Gillet frowned but his hand closed softly around Cécile’s in order to stop her from biting her nails. They were sitting in the rose garden, the sun’s pink rays saturating the last of the afternoon sky. ‘It was bound to come out eventually. Bohun blindsided you with talk of the horse.’
‘It wasn’t until I thought about our conversation that I realised he referred to you as my husband.’ She looked up in despair.
‘There is little damage he can do with that knowledge here except to create a sensation but it will eventually reach the Prince’s ears. Our days of Edward’s ignorance are numbered.’
‘Hmm, that was something else Lord Bohan said. He implied that the tower housed the Prince’s apartments.’
‘Then who is this woman from whom Odette borrowed the jewellery?’
Cécile shook her head.
Gillet’s scowl deepened. ‘Did you ever see this piece?’
‘Non.’
‘Do you think she may have been lying?’
‘Odette?’ Cécile snorted. ‘No. But she doesn’t really care for this court. She wants to leave it as soon as possible and marry her Eustace.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘She is consumed by him.’
‘Eustace?’ Gillet blanched and it was Cécile’s turn to frown at her husband’s lack of sensitivity. ‘Yes. Is it so impossible that someone may love the woman beneath the scars?’
Gillet was shaking his head. ‘No, no, you misunderstand. “Eustace” is Bonneuil’s first name. I told you he was here.’ Cécile practically heard the shift of gears in Gillet’s brain. ‘Odette is the Mistress of the Robes, therefore she will have access to most, if not all, the suites. If Bonneuil has cozened her affections it will be for no other reason than she can tread where he cannot.’
‘Odette and Bonneuil? Really Gillet! I’m aggrieved you put so little faith in Odette. Do not forget, if not for her, I would never have escaped Paris.’
‘It’s not Odette I distrust but I’ll swap kittens with tigers if Bonneuil is not working her.’
Cécile’s face darkened. ‘She had me distract the sentry posted on the apartment.’ The spinning coin in her head landed, illuminated side up.
Gillet looked at her sharply. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
Cécile met his gaze. ‘Odette lied. She had me distract the guards on Edward’s suite. Do you think she was looking for the scroll?’
‘For Bonneuil, without a doubt,’ growled Gillet. ‘But for whom is he working? He could never contrive this escapade on his own so who else knows there exists evidence of a brokered deal for the Scottish crown?’ Gillet breathed deeply. ‘Since we cannot find this Henri d’Argentan perhaps we would do better to discover whose hands hold the scroll. Tomorrow Arn takes his oath. I would have us gone from here the morning after the celebrations. Many will be nursing sore heads and have little care for our movements. We have until then to locate Bonneuil.’ His grasp on her fingers became stronger and his voice filled with determination. ‘We need to be free of all this to find Jean Petit.’
Stabbed by the reminder, Cécile’s commitment weakened. ‘God keep him safe, where ever he is,’ she whispered.
‘Amen.’
Sir John Chandos had a lean build and even when folded into a chair, still appeared tall. His long face was a series of sharp planes and angles with a chestnut-coloured beard cut to the shape of his square chin. He wore a large, gold chaperon, the tippet wound around his brow in a padded roll and a full circular cockscomb, dagged in oak-leaf pattern, fell elegantly to his shoulders. He was dressed in a silver-grey surcotte slashed with a gules pile, a red wedge-shaped charge or ‘v,’ from neck to groin, his personal heraldic design.
The Vicomte de Tartas, Arnaud-Amanieu d’Albret, was robed in a singular colour, the well-known and feared blood-red. He bent his dark head as he kneeled before the English knight and recited the words of allegiance, his hands pressed together and held within those of John Chandos. At the completion, Sir John bestowed the kiss of peace to Arn’s lips. ‘You will be called upon, Milord, to repeat your vow in person to the Prince when he arrives.’
It was done. The Albrets of Gascogne would remain loyal to England.
In his seat, Gillet sighed as he watched with a heart divided. He’d known first-hand Edward’s friendship. He’d felt the heir’s anger too. And soon he would know the Black Prince’s bitterness. He glanced sideways at ‘Lady Holland’ sitting beside him. Gillet de Bellegarde had always known his own mind and had never doubted his choice. Moreover, like his wife, he could not turn his back on the true ruler of France. It was all in the geography. Lands may be sectioned and quartered, split and bartered during treaties, handed over in marriage contracts, but the ‘whole’ France was one territory surrounded by sea and not to be segregated into pieces like divisions on a shield. Did the instigators of such manipulations really think people’s loyalty could be cut and sliced with the same calculating ease? He knew of many villages under Aquitaine’s skirts that, for a lack of choice, merely tolerated the English. Gillet noted the court’s lavish decorations, had heard of the plethora of employed wood-turners, potters and weavers, working day and night to supply the castle. Edward was not afraid to spend his coin. Gillet’s glance fell back upon his cousin, Arnaud-Amanieu d’Albret. Gold was a strong negotiator but what would happen when the coffers ran dry? Would the Albrets heed their heads or their hearts?
