The Order of the Lily

by Catherine A. Wilson

  Minette hurriedly dispatched Ricard for the midwife and returned quickly to her mistress’ bedside. The servants spoke in whispers, all ears tuned to the ‘noble dame’s’ chamber above. By the time the midwife arrived, out of breath, Cécile’s pain had ceased.

  ‘Your babe is trying to turn.’ The midwife thrust her hands into the basin of warmed water. Cécile was still blush-ing from the intimacy of her assault. ‘I shall leave you some herbal potions which will ease the cramps. Be pleased that your child tries, but you must stay abed for the rest of your confinement. Your kitchen boy knows the way to my house. Send him at once when you require my services further.’ Her palm alighted upon Cécile’s sweating brow. ‘Rest now and allow God do His work.’

  With the shutters barred against the weather, and the very real chance of an evil spirit entering the room and the babe’s soul at the moment of birth, Cécile lay in her bed with only her own company. Never had she felt so alone. Gillet was in London and Armand had taken Marguerite and Veronique with him when he departed for Arras. Griffith had accompanied Gillet, and if Minette were quiet before, now she was practically mute. Cécile smiled to herself as she recalled a touching scene she had inadvertently witnessed before Gillet’s departure. Believing themselves unseen in a secluded corner, the squire had bestowed a kiss upon Minette’s hand, his eyes intent upon her face, hers downcast, her cheeks glowing. Cécile tiptoed discreetly past and heard Griffith’s whispered promise.

  ‘As soon as we return, I shall ask the Sire’s permission.’

  Cécile decided that this new love must not go unrequited and made her own promise to speak to Gillet. A meow echoed from the corner as Cinnamon chastised one of her kittens. Nutmeg sat on Cécile’s bedside table, calmly washing his paws, content as he reigned over his domain of females.

  On the sixteenth day of January, a noisy clatter of hooves announced Gillet’s arrival home.

  He strode into her chamber with a worried expression, having learned of her confinement.

  ‘Céci! Alfred told me that you have been unwell.’

  ‘’Tis only the babe’s time drawing near,’ she panted.

  Gillet knelt by the bed and mopped her brow. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Tell me, what news from London?’ It was then that she noticed another man hovering just outside the door. At Gillet’s nod, the stranger entered. He kneeled in a courtly manner with his palms clasped at his breast.

  ‘Forgive my untimely intrusion into your chamber, gracious lady. Though blessed are my eyes, for surely they alight upon the fairest woman I have ever encountered. Madame, you rival the Duchess of Lancaster in beauty. Nay! You eclipse her and that is so close to treason to say so, I can feel the ghostly pull of a rope around my neck!’

  ‘Sweetheart,’ smiled Gillet, ‘allow me to introduce a friend of mine. Geoffrey …’ But before he could finish, the man sprang to his feet and bowed.

  ‘Chaucer. Penning eloquence with a quill, whe’ever I will.’ He glanced at Gillet. ‘You are right, my friend. She is beautiful.’

  ‘I ran into Geoffrey in London and, as he was heading this way, we travelled together,’ explained Gillet.

  ‘Dearest lady,’ said Chaucer, ‘the holiest of all Mothers gave birth upon straw, and paid court in a stable. So noble was she that the beasts fell to their knees, and before you, I fall to mine.’

  Gillet laughed as Cécile gaped open-mouthed. ‘No, do not suggest such surroundings, Geoffrey, for Cécile would do it! She came as close as I care at Noël.’

  Geoffrey’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

  ‘Abundant her beauty, her manner divine,

  As she lay abed so sweetly,

  And she spoke so fair and graceful,

  After her scoundrel returned,

  For France, and Paris bound.’

  ‘Paris?’ Cécile frowned at Gillet. ‘What is he talking about?’

  Gillet darted an exasperated look at the poet. ‘Only that Geoffrey is on his way to Paris, and has offered that I may travel under his protection.’

  ‘You go to Paris?’ gasped Cécile. ‘ Now?’

  ‘We will discuss this later, Cécile.’ Gillet rose to pour three goblets of wine from the tray on the chest.

