‘We sat there in the tavern, staring at each other in deadly silence,’ continued Armand quietly. He shrugged at Cécile. ‘It was the only thing that made sense as to why you would do what you did.’
‘We scoured Calais looking for the physician,’ said Mouse gruffly. ‘He confirmed it, under the pressure of my dagger.’
Cécile looked over to Armand. ‘I never expected Gillet to come to Arras, but, Armand,’ she hesitated, ‘why did you not want to see me? You must have known I needed you.’
Armand reached for her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘And I know how it feels to be squeezed in a vice. Forgive me, Céci, but this time, Gillet needed me more. We’d also heard of the financial trouble the Mesdames were in with the manor. They had been threatened with expulsion for not paying taxes. Then Rosetta came to Calais to tell us you were with her but she had to sell the manor. We learned that you were healing.’
Realisation dawned upon Cécile. ‘The inheritance from her brother?’ She glared in surprise at her husband. ‘That was you?’
Gillet nodded. ‘Then Armand and I rode to Larressingle. Without Armand, I’m not sure I would have made it.’
Jean le Bossu snorted with amusement as he twisted the sandy coloured curls of his beard. ‘You should have seen the poor man asking for your hand, Céc! I thought he was going to wet himself!’ Gillet glowed bright red and shifted self-consciously.
‘Oh, oui,’ laughed Armand, slapping his thigh. ‘He almost choked trying to ask permission to wed the Comte’s little princess! Of course, Jean le Bossu and I felt it our duty to forewarn my uncle of his intentions. You should have seen Gillet’s face when Uncle Jean played along and roared at him!’ Armand set down his cup and puffed out his chest, flexing his arms ’til the muscles bulged. His fists curled at his hips to imitate a huge manifestation and his bellow was a perfect imitation of Jean d’Armagnac in anger. ‘You want to what?’
Gillet laughed outright. ‘I thought I was in for the beating of a lifetime, even worse than before!’
‘Sacré bleu,’ burst Jean le Bossu. ‘That’s right. All those years ago! And you would not have deserved it, Ghillebert d’Albret, just as you did not deserve it back then.’ He grinned at Cécile. ‘I saw you, minx. I know what you did.’
‘Jean!’ squealed Cécile.
The Comte’s brows rose. ‘Would you care to explain yourself, son?’
‘Jean le Bossu d’Armagnac!’ Cécile exclaimed in horror. ‘You cannot!’
‘Oh, yes he can,’ chimed Armand. ‘After all, Céc, this is your wedding day. We are supposed to spin tales!’
‘I am waiting.’ Comte Jean drummed his fingers on the board.
Jean le Bossu’s eyes crinkled mischievously and his grin carried the satisfaction of a well-fed tomcat. ‘Whilst out playing, your precious little princess, Papa, purposefully ran amid our wooden blades to gain the attention of our good cousin, here. So, to keep her from harm’s way he placed her on his pony, just as she knew he would. But that was not enough for our Céci, was it? She teased him without mercy, until he finally allowed her to hold both reins, but he never let go of the bridle. Unfortunately, I distracted him with my clumsi-ness and, the second his head turned, she kicked the horse! It all but dragged Gillet under before he let go.’ In a brotherly manner, Jean le Bossu leaned over and punched Cécile’s shoulder. ‘That’s for all the years I castigated myself for not having spoken the truth that day. You could have got him killed, along with yourself!’
Cécile rubbed her arm indignantly. ‘If you felt so strongly, brother dear, why did you not speak out before now?’
Jean le Bossu’s breath whistled between his teeth and he glanced warily at his father. ‘Sacré bleu. When I saw how Papa disciplined Gillet, I feared for your skin, for all our skins! And anyway, Gillet forbade me to speak.’
The Comte frowned at his son. ‘You could have saved the poor lad a thrashing.’ Jean d’Armagnac’s features softened as he turned to Gillet. ‘I am not a man given to regrets, son,’ he announced gruffly, ‘but I acted impulsively that day. I would have you know that it has always sat ill upon my conscience. I doubt not that you suffered a worse fate when you arrived home, but your silence does you proud. As for you, girl …’ Cécile’s cheeks began to burn under her papa’s fierce gaze. ‘It is time for you to put aside your wilfulness. You have married a man with great honour. Do not forget it! Let us hope your sense shall prevail and, if not,’ he winked at Gillet, ‘then I give my permission for your husband to curtail your foolishness in any manner he sees fit.’
Cécile’s mouth fell open.
‘And that, daughter,’ laughed Jean d’Armagnac, ‘is why I gave you to him. Not for any idle fancy of yours, but because here, at last, is a man who possesses the mettle to withstand you!’
