The Order of the Lily

by Catherine A. Wilson

  Cécile stared, nonplussed. ‘She wants you to teach her to ride first? Do you really believe it is the horses for which she cares?’

  ‘It would just be a few lessons to improve her skill.’

  ‘I think her skill is ample,’ quipped Cécile testily.

  Gillet raked one hand through his hair. ‘Why are you making this difficult?’

  ‘Au contraire. This is almost too easy! Are you truly so blind, Gillet?’

  ‘I have a mountain of grain waiting to be ground into flour before the winter sets in! Griffith and I can leave the horses in Gwynedd’s hands for the time it will take us to repair the wheel. I have yet to take tally of the supplies, count the beasts herded for the winter kill, and hunt for more if there is not enough to last us through. I need to repair the stable and see it fully stocked with new hay. Gwynedd …’

  Cécile spun around, her eyes flashing. ‘Yes, Gwynedd is a saint! Just how long before you tumble her on that newly-stocked hay of yours?’

  Gillet inhaled sharply and his eyes flooded jet black. ‘And that is what you think? My honour to you means nothing?’ He stared for a moment, then stood and headed for the door.

  ‘Gillet! Wait! I didn’t mean it.’

  He turned, his face blank. ‘Ah, but you see, you did, Cécile. I shall be extremely busy during the next couple of weeks. Maybe you would like to take that time to consider which Albret cousin suits you best. Perhaps you should have accepted Armand’s proposal after all, you and he being so much alike. Meanwhile I am going to give a riding lesson.’

  Cécile stared as the door slammed. What had just happened? She clenched her fists and bit down on them. But no matter how much she wanted to run after Gillet, her pride would not allow it. She was not wrong in this.

  As Gillet spent his time divided between the mill and the stables, Cécile spent hers in her chamber and the chapel. Daily she prayed for a way to breach the gap between them. By evening she fell exhausted into her bed, knowing Gillet would return too late from the mill to visit her. Pride prevented her from going to him. Already one week had elapsed and she was fearful the distance between them was widening. How much longer would Gillet make her suffer?

  The following morning she was leaving the chapel after prayers when she heard his raised voice from the horse yard.

  ‘No, Gwynedd. I told you, never that horse!’

  She crept amongst the line of trees and peeped around the elm trunk. Her hand flew to cover her gasp as she saw Gwynedd leading Ruby from the stable, complete with a side saddle. The girl pouted as Gillet took the reins and passed them back to the groom.

  ‘Go saddle the bay mare.’

  ‘But, Gillet,’ she whined, ‘I can manage ’er. Yer lessons ’ave taught me much.’

  Cécile stomach churned. When had the ‘Sire d’Albret’ become ‘Gillet’ to Gwynedd?

  Gillet shook his head decisively. ‘No. I will lunge her myself. Ruby knows only one rider, and I would keep it that way.’

  His companion pulled a sour face. ‘The Lady d’Armagnac.’

  Gillet turned back, raising one eyebrow. ‘Oui. Lady d’Armagnac.’

  Gwynedd pirouetted on her toes. ‘Because she rides astride, is it? Will ye teach me to do it?’

  He frowned darkly. ‘No. It is enough that you learn side saddle.’

  The stable master’s daughter performed a provocative little dance, lifting her arms to spread out her hair, thrusting her breasts forward, and twirling.

  ‘Jezebel!’ hissed Cécile as she watched.

  Gwynedd looked up at Gillet with feigned innocence and giggled, pirouetting closer. ‘The lady does ride astride. Seen ’er, I ’ave.’

  A shadow of a smile eclipsed Gillet’s face. ‘Oui, but Cécile has ridden that way since she was a child, and even I would not deign to change it.’

  Gwynedd danced her way to within inches of him, licking her lips. ‘Makes ye very sad, she does, an’ ever’one knows it.’

  Gillet stared at Gwynedd and then shook himself. He strode to the stable. ‘How long does it take that blasted boy to saddle a horse?’

  Cécile slept badly that night. Visions of Gwynedd dancing for Gillet haunted her.

  Restless and irritable, she rose and dressed. Her heart was too heavy for sleep and there was only one other place where she would feel some measure of comfort. She donned her dark cloak and crept down the stairs, into the night air.