  Geoffrey sat on a small stool. ‘Did Gillet tell you of the great service he performed for me this year past? He ransomed me from ze handz of ze mighty French!’ His imitation was appalling, and Cécile could not help but laugh. ‘In fortunes of sharp adversity,’ Geoffrey threw his arms open, theatrically, ‘the worst kind was this!’ He smiled soberly. ‘But Gillet kept me sane inside the confines of my cell until I was released.’

  The object of his admiration perched near Cécile’s bolster. ‘As you can see, sweetheart, Geoffrey is given to imagination and flights of fancy. I secured his release. That was all.’

  ‘All? All? Do the mighty wish to fall?’ Chaucer’s blue eyes twinkled brightly in a freckled face and he grinned.

  ‘You were a good friend in a time of need

  And the sights of Paris are dull, indeed,

  When viewed from the window of a cell,

  And as close as I have been to Hell.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ chuckled Gillet, ‘between my service to King Edward, and the Prince, not to mention rescuing damsels and dilet-tantes in distress, my work was laid out before me.’

  ‘Ah, your friend, the Prince, the black knight encompassing a black heart! Is that not what you called our heir apparent on the journey home?’ Chaucer reached for Cécile’s hand, his voice an awed whisper. ‘But you, Mademoiselle, are a vision of loveliness, a dove amongst the pigeons, a Duchesse amongst ladies, a lily among the lions.’ He sighed and turned to Gillet. ‘You would do well to keep her from court, my friend. Our prince would steal this bloom from under your nose, even as you bend to inhale the perfume.’ He gulped down his drink and stood. ‘Pray be, show me to your conveniences, and I shall cease to impose myself upon you.’ He bowed as Gillet set down his own goblet.

  ‘I shall return, sweetheart.’

  When Gillet came back, alone, Cécile pressed him for news. ‘What did you learn?’

  He slumped forward in his chair, his arms resting upon his knees, and sighed. ‘Simon’s marriage is safe.’

  ‘But?’

  Gillet rose and paced to the casement, his jaw tightly clenched as he stared out.

  ‘What is it, Gillet?’

  He turned slowly. ‘With Sir Thomas’ death, your mother is again under the King’s protection and since you are not married, you also. You have become a ward of King Edward, to be disposed of as he sees fit.’

  ‘No!’ Cécile paled, her hand at her throat.

  Cécile watched Gillet sleep that night. He was leaving for Paris the following morning to fall at King Jean’s feet. How long would shadows of darkness loom over them? She gently brushed the hair from his brow, her stomach knotting. All night she watched him and shed silent tears. He had promised her protection, but against what odds? How could he, a deposed belted knight, disgraced in France and hiding in England, ever defy the might of the Plantagenets? And if he were captured and sentenced, how would she live without him? She felt a sense of dread, a terrible foreboding hanging over them. Perhaps it was only the small hours of night playing with her imagination, but she knew she was afraid. She also knew, in those dark hours, that she had never loved Gillet de Bellegarde more.

  It had been difficult for Catherine to say farewell, let alone watch the dwindling forms of her companions as she sailed from the dock. She would miss them all – Mouse, Guiraud and Gabriel. Armand had smiled and bowed deeply to kiss her hand. His visit to Kent had done much to restore his jocularity, which only made the parting more painful, for Catherine’s heart was now firmly attached to each man, much like a sister to her brothers.

  The trip was uneventful, though Gabby began to show signs of illness. He was off his milk and warm to touch. Simon believed that he had developed a chill, the result of his recent near-drowning. By the time they
reached Dover, the baby’s condition worsened.

  Catherine was desperate to make directly for Chilham but Simon took accommodation at the bustling port and settled them into a room above the marketplace. He ordered a large tray of victuals, then disappeared for several hours with Roderick, claiming the need to seek out a bath house.

  Catherine settled the baby and then sat before the fire to sip her wine. She knew the time for revelations had come. She had to face her husband before they reached Gillet and Cécile. She retrieved the coverlet from the bed, tucked it around her legs and waited for Simon, rehearsing the manner in which she would broach the subject of her subterfuge.

