The Gilded Crown

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘How are they holding up?’ Roderick questioned as he approached the tethering post.

  ‘Reasonably well, considering their age. This old sumpter suffers only a stone bruise,’ Simon explained as he secured her with the remaining team ‘When I first saw her limp I thought it to be much worse. I think it wise to keep to our sedate pace.’

  ‘As do I, brother, for more than one reason.’

  ‘Are you concerned for Catherine? I can tell you, she is well,’ Simon reassured as the two men made their way towards the rear of the small stable.

  ‘Yes, I do worry for you both but, in this instance, my thoughts were more of Agnes. I find her sudden need to travel to Glasgow to be extremely suspicious.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Simon as he prodded the camp fire with a long stick. ‘If her niece is determined to cause mischief, then it’s best Agnes does not return to Dunbar.’

  ‘I agree, but I could not help but notice her interest in the weapon you carry about your person.’ Roderick sat down upon an overturned stump and looked up at his brother. ‘Her eyes seek it, even when it is concealed within its cover.’

  ‘Do you think she knows what it is?’

  ‘I believe she suspects.’

  ‘Perhaps she is determined to see us return it to Dumbarton,’ said Simon.

  ‘But then she would have to know it was missing,’ Roderick pondered.

  ‘Precisely.’ Simon grinned. ‘And how would she know that?’

  Roderick rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘There is certainly more to this and we first assumed and with additional time spent in close quarters, we just may find out the truth!’

  ‘We may do but, in the end, our priority is simply to put the sword back and return to the safety of Cambridge and I have no intention of letting anything, or anyone, stand in our way.’

  ‘What a glorious vista!’ Lady Agnes Dunbar stood atop the grassy knoll and looked down over the glistening waters of the River Clyde. ‘’Tis a pity that Glasgow is such a ramshackle, little town.’

  ‘And full of Scottish soldiers it would seem.’ Simon pointed to a timber fortified building where a large garrison of kilted men could be seen around the walls.

  ‘I don’t know about you, brother, but I am happy to take the long way around,’ said Roderick. ‘No point taking any risks.’

  ‘I agree. Let’s backtrack and head for Rutherglen.’

  ‘I believe there is a keep, Farme Castle, near the village. We could seek refuge, if needed,’ Agnes offered.

  ‘I am not sure that is required.’ Simon looked over at Catherine and waited for her response.

  ‘I am well. I say we make for Govan.’

  The journey was pleasant and the traffic extremely light. Agnes and Tiphanie elected to ride the two palfreys purchased from the farmer in Harthill, whilst Girda sat at the rear of the carriage, mending a pile of damaged clothing. Catherine was seated at the front beside Simon, Gabby balanced on her knee.

  ‘Look.’ Catherine pointed. ‘See the men? They are fishing. One day I will take you on a big boat to see your Aunt Céci and we will ride up and down, over the waves.’

  Gabby giggled as Catherine lifted him up and down, mimicking the rocking motion of the vessel.

  ‘I am told that Govan has several good inns.’ Roderick reappeared beside them, his speckled rouncy keeping pace with the cart. ‘Who knows, perhaps a game of dice may be at hand?’

  ‘I hope you have a large purse,’ Simon scoffed.

  Roderick frowned. ‘I do not intend to lose, brother.’

  ‘Yes, but you and I need to make friends with the locals whilst Catherine entertains Lady Agnes.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by entertain?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Perhaps a few glasses of the landlord’s best wine might help loosen the old lady’s tongue!’ Roderick laughed loudly.

  ‘Roderick! Are you suggesting that Lady Agnes is keeping secrets from me?’

  ‘Do you not think that yourself?’ Simon asked.

  Catherine observed Agnes as she chatted amiably to Tiphanie. It was true. She had begun to doubt Lady Dunbar’s honesty. ‘She does provide information about herself and her past, but I am often left confused.’

  ‘Because it does not ring true?’ Simon proposed.

  ‘Yes, that’s it! It does not ring true.’ Catherine leant into her husband and smiled as Gabby attempted to pull the reins from Simon’s grasp.

  ‘Hang on there, lad.’ Simon lifted the baby from Catherine’s arms and sat him in his lap, letting him take hold of a loop. ‘Never too young to learn now, are you?’