  Letting herself into the stable, carefully she placed her candle on a high shelf. Inferno whickered and swished his tail. Cécile paused to fondly scratch his ear, then slipped into Ruby’s stall. The mare neighed softly, nudging her mistress with affection.

  ‘I am pleased to see that they are keeping you well groomed,’ whispered Cécile, running her fingers through the bright red mane. ‘Hush. Do not make too much noise. I am not supposed to be here,’ she confided, ‘but I have missed you so.’ Her eyes misted and she laid her head against the horse. ‘Do you recall the day Gillet gave you to me? He said that you would be the only ruby he would ever give me.’ A large, wet nose mussed Cécile’s hair. ‘Well, I would not swap you for all the precious red gems on this Earth! You are the only Ruby I want from Gillet!’

  ‘Ye are no’ supposed to be ’ere.’

  The harsh voice made Cécile jump, her heart thudding as Ruby shifted nervously. Gwynedd sidled nearer the stall.

  ‘Frightened ye, did I not? So ye should be.’

  Cécile lifted her chin with defiance. ‘What I do, and where I do it, is no business of yours.’ Ruby’s back leg stamped impatiently and Gwynedd smiled.

  ‘Think because yer French, ye can win the Sire’s affections, eh? I tell ye now, ’e already turns ’is ’ead away, ’e does. ’Twill no’ be long.’

  ‘Before what?’ To her dismay, Cécile felt her legs begin to shake.

  Gwynedd reached the shelf, and the shadows danced around the walls as she took down the candle. Cécile glanced at the dry straw surrounding them.

  ‘Afore I am in ’is arms, an’ not ye. Long been ’is destiny, I ’ave. An’ soon enough ’e will know it.’

  Cécile forced herself to remain calm. She gave a curt smile. ‘I think not. My family has long had ties to the Albrets.’ Cécile realised the truth of this as she said it, no matter which family she considered rightfully hers, Holland or Armagnac. Warming to her convictions, she stepped from the stall to face Gwynedd and thrust back her shoulders. ‘I am born to his rank. We are of the same mettle. You dare to presume that Gillet would ever consider you? You little fool! When he realises what you are about, he will scrape you from his boot like the dag of filth you are.’

  Gwynedd’s eyes flashed and her lips drew back from her teeth. ‘’E danced wi’ me at Michaelmas! ’E laughed wi’ me!’

  ‘Gillet is gallant, I’ll not argue that. But who lay in his bed that night?’ Cécile stepped closer. ‘Into whose ears did he whisper sweet words of love?’

  ‘Whsssk! Waited ’is return a long time, I ’ave. Acastin’ me spells an’ aweavin’ me magic, beseechin’ the Ancient Ones, an’ they brought ’im to me, see.’ The candle shook within her grasp. ‘They brought ’im to me!’

  ‘Did you truly believe that he would ever consider you … a stableman’s daughter?’

  ‘If yer so sure o’ yeself,’ screamed Gwynedd, ‘why are yer not in ’is bed now? Eh? Why are yer ’ere, tellin’ secrets to yer ’orse?’ Her face split into a wide grin. ‘No longer shares yer bed, does ’e?’

  Cécile faltered as Gwynedd stumbled upon a truth. The girl slowly trod forward, her face ugly with hatred. ‘’E’s lost interest, ’cos ’e can’t stand to watch the baby grow, a baby not ’is! I attract ’im now, an’ I shall go to ’im pure!’ Her eyes slid down the length of Cécile’s gown, resting on her abdomen. ‘No’ so arrogant now, are ye? No’ so high and mighty!’ She held the candle over a bundle of straw, and a couple of the horses whickered nervously. ‘Think ’e will still want ye if yer skin is melted and yer ’air singed to yer s
calp? Scarred an’ twisted, do ye think ’e will lead ye to church porch?’ She picked up a fistful of straw, setting the ends to the tip of the flame, and Cécile watched in horror as it quickly ignited. Burning embers fell to the floor. The horses picked up the scent and began to stomp restlessly. Fear gripped Cécile.

  ‘Gwynedd, please. Stop this now and I will say nothing. Do not do this!’

  Gwynedd waved the smouldering straw and laughed as it burst into flame. ‘Ye are no’ suppose to be ’ere,’ she repeated. ‘So no one will eve’ think to look for ye ’ere!’ The horses began to snort as she split the bunch and threw them into the stalls. She hurled the candle into Ruby’s stall where it rolled onto dry sacking.

