated with bitterness. “I wouldn’t want you to feel Christian guilt for saving my life.”

  “Oh, fear not, I have no intention of coming back and waiting on you,” Franseza spat. She stormed out the chamber, slamming the door so hard that it rattled on the hinges.

  Amandine breathed out unsteadily. Her heart pounded inside her so rapidly that she thought it might break through her chest at any moment. She immediately kicked at the fur, trying to loosen it, and then instantly regretted doing so for the pain was unbearable.

  Was this going to be the way it was forever? Would she always be treated with such contempt because she so happened to be on the losing side?

  Brother Daniel came back into her room with a smile on his face and questions in his eyes.

  “She doesn’t like me,” Amandine stated with a small frown. “I told her not to come back.”

  “Did she harm you in any way?” Brother Daniel asked with concern.

  Amandine shook her head tiredly. “Only words,” she sighed. “Meaningless words. I took no interest in what she said,” Amandine lied, and she blinked back the tears.

  “Sometimes words are as wounding as a dagger. What did she say?”

  “Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Amandine held out her hand to the monk.

  Brother Daniel took it and sat back down in the chair that had been pulled up by her bed.

  “I want to thank you,” Amandine said, “for everything you did for me.”

  “I wish I could have done more, but I lacked the courage to stand up to the Abbot,” he sighed. “I am sorry. The Abbot’s treatment of you was totally—”

  “Justified,” Amandine said, interrupting him. She would have to appear penitent if she were going to have any future at all in Brittany. She wished she could get on a boat and leave, but where could she go? Alden wouldn’t want her in his kingdom. He would blame her for Merton’s death. And she didn’t know anyone else on the mainland. “I allowed myself to become a prisoner. Merton’s hold on me was one of immense power. His demonic influence was great indeed. I can see that now,” she spoke quietly and quickly, her head down and her hand trembling in his. It was best to get this over with. Let everyone think that the Abbot had cured her of her ridiculous obsession with a barbarian who everyone feared, but no one understood.

  “The Abbot has driven Merton from your heart,” Brother Daniel stated with a quiet shock. “I did not expect him to succeed. You seemed so devoted to him.”

  Amandine’s head snapped back up, and she looked at the monk. He was watching her with a quiet concern, and she knew then, that she couldn’t lie to him. Maybe she could lie to others, but not to him. “Could the Devil drive Jesus from yours?”

  Brother Daniel looked at her for a long moment as if he was trying to read her mind. “No,” he finally answered. “No, he could not.”

  “But if you were mistreated, tormented, beaten, would you denounce him?” Amandine asked, looking at him intently. “Would you pray that Jesus’ soul be thus condemned to Hell if you knew that such words would make the pain stop?”

  Brother Daniel’s eyes seemed to soften even further as he looked at her. “A man can be made to say many things, but it is in here,” he reached across her and placed his hand gently on top of her chest, where he could feel the beat of her heart, “where God looks.”

  “How do you know?” she whispered.

  “Because I do,” he answered with a grin. “You should never ask forgiveness for loving someone. Even if that someone happened to be a monster like Merton du Lac.”

  “He wasn’t a monster.”

  Brother Daniel looked uncomfortable at her words. “Perhaps you saw a side of him that he hid from the rest of the world. But…Merton was evil. There is no getting away from that. You must forget him now, and concentrate on your own life.”

  Brother Daniel let go of her hand and rose from the chair. He walked across the room and paused in front of a small table. On the table was a collection of assortments. A comb, a silver hairbrush, ribbons. The silver hairbrush caught his attention, and he picked it up, tracing the delicate engraving in the silverwork. Women and their fancy trinkets, would they never learn? There was no need for such extravagance. He turned around and looked at her, the brush still in his hand.

  “Garren gave me that, just before he died,” Amandine said, looking at the hairbrush. “It is all I have left of him. Everything else I had has been taken from me. But I begged Philippe to let me keep that.”

  “Philippe is a generous king. You are lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Amandine laughed without humour and looked away.

  “I don’t know how to say this, so I will come straight out with it.” Brother Daniel said as he put the brush back down. “Your husband, Lord Bretagne, petitioned the Pope for a divorce. The Pope granted it on the grounds of adultery and Devil worship.”