  Catherine placed her hand over her expanding belly and sighed. She wished they could ride on forever whilst she savoured this moment but, as a dark cloud slipped across the face of the sun, her happiness was replaced with premonition of impending doom.

  Catherine collected two goblets from the tray and placed them on the table in the centre of the room. Their lodgings were small, but comfortable, with the men electing to sleep on the floor by the fire, leaving the ladies to use the pallets. Girda and Tiphanie had retired early, Gabby tucked up between them in the far corner. Simon and Roderick retreated to the taproom below, as planned.

  Catherine draped her cloak over knees. She was unsure if it was the cold evening air that had made her shiver or her increasing apprehension. The time to confront Lady Agnes had arrived.

  ‘If you are going to request a basin and jug, I would do so promptly for I just spotted the maid in the kitchen indulging in a large jug of ale.’ Agnes closed the door and smiled at Catherine. ‘She did not appear to be in her right wits!’

  ‘I can do without.’

  ‘Are you all right, Catherine?’ asked Agnes as she took the chair closest to the fire. ‘You look quite pale.’

  ‘Have no fear, I am well. ’Tis more that I need to speak with you.’

  ‘Oh dear, you look so solemn,’ Agnes quipped.

  ‘What is your real reason for wanting to travel to Glasgow?’ Catherine turned her full attention to the older lady’s face.

  Agnes continued to stare at Catherine. If she was surprised by the question, she did not show it. ‘As I explained, my sister—’

  ‘We are not three miles from Glasgow and you have not spoken of her since we left Edinburgh,’ Catherine interrupted. ‘I fear that you are not being completely honest with me.’

  ‘Just as I fear that you, also, keep secrets!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Catherine whispered, as Girda shifted in her pallet.

  ‘I have seen the weapon your husband carries upon him, flaunting it as though it is of no consequence. I know he locks it in his chest at night, wrapped in muslin and I suspect I know where he is taking it.’

  ‘You presume to know a great deal, Lady Dunbar.’ Catherine took a deep breath. The last thing she needed was for her confidence to suddenly waiver.

  ‘Catherine, we are friends, are we not?’

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘Then let us be truly honest with each other.’ Agnes refilled both goblets and sat back in her seat. ‘Do you have the Wallace sword?’

  ‘Yes, but how did you know it was missing?’

  ‘That is a very long story.’ Agnes closed her eyes and was silent for several minutes. ‘Tell me, was it kept all these years at Denny Abbey?’ Her eyelids fluttered open.

  Catherine nodded.

  ‘I knew it had to be. When your husband confirmed he was the nephew of Aymer de Valance, it all became perfectly clear.’

  ‘You misunderstand! It simply was just not that easy. Lady Pembroke did not tell Simon that she had the sword. In fact, I am not sure she even knew it was hidden within the abbey.’ Catherine sipped at the wine and considered the rest of her answer. ‘The Priory of Sion was determined to locate and protect the sword and so formed a group of seven knights charged to undertake the task. They were called the “Order of the Lily”.’

  ‘I see. And your husband was one of the seven?’

  ‘Al
ong with Roderick,’ Catherine added. ‘But it was more the actions of the current Earl of Salisbury that eventually led us to the sword.’

  Agnes grimaced at the mention of the Earl’s name. ‘His father would have paid a King’s ransom to get his hands on such a relic.’

  ‘Then he could not have known it was at Denny.’

  ‘But he must have suspected for is that not where he placed you?’

  Catherine paled. ‘I … I … had not thought. I mean, I assumed there was an arrangement between the old Earl and Lady Pembroke. It was she who secured a home for my sister in France, but she kept me in England. I thought that was her choice.’

  ‘But what a wonderful excuse to visit and check on your progress! He could manipulate you to do his bidding to find and locate the sword. How very fortunate that he died when he did.’

  ‘But what have you to do with all this?’ Catherine asked as she fought back a wave of nausea.

  ‘Have you heard the story of Menteith the Treacherous?’

  ‘I think Simon has mentioned his name. Was he the Governor of Dumbarton?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Agnes confirmed. ‘He and the Wallace were friends for many years and fought side-by-side but, as men are often apt to do, when Menteith was captured by the English, he simply changed sides.’ Agnes frowned. ‘When he returned to Dumbarton, he was accompanied by Aymer de Valence.’