  Frantic, Cécile unhooked the gate as Ruby kicked, the flames having caught the straw beneath her hooves. She grabbed the mare’s mane and, covering her eyes, wrenched her head around to force her through the opening. Gwynedd threw another lighted torch onto the loose haystack, and ran for the door. Cécile heard the bar crash into the cradle, sealing off her escape. Swiftly she threw open the nearby gates, dodging as the frightened horses bolted down the aisle.

  More horses caught the scent and began to kick and squeal, but Cécile was desperate to reach Inferno. His stall was alight and he reared in panic. She fumbled with the catch, her fingers tearing along the sharp metal hinge. A huge flare swelled with a roar as one wall succumbed to the climbing blaze. The latch gave way and Cécile, coughing and choking, threw herself from the path as Inferno stampeded past. A central post had become a fiery pyre and, with a loud cracking sound, the beam above it gave way. The flames raced along the floor, turning one half of the stable into a river of fire, Pyriphlegethon in all its hellish glory. Cécile was smothered by a black cloud of billowing smoke and she rasped for breath, disoriented.

  ‘Milady!’ Griffith raced down the aisle, kicking open the remaining gates as he passed. He swung Cécile into his arms and, pulling his cloak over them, quickly ran the length of the building.

  Greeted by a cold blast of night air, Cécile was wheezing as Griffith sat her down on a log underneath the trees. She gulped the coolness into her lungs and saw Gillet running from the house, Gwynedd hard on his heels. Griffith was already yelling, clanging a nearby bell as yeomen began pouring from their huts. They hurriedly formed a chain, filling buckets from the pond as others doused themselves and sped to the stables, carrying wet sacks.

  Another loud explosion brought down an entire section, and embers danced into the sky, mocking the stars above. Gillet gripped Cécile’s arm and she was jerked to her feet.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ he panted.

  ‘No, I do not think so.’

  ‘Griffith! Escort the demoiselle to her chamber.’ He turned on her like a snarling wolf. ‘If you value your skin, Mademoiselle, do not leave your room. You will be where I can find you when this is over.’

  Cécile pulled her arm from his grip. ‘I can shift for myself, sir!’

  His nostrils pinched white. ‘You will do as I say.’

  ‘Sire! The roof is about to collapse!’

  An ear-splitting sound cracked across the night air and the men leaped to safety. Burning timber crashed to the ground, thick smoke belching out as a blinding shower of sparks lit the sky. Despite the intense heat, a cold shiver ran down Cécile’s spine. She watched the flaming inferno in a daze. All too easily she could have been under the rubble.

  ‘Griffith, take her! And hurry back!’

  Margot stared out the window, watching as the men fought against a wall of flames. Cécile joined her, now washed and wearing a plain woollen gown. She stared bleakly at the blazing hellfire below.

  ‘The Devil’s work has been done this night,’ murmured Margot.

  Cécile began to shiver uncontrollably. ‘Gillet will never believe me.’

  Margot turned from the fiery spectacle and gathered Cécile into her arms. ‘Then you must make him believe.’

  For the next two hours the women watched in silent despair. The end of the stable closest to the house burned furiously, but no attempt was made to save it. Instead, they worked upon the far side, wetting the building to prevent it from catching alight. By dawn it was over, and only smouldering ashes remained. Their efforts had been in vain. The workers wandered back to their homes in a daze. Griffith and a handful of men saddled horses and galloped in the direction of the woods. Gillet waited until they had disappeared from sight and then he walked towards the manor. Cécile’s stomach was in knots.

  Margot stood and kissed her cheek. ‘Courage,’ she whispered.

  Left alone to face his wrath, Cécile hitched up her sleeve and stared at where she had burned her arm in the kitchen days before. She shuddered as Gwynedd’s words came back to her, ‘Scarred an’ twisted, do ye think ’e will lead ye to church porch?’ How, in God’s name, was she to make Gillet believe her?

  She jumped at every sound as another hour passed. She’d turned her chair to face into the room and sat waiting, her hands twisting in her lap. Just when her nerves were reaching fever pitch the door swung open. Without a glance at her, Gillet paced to the opposite wall and back to the door, repeating this several times before finally facing her. In all the occasions Cécile had confronted his fury, never had she seen him so angry.