A loud cheer went up as a large, roasted boar was ceremoniously carried into the room and its appearance put an end to any further conversation as everyone settled themselves to dine.
On one side of the bridal table Armand headed his companions, accompanied by Margot, the maids and the squires. Jean Petit, awake from his nap, was being passed around Gillet’s companions-in-arms, in as much demand as an ale skin around a campfire, the battle-seasoned soldiers busily discussing the best techniques of wrapping swaddling bands! Opinions varied, and a disagreement arose over the correct tension, which was being compared to the leather lacing on a bow.
‘God’s nails, Mouse,’ snorted Gabriel. ‘Your way will see the infant slip from his bonds like a peeled apple!’
‘And your way is to swathe him for eternity like an Egyptian king!’
Poor Griffith was enduring a teasing from the younger squires, and Cécile thought Minette’s blushes would set fire to the cloth before long.
On the other side of the room Jean le Bossu was in deep discussion with Gillet over horse breeding whilst the Comte and Lady Matilda’s topic had generated between the candle sticks to include Guiraud, Father Beraud and Rosetta. Violetta was entertaining Alfred, and quite successfully observed Cécile. She glanced around the room again and sighed. She felt her hand lifted from the table.
‘You must think me neglectful,’ whispered Gillet, placing a kiss on her fingers. ‘Where did your thoughts lie just now? I swear you looked almost sad.’
‘Everyone I hold dear is in this room, except Catherine.’
‘I am sorry, Cécile. I learned too late that she and Simon had departed for Scotland. However, if it softens the blow, your horses and cats await you tomorrow. They should arrive around noon in the company of Llewellyn and his son, Trefor.’
Cécile squealed with delight and threw her arms around her husband.
Gillet laughed and disentangled himself as a servant removed his tankard and replaced it with a gem-encrusted goblet, a sprig of ivy winding up the stem. ‘Drink from our marriage cup, Lady Wife. I will not have you sad on our wedding day.’ He speared a delicacy from a platter with his eating knife and dipped it into the accompanying sauce before offering it to her. Then he began to strip a fish to the skeleton, peeling the white flakes and setting them onto the plate between them as he spoke. ‘I waited four weeks in Larressingle for the reading of the banns. When I returned to Calais, Simon and Catherine had gone.’
Cécile looked up in surprise. ‘Banns were read for our marriage?’
‘Throughout every village between Larressingle and Dax.’ Gillet set down his knife. ‘I did everything I could to make our marriage legal and binding, but I must tell you when Alfred turned up in Paris, I left with him before I could see the King. I am still wanted for treason in France.’
‘You gave up your chance to be pardoned to come to me,’ sighed Cécile. ‘And then I turned you away. Gillet, you must have hated me!’
‘Hate, no but I was confused.’ Gillet looked up at her. ‘What good is a pardon if I do not have you with me?’ His hand crept over hers. ‘Our marriage is binding though the clandestine manner of it will no doubt cost us a rich fine eventually.’
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br /> ‘You are positive that our marriage is absolutely secure?’
‘There remains one task,’ he murmured. His eyes smouldered and Cécile blushed. Jean d’Armagnac picked that moment to glance at his daughter. He winked man-to-man at Gillet.
‘Your father is still ignorant of our living arrangements in Chilham,’ whispered Gillet sheepishly. ‘A wise wife would keep it that way.’
The tables were cleared of the debris and the strumming chords of a lute sounded. Armand stepped into the centre of the room and bowed. ‘Good people,’ he announced. ‘A song, if I may, in honour of my cousins. It is a trite and whimsical story of a man heavily burdened by daughters. Marriage, it would seem, was his only answer.’ He plucked a few chords, his rich voice melodiously narrating the first verse.
‘Across this fair land, over meadow and field
There once stood a tavern called
The Sword and the Shield .
The owner, a man who was filled with a dread
His burden in life was to keep dressed and fed
Six comely daughters, with husbands a-none
Who thought nought of marriage, only having the fun.
There was Matilda, Veronique, Minette hard on her heel
Margot, and Catherine and who could forget Cécile?’
A spontaneous burst of laughter heralded an early success, but Cécile knew Armand’s ability to obliterate all proprieties when it came to ‘song divination.’
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
Six comely daughters for his company.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
His burden so heavy that he could not rest.’
He fell back to narration, singing only the chorus, but strumming in-between the lines.
‘He sat in his tavern, his head he would nurse.
Six hungry daughters were hard for his purse.
The answer came to him, so he set a quest,
“The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.”
He sent out his parchments to four corners of the realm
To all lonely knights to bring weapon and helm.
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
“I love them,” he said, “but they will pauper me.”
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.’
Armand bowed gallantly to Lady Matilda.
‘Said Matilda, “I care not for the size of his spurs.