  Simon returned before the striking of the midnight bells to find his wife asleep in the chair. The dying embers in the grate cast a soft glow that highlighted her beauty. Carefully he lifted her onto the bed but she awoke at his touch.

  ‘You have been gone long.’

  ‘I had much to consider,’ he replied.

  ‘The water must have grown cold.’

  Simon did not answer as he laid her down.

  ‘I wish to speak with you.’

  ‘In the morning, perhaps.’

  ‘No, Simon, I need to speak with you tonight, before we make for Chilham.’

  Catherine sat up against the pillows and watched as her husband filled two goblets. He handed her the smaller cup, then sat beside her.

  ‘Why do you keep secrets from me?’ she asked, watching his face.

  Simon did not answer for several moments, instead appearing to savour his wine. ‘I might ask you the same thing.’ He turned to face her and took her hand. ‘Do you not trust me?’

  ‘I do, of course I do,’ she affirmed.

  ‘Then why did you not tell me about Gabby?’

  ‘Why did you not tell me of the Order of the Lilies?’

  Silence filled the room for several minutes as each considered the other. Catherine inhaled deeply and plunged first. ‘I know what it is like to be abandoned as a small child, unwanted and unloved. I did not want that to happen to Gabby.’

  ‘And you think it will?’

  ‘I am sure Gillet will not want a child of Anaïs once he learns he is not the father.’

  Simon did not reply.

  ‘When did you know?’ she asked.

  ‘I suspected from the moment I collected him from the hospice. At first I assumed the bags covering his hands and feet were simply to keep him warm, but you continued to hide them from me.’ He squeezed her fingers lightly, offering his understanding. ‘Once he was stripped bare and lying against my chest, it was not difficult to see that his digits were joined in the same manner as Moleyns. Why did you keep something so important from me?’

  ‘Because you were keeping secrets from me and I … I … cannot leave him at the waifs’ gate as I was.’

  ‘I would never suggest such a thing. But we must consult with Gillet, for this matter will be more of a shock to him than anyone else.’

  Simon gathered her into his arms and rocked her, aware that her grief was as much for herself as for Gabby. Two souls, neither wanted by their mothers and left to the mercy of strangers.

  ‘Sometimes not knowing is protection itself,’ he began as he shifted his weight on the bed.

  ‘So, you did not tell me about The Lady to keep me safe?’

  ‘Yes, and you have had much to deal with of late. Newly married and a child for whom to care.’

  ‘It was my choice to be your true wife, was it not?

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘Then perhaps I should be treated as your wife and not your ward?’

  Simon nodded, pleased with her growing sense of maturity.

  ‘Do you remember me telling you of my uncle? I was his seneschal knight at the time he was despatched by the King to Scotland. Edward hates the Scots, but you already know that, don’t you?’

  Catherine nodded. ‘Lady St Pol blamed the Scots for the death of her husband. She told me that Aymer died whilst in France having suffered for many years from a battle wound delivered by his kilted enemy.’

  ‘Edward does not trust them either, hence his reason for keeping their King, David, imprisoned in the Tower. He believes that should David return to Scotland he could easily muster the people against England once again. We could not afford another war. Not now that Edward has spent all the coin in his coffers to supplicate the French.’

  ‘I see, but what …?’

  ‘Patience, wife,’ Simon chuckled. ‘Many years ago something very precious to the Scots went missing.’

  ‘The Lady,’ Catherine guessed.

  ‘Yes, but it is not as you imagine, for she is not a living creature as you believe her to be.’

  ‘Oh, then if not a woman, what is she?’

  ‘A sword.’

  ‘A sword?’

  ‘More the sword of William Wallace, Scotland’s greatest martyr. It had been thought to be locked up in Dumbarton Castle, but I believe my uncle brought it back to his wife and she has had it hidden ever since.’

  ‘Your uncle?’

  ‘Aymer, the Earl of Pembroke.’

  ‘So you are …’ Catherine gasped.

  ‘I am Mary St Pol’s nephew.’

  Simon moved to refill his goblet allowing Catherine space and time to consider his revelation.