  ‘I have spent the last hour bathing in a tub, repeatedly holding my head under the water, all the more to cool my temper. I shall warn you now, Mademoiselle, I was not successful.’ He resumed his measured steps while, behind his back, one fist thumped into his palm. ‘If my striding disturbs you, I tell you that I do it to curb my longing, for I would like nothing more than to lash out at something! Therefore, I shall remain on this side of the room. Were I to put my hands on you now, I would surely wring your neck!’ The blood drained from Cécile’s cheeks. ‘Griffith has led a party into the forest to recapture the horses that escaped. It was with great inconvenience we discovered the gate had not been closed on the far side of the yard.’ He ceased pacing and glared at her, his eyes blazing. ‘You may be interested to know that both Ruby and Inferno remained. However, Goblin fled.’

  Cécile’s lips trembled and hot tears sprang to her eyes.

  ‘Have you nothing to say in your defence, Mademoiselle? Would you care to explain why you were in the stable, when, on more than one occasion, I had explicitly forbidden it?’

  Cécile felt her throat constrict and swallowed with difficulty.

  ‘Nothing to offer? If I am to make any sense of this night, Cécile, I need to know why you disobeyed me.’

  She could not hold back her tears any longer. ‘I … uh … uh … only wanted to see Ruby.’

  Gillet sat heavily on the bed, and stared unblinking. When he finally spoke his voice was a strangled whisper. ‘Do you realise how lucky you were tonight?’

  ‘Yes, but not all is as it appears.’

  ‘You were not to go to the stable alone.

  ‘I wasn’t alone.’

  ‘Yes, I know. If Gwynedd had not been passing when you fainted with the candle, God knows what … oh, thank Christ she saw you!’

  ‘That’s what she told you? And you believe her?’

  ‘Why would I not?’

  ‘Because she is a liar,’ spluttered Cécile. ‘She lit the fire herself and barred the door! She hoped that I would be severely burned so you would abandon me. What? You think me luna-tic? Oui! I see you do! And what if I told you that she wishes to bless you with her innocence, would you believe that?’ Cécile began to laugh inanely. ‘She wants your bed, Gillet! Does it sound familiar?’

  Gillet gawked in disbelief. ‘You are overwrought, woman! Gwynedd is Llewellyn’s daughter – a groom’s daughter. She understands her place in this household and has ever conducted herself properly.’

  ‘Really? Does that include when she threw herself at you on the village green at Michaelmas? Or performing Jezebelian dances in the horse yard? Oh, I know that you do not believe me. I can see it all over your face!’

  Gillet’s ha
nds curled into fists. ‘I have thought you many things, Cécile, but never a malicious carper. That you would cowardly besmirch an innocent for your deceit, you deserve …’

  Cécile sprang to her feet. ‘What? A beating, like your brother administers? Then do it! Do not stand there frightening me half to death. Do it, if you think so little of me!’

  Gillet spun on his heel with an ursine growl. ‘Aargh! Your story lacks substance! Gwynedd knows those stables are her father’s life and she would never stoop so low. She knows what it means to love a father. Unlike you, who spits upon the name of Holland and cavorts with the enemy of Armagnac!’

  Cécile recoiled, her hands flying to her mouth. ‘How can you be so cruel? I try to tell you of Gwynedd, and you … you throw Edward in my face! Get out! Get out.’

  Gillet stormed to the door and almost wrenched it off the hinges. ‘You are wrong, Cécile. This is not about Gwynedd or Edward. This is about you! Thanks to your disobedience, the horses will have no roof over their heads come winter.’ He turned to face her. ‘I saw the barn door of which you speak. I saw it myself before it burned to the ground. And it was not barred.’

  Catherine’s health deteriorated following their arrival at Corbie. Lack of food, sleep and shelter had taken their toll, allowing a chill to enter her chest, and keep her bedridden for days. Lord Wexford summoned the assistance of a nearby apothecary to procure ingredients for his purges and he was forced to watch helplessly as Catherine struggled to breathe. Fearing the fevers were the result of the stitches in her shoulder, he removed the catgut, but to no avail. Shaken by his response, he turned to the very institution he had all but rejected.

  Simon found his way to the chapel, kneeled before the Virgin and stared up at the marble statue. He had not prayed inside such a building since the death of Amina and Rassaq. He lowered his gaze and rested his forehead on clasped hands.