I want a big castle, with jewels and furs
And servants, one hundred, to bring me my ale.
Can any brave knight be so hearty and hale?”’
He left them laughing to dance across the room where he perched beside Margot’s maid, Veronique. She squealed with delight and grabbed Gabriel.
‘“Say what you will,” said the eloquent Veronique
“But I will make sure that my man is unique!”
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
They harried the maids to make them pretty.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.
‘The men ’round the campfire did listen with glee.
“Come all who have weapons,” the scroll did decree.
“I will enter,” said Guiraud, caressing his arrow
But the men choked with laughter and said, “It’s too narrow!”
He looked at them smiling. “You think I’ve no chance?”
And with a devilish grin, he presented his lance.’
Armand winked at his younger sibling, whose eyes glowed like two round moons. Beside him, Jean le Bossu rocked with laughter. By a tacit accord, the men joined in the common lines of the chorus.
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
A lance such as this needs no commentary.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.
‘With a roar, Mouse stood and said, “I need space.
I need lots of room to swing out my mace!”
He pulled out his weapon, it was big, round and knobbly
And swung it so hard that it made his knees wobbly.
The men watched in anguish, this would be hard to match
But when his ball got going, it was harder to catch!’
The boys hooted uproariously as Mouse stood and imitated throwing his morning star, with some rather ludicrous hip swivels.
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
He swung it so hard that it buckled his knees.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.’
Armand turned to Gillet’s squire.
‘Griffith stood up and tucked into his belt
A weapon so long, admiration was felt.
The men watched in awe as he did unsheathe
A sword that’s so perfect, ’twas beyond all belief.
“When I’m in battle, because of its size
If I am thrusting, tears come to my eyes!”’
The boys crowed with laughter, thumping Griffith on the back. He blushed to the colour of newly boiled beets.
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
The more I am thrusting, the harder I see.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.’
Armand ceased strumming and pointed to himself, shaking his head with true jester-like absurdity. The room exploded with a resounding ‘yes’ and he shrugged, singing on.
‘Armand complained, “I have but a lyre
And it plays sweet music for a maiden’s desire.”
He revealed his instrument from under his fur
And they nodded at once, quick to concur.
He plucked it softly – the sound was pure splendour.
With a lyre such as this he would need no defender.’
Squeals flew to the rafters and by now everyone joined in the chorus.
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
A lyre worth plucking, they all did agree.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.’
Armand danced towards Gillet. The guests stilled, waiting …
‘But the men were agog when Gillet, he spoke
“My weapon just fits beneath my huge cloak.
I’ll not show it now, ’tis for my lady to meet
But it starts at my belt and it reaches my feet!”
They nodded in turn, with respect in their eyes.
Gillet was tall, perhaps this was wise.’
Jean d’Armagnac almost choked on his ale. He slapped the table with gusto and it was Gillet’s turn to change colour.
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
I don’t like to boast but it passes my knee.”
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.
‘Then Gabriel stood, clutching his cleaver And said,
“If I’m chosen, I vow not to leave her.”
“Good sir, what makes you so sure you’ll be picked?
Your weapon is only a glorified stick!”
But he answered them wisely, “A lady of taste
Will go for the quality and not have the waste!”
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
The value lay not in quantity.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.’
Squeals of laughter pealed out from the maids, and then Armand sobered. He returned to the centre of the room and bowed. ‘In honour of those absent lov
ed ones,’ he announced, and began again with no less impertinence.
‘Said Simon, “Men, say what you will.
You play with your weapons, I’ll play with my quill.
Your weapons are strong but you men are too fickle.
Any lady will tell you, a feather can tickle!
And when this expires, I have plenty more,
I just go and visit the chicken next door!’
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
A feather so gentle, will thrill a lady.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.’
The guests were almost beside themselves! Armand waited until they quietened, then he began again, building the atmosphere with his tone.
‘The day did arrive, they all stood in line
Clutching their weapons, the sight was divine.
The daughters, in turn, inspected at leisure
Each glorious weapon, held out for her pleasure.
There were all shapes and sizes. Which men would lose?
But finally the father told his daughters to choose.’
Armand perched himself on the bridal table.
‘Gillet spoke out, when it came to his turn
“If their weapons were snakes, then I have but a worm.”
He threw off his cloak and the girls they did stagger
When they feasted their eyes on his jewel-handled dagger.
It was modest, that’s true, but it was sharp, stout and thick
Any lady would tell you, it would still do the trick!
‘Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dee
His jewels were so precious, an antiquity.
Fiddle di, diddle dey do, fiddle di, diddle dest
The hand of my daughter for the weapon that’s best.’
His audience was growing wilder, beating the boards, and they roared.
The Order of the Lily Page 36