  ‘That’s why we went to Paris to see the Grand Master and why I saw you gazing at the tapestry of the knight holding a sword aloft.’

  ‘Yes, though I do want to speak with you about your tendency to spy on others!’

  Catherine blushed but continued. ‘But what of the illumination you carry in your bag?’

  ‘Is nothing sacrosanct?’ he laughed.

  ‘No.’ She smiled.

  ‘Someone, be it either Edward or one of his minions, discovered, as the Templars did, that the sword is missing. It may be that David told Edward during his incarceration, as a means to be released. Be that as it may, only a handful of men know the truth.’

  ‘At least seven men,’ Catherine added.

  ‘The Order of the Lilies was formed in secret by the Grand Master, its purpose to seek out and protect the Lady of Scotland from her many enemies.’

  ‘And you were chosen because you were Mary St Pol’s nephew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Gillet?’

  ‘Because he also was in need of protection and hiding him at Denny Abbey suited both purposes.’

  Catherine frowned. ‘But if the identity of the members of the order were secret, who would scrawl your names across an unfinished illumination?’

  ‘Salisbury,’ he replied. ‘I am sure the names are written by his hand.’

  ‘I saw you take his saddle bags.’

  ‘The illumination was the only thing we knew to be missing from Denny Abbey. I have long believed that he stole it.’ Simon smiled. ‘I had to assume that Salisbury carried the parchment with him.’

  ‘Of course! On the day I fled the convent, after he attacked me!’

  ‘You are very astute, my wife.’ Simon returned to sit beside her. ‘Though Salisbury has not located the sword, he has been able to identify the individuals who make up the order.’

  ‘Simon … the day Salisbury located me at Denny. Was he looking for me? Or was he looking for the Lady?’

  ‘Both.’ He brushed her cheek with his lips. ‘All the better for me. But how did such a document find its way to Cambridgeshire?’

  Catherine took a deep breath as though she were about to dive into deep water. ‘I heard you speak the name Cletus.’

  Simon frowned. It would appear that he had kept little from her, after all.

  ‘Sister Mary Cletus is an illuminator who retired to Denny Abbey. I believe she was struck mute, for I have never heard her speak.’

  Simon rose to his feet and smacked one clenched fist to the other open palm. ‘Mute but not deaf, nor blind! She must have either seen the sword at Denny or heard it discussed, then painted what she had learned of it into an illuminatio
n. But why would she do so?’

  ‘She is Scottish,’ Catherine revealed. ‘And I can’t imagine she was pleased to see a precious Scottish relic hidden within an English Abbey.’

  ‘I doubt my aunt would allow Sister Cletus to remain within her congregation if she knew of her background.’

  ‘Cause then to become mute?’ Catherine suggested.

  ‘Cause indeed,’ Simon agreed.

  ‘I wish you had consulted me earlier as we would not have needed to travel all over France!’ she exclaimed indignantly.

  ‘It would have changed nothing, other than to confirm my suspicions. The boy at Corbie Abbey was sure the illumination had been painted by a woman, but it was the Abbott who muttered the name Cletus. Should I have discovered the truth I was still required in Paris.’ He reached for the poker and prodded at the embers in the fireplace.

  ‘Why is the sword called the Lady?’ Catherine asked.

  Settling beside her on the bed, Simon stretched out his long legs. ‘To answer that I must tell you something of William Wallace and his desire to free his people. You see, he and I have something in common. We both fell in love with a beautiful, young maiden.’

  Catherine blushed in response to his confession.

  ‘Unfortunately, his happiness was not to last, for it is believed that the Shire Reeve of Lanark murdered his bride. William, consumed by grief, exacted revenge by killing not only the hapless sheriff, but hundreds of English soldiers in an attempt to free his people from foreign rule.’

  ‘And the Lady?’

  ‘After Marion’s death Wallace said he would have no other lady by his side, other than his sword, his Lady Liberator.’

  Simon gathered Catherine into his embrace and wondered what he would do should his wife meet the same ends as Marion. Perhaps he too would be consumed by the same murderous intent as the fabled Scotsman.