  ‘Do you think Menteith gave Aymer the sword?’

  ‘He gave it at a hefty price,’ Agnes spat. ‘He betrayed the Wallace and then sold his compatriots sword!’

  Catherine shivered once again, though this time she was sure it was not because of the chill in the room. ‘What a terrible, deceitful act!’

  ‘Aye, but there was worse to come.’ Agnes rose and lit several candles as the daylight began to fade.

  Catherine watched her, grateful for the moment of respite. It was as if every person she knew was somehow interwoven in her past. ‘But when did the first Earl of Salisbury become involved?’

  ‘At the siege at Dunbar Castle,’ Agnes lowered her head. ‘I did not tell you the full truth of the matter.’

  ‘When Salisbury tried to starve you out of Dunbar but you were being supplied food and water from the village by Lord Ramsey?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. The old Earl didn’t just simply give up and ride away.’

  Catherine reached over the table and took Agnes’ hand. ‘No, I did not think so.’

  ‘You are a shrewd woman, Catherine,’ Agnes acknowledged. ‘He instead captured my brother, John, tied him to his horse and threatened to behead him if I did not relinquish. That’s when everything started to unravel.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Clare de Mentieth came to me with a plan. Not only was she my companion, but she was very much in love with my brother. In fact, they had been secretly betrothed three weeks previously, hence the reason why John was constantly seen in Dunbar. Clare blamed herself for his capture for he had been taking risks, sneaking in and out of the castle so they could be together.

  ‘Clare told me that we could barter for John’s life – the Wallace Sword for his safe release. You see, she was the youngest daughter of Mentieth the Treacherous and had intimate knowledge of Dumbarton Castle. I doubted that Salisbury would simply take Clare’s word and ride off to collect the sword but Clare was determined and when I finally relented and allowed Salisbury into Dunbar to negotiate, Clare offered to go with him and direct the way into Dumbarton.

  ‘It was only as she was about to ride out with Salisbury that she told me the sword was already gone, sold to Aymer, hidden away somewhere in England. I was terrified,’ Agnes sobbed, ‘for what Salisbury would do when he discovered her ruse and what John would do when he learned that his betrothed had sacrificed herself for him?’

  Catherine moved closer to Agnes and placed her arm around the older lady’s shoulders. ‘Surely your brother could not hold you responsible? It was Clare’s decision. She must have loved him very much.’

  ‘I don’t think she understood the depth of vileness that was Salisbury. She was young and very naïve. Clare believed I could raise an army and rescue her before they reached Dumbarton. But, of course, I could not. My husband was away and John had been beaten half to death by his captors and was too ill to attempt anything more than a trip to the garderobe.’

  Agnes steadied her hand and refilled her goblet. The wine had a calming effect on her emotions as she drank down the contents.

  ‘In the end, I told no one, a decision that has haunted all the days of my life.’

  ‘So what did you tell John?’

  Agnes buried her face in her hands. ‘I told John the same story I told you, that Salisbury knew he couldn’t win, so he retreated to England.’

  ‘But what of Clare?’

  ‘John had been tortured, his face was disfigured, and for a time I thought … I thought he would die.’ Agnes wept. ‘I told him that Clare had rejected him, repulsed by his appearance and seizing an opportunity, had left with the English army. It was not difficult for him to believe as her father had turned traitor just as quickly.’

  Catherine was speechless. It was such a heartless act of betrayal.

  ‘John was a broken man. He blamed me and he had every right to do so, but I am sure he did not ever know the truth of the matter. Within months of his recovery he was back at court and married to Euphemia, but he was not the same.’

  ‘Salisbury must have discovered the truth at some point, for he obviously did not locate the sword,’ Catherine surmised.

  ‘When my husband returned several months later, I told him all that had occurred. He commissioned a weapon, in the likeness of “The Lady” and rode to Dumbarton, where he placed it in the sword chamber. He inquired as to whether Salisbury had ever visited Dumbarton, but nobody could tell him.’

  ‘But, if as you suggested, my placement at Denny Abbey was no coincidence, then someone told the first Earl that Aymer had the sword!’