  Amandine breathed out unsteadily. “I was expecting it,” she stated with a small shrug. “I did not deserve him. Lord Bretagne is a good man.”

  “So why did you betray him? For the life of me, Amandine, I can not understand why.”

  “Have you never loved? I am not talking about the love you have for God. I am talking about the love you have for another.”

  Brother Daniel shook his head.

  “Love is all consuming. You cannot stop it. You cannot prevent it. It just happened.”

  “You are making excuses for yourself. You know the difference between right and wrong. You were married. And any feelings you had for Merton should have been buried deep down inside. Look what your love for him has done to you.”

  “It wasn’t my love for him that did this to me. My love had nothing to do with it.”

  “You should have known better.” Brother Daniel sat down again and took her hand back in his. “Life isn’t going to be easy for you from now on.”

  Amandine giggled. “Thank you, Brother, for the warning,” she could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  “This isn’t a laughing matter,” there was censure in the monk’s words.

  “If I don’t laugh then I am going to cry. I have been made to feel like a sinner even though I haven’t sinned, not really. I am a woman without hope and without any friends or family. I have lost everyone I ever loved, and now you tell me that life is going to be difficult. How much more difficult can it get?”

  “The Pope has condemned you with Bell, Book and Candle,” Brother Daniel stated. “But that is not all. The Abbot made sure that the Pope was all too aware of your crimes. I am sorry, Amandine, but the Pope will never welcome you back into the Church.”

  Amandine gasped, her laughter faded and any colour that was left on her face vanished. “What?” her voice was quiet, barely audible. “But I thought…all the penance. I thought… Tell me it isn’t true.”

  “You are damned,” Brother Daniel confirmed. “No one will want you, neither man nor Church. You are completely at the mercy of Philippe. But rest assured, I believe he has every intention of protecting you. I will not lie to you, my dear, you will be shunned, even with the King’s support. The chances of you marrying again are very slim.”

  “I wasn’t looking for a new husband,” Amandine said as she tried to make sense of Brother Daniel’s words.

  “It also means that you will never be able to leave the protection of the castle. The protection of this room.”

  Amandine scoffed with realisation. “I am to be Philippe’s prisoner? Why don’t you just say what you mean?”

  “You are not his prisoner, think of it as being his special guest. This is for your own protection. Many would see you hang or worse. I have spoken to the King. Alan will be in charge of your safety from now on. Philippe
thought you would find no fault in that, as you and Alan appear to be on good terms. Amandine, you must understand there are many who saw what you did the day Merton died. They saw how you were dressed in his clothes. They saw how you threw yourself at him. How you got down on your knees and begged the King for mercy on Merton’s behalf. They saw how Merton reacted when you were threatened. And those who didn’t will have listened when the Abbot condemned you. You are a fallen woman, a threat to their good Christian souls. Our main concern now is keeping you alive. You must never leave this room. Ever.”

  “But I thought—”

  “That you were doing penance? So you have said. Did you really think that the Abbot was going to pardon you of all your sins? Oh, Amandine, you are not stupid. He was never going to give you absolution.”

  Amandine shook her head, and she began to wring her hands together in despair.

  “You must be strong,” Brother Daniel reached across and stilled her hands with his. “And brave. Just like our Lord Jesus was in those darkest of days. Remember, he too was condemned for a crime he did not commit.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hands. “I must leave you now. I shall make sure some food is brought up, but it will be tested before you eat it, so do not fear about being poisoned.”

  “Poisoned?” Amandine gasped, she had not even thought of that.

  “You need to rest and regain your strength.” Brother Daniel rose to his feet and smiled down at her. “I will be back tomorrow to listen to your confession.”

  “If I am damned, then what need do I have to confess?” Amandine asked, staring defiantly back at the monk. “Besides,” she looked away, “I consort with demons. I am evil. I am a sinner. My soul will burn in Hell. I will be damned forever—”

  “Ask for mercy, and you will receive it,” Brother Daniel stated, interrupting her.

  “I have,” Amandine challenged back, “and look where that has got me.”