  ‘Yes, and I pray Clare did not overly suffer before revealing the truth.’

  Catherine was unable to find sleep so sat by the fire and prayed for the old woman’s soul, shocked by her depth of perfidy. She no longer felt the respect she once had for Agnes Dunbar. Catherine rested her head on her hands but each time she closed her eyes she was standing in the corridor at Denny Abbey, the current Earl of Salisbury’s malicious grin inches from her face.

  ‘I know who you are, you and your sister,’ he had declared, the stench of his breath as disgusting as the trail of mucus he had left upon her cheek.

  She desperately wanted to share all that she had been told with Simon and Roderick but they had not returned, so she tucked her cloak around her, drew her rosary from under her chemise and began to silently recite the rosarii orationem.

  Gillet de Bellegarde held out his gloved hand and flicked his wrist to encourage the bird into flight. ‘Do not let them persuade you to accept a kestrel. It is often a joke among the mews,’ he advised his wife. ‘Kestrels are what they use to teach servants how to care for the birds.’

  ‘Uh huh.’ Cécile nodded, suppressing a yawn. She watched the small creature take flight and soar, wishing she could do the same. It had been a long, telling night coupled with an early rise to join the hawking party. They’d ridden to a secluded dale on the bank of the Gironde surrounded by dense forestry.

  To her complete surprise Gillet’s brother, Arnaud d’Albret, had behaved admirably at the feast and, apart from his opening insult, he’d treated her as an honourable guest. She noted such deviation in tactics warranted careful observation but by the end of the evening Cécile knew she was slowly falling under the court’s spell. Whether it was the flow of the wine or the friendly conversations, she felt herself seduced and lulled into a false sense of security.

  Her meeting with Arn d’Albret had thrown her completely off balance and though his eyes held a question, his lips never spoke it. She had instantly warmed to his infectious humour
, his incorrigible laugh delivering a stinging reminder of Armand.

  ‘I have to talk with you,’ she’d whispered urgently to Gillet, but as the entertainment progressed into dancing, Cécile found herself much in demand and, even when her husband deigned to tread a measure with her, he forbade the tiny snatches of conversation afforded.

  ‘Too many listening,’ he whispered as they circled one another. ‘Later.’ But to Cécile’s disappointment, the end of the night had seen Lady Katherine accompany them. Gillet had been obliged to abandon Cécile at the door of her chamber with a brisk ‘good night’ and it was Lady Katherine who led her inside, delivering her into the capable hands of a beaming Minette.

  Exhausted, Cécile collapsed onto the pile of goose-feather coverlets, positive she had been snoring before Katherine vacated. It seemed that no sooner had she fallen into blissful sleep than the sun broke through the shutters and Minette woke her for the early morning hunt.

  ‘Ah, here’s the cart now. Let me choose for you.’ Gillet’s words slowly penetrated Cécile’s brain. She yawned again as he walked to the tiny conveyance. It consisted of a network of perches upon which sat rows of hooded birds in various sizes. He returned complete with a second hawking glove and began instructing her on how to hold the marlyon. Carefully, he released its hood and the bird ruffled its feathers with avian indignation.

  For the next two hours, the falconers assisted the nobility and Cécile watched as the feathered frenzy were set to flight, the falcons soaring to great heights to descend in a deadly swoop as they spied prey. In contrast, the smaller goshawks and sparrowhawks flew low to the ground but delivered their quarry with no less passion. Her own jack returned and though she accepted the small, furry body with little enthusiasm, she empathised with the birds having to endure their daily fetters in order to revel in precious moments of freedom. Would that she could enjoy such a time soon.

  Gillet flew his sacret in the first hour and Cécile marvelled at her husband’s lithe movements, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze, looking every inch the lord in his black quilted chausses and silver-grey doublet. His red-headed companion of the previous night was still sulking at Cécile’s invasion and, now and again, Cécile intercepted the sour glances thrown her way. But she was not concerned. One long, questioning look into Gillet’s eyes and she knew he had remained true in their weeks apart. In the last months as man and wife, she had learned he possessed a conscience that struggled to portray dishonesty – at least in matters of the heart and body. In all else, he executed necessary deception with expertise!