After the vows, the celebrations began in earnest and one remove after another was carried to the tables. Dishes of creamed lampreys, whole eels, golden roasted swans in chaudon sauce, platters of steaming fish poached in wine, simple cheese tarts, chicken and pork pies, onion soppes, several rich gravies as well as barrels of ale kept everyone happily occupied. The feasting would continue long into the night.
Gillet brooded over his mulled wine, swirling his cup as though he expected the answer to his problems to magically appear in the dark liquid. He had to find Bonneuil but since that first time when he’d sighted his adversary at the stable, the man had become invisible. The only hope lay with Odette and Cécile had gone in search of her. Gillet looked up to see Arn approaching.
‘Cousin,’ Arn grinned his welcome as he plopped himself down. He read Gillet’s face with expertise. ‘You are leaving?’
‘The time is right,’ said Gillet. ‘It has been good to see you again, Arn.’ The cousins grasped forearms, their faces tight with emotion and then Arn stood and pulled Gillet into a hug. ‘I know you would have preferred other arrangements, Gillet.’
‘Each man must live by his conscience. Pray be it we never meet across the battlefield for then I shall know mine own death.’
‘And I, mine,’ replied Arn, huskily. The two men broke apart.
‘Then perhaps we shall both live,’ said Gillet, with lopsided smile.
‘And if that be the case, I will send to you my firstborn son for fostering.’
‘Ha!’ snorted Gillet. ‘You have yet to choose a bride but, yes, it will be my honour.’
Arn’s eyes twinkled. ‘And the Lady Holland? You two have been the whisper of the court, an Albret bee in the Holland honeypot!’
‘Choice words, cousin. The Lady Holland comes with me.’ He leaned forward and murmured, ‘She is my wife, after all.’ He drew back with a wink. ‘Your discretion is a given.’
Arn switched to Languedoc and lowered his voice even though laughter rippled at the edge of his words. ‘Ho! You sly dog! But then it does not surprise me as much as you think. I was not oblivious on our youthful visits to Armagnac. It took me a little while but I recognised her. Why do you think I kept Rose’s husband, de Grailly, entertained elsewhere? Come,’ he thumped Gillet’s shoulder affectionately, ‘take a final drink with me. We shall consecrate our belief.’ They raised their cups together, reciting.
‘To Albret blood – thicker than water, thicker than wine.’
Cécile made her way through the gardens, intent on finding Odette, when a shape stepped from the darkness, his voice thick with dist
ain.
‘Lady Holland? Or should I welcome you to the family, Lady d’Armagnac? Lord de Bohan was very forthcoming with his new knowledge of your marriage.’ Arnaud d’Albret, Gillet’s older brother, hooked his fingers around her arm and pulled her closer. ‘So it is true, you lost your royal bastard?’
For a moment confusion roiled in Cécile’s head and then she remembered Catherine’s confession to the Black Prince that her sister had miscarried. There was some irony in her truthful answer to Arnaud. ‘Yes, my son is lost to me.’ Her temper flared as she recalled her delivery on the docks in Calais and she pulled her arm from his grip. ‘No thanks to you.’
He shook her fiercely. ‘Is this why you keep my wife from me? Some silly game of revenge? You caused the loss of my heir and I caused the loss of yours. Quid pro quo. We are even.’
They heard the scrape of steel against a scabbard. ‘Unhand my wife.’ Gillet’s eyes blazed but his voice was chilling.
‘Not until you give me back mine. I could ruin you both right now,’ warned Arnaud, letting go of Cécile at a prod from Gillet’s sword. ‘Traitors still hang.’
‘But you won’t,’ stated Gillet, evenly. ‘You would have to answer to Amanieu and Arn in blood.’
Arnaud paled as the tip of Gillet’s sword was levelled at his throat. In that moment he looked a beaten, withered man. ‘Please, Ghillebert,’ he beseeched, holding out his hands. ‘I just want to know where is my wife. I … I miss her.’ A sob hung on his last word and spittle trembled on his lips.
Gillet’s expression softened and a sudden lump hampered his swallow. He sheathed his sword with a sigh.
‘Gillet, no,’ whispered Cécile but he held up his palm to ward off her words.
‘He has a right to his wife, Cécile.’ He looked at Arnaud. ‘Ride to the village of Le Goulet and seek the local priest. He will show you where Margot currently resides.’ He turned from Arnaud just as a fist connected with his jaw. Cécile covered her scream as Gillet went sprawling to the dirt, his lip split. She rushed to his side, Arnaud looming above them.
‘The next time we meet, brother, I shall cut up your intestines for tippets! Be assured Marguerite will feel the sting of her disobedience. And the Prince shall be informed of your marriage. If he puts a price on your head, I will come to collect it myself and neither Arn nor Amanieu will stand in my way!’ He spat on the ground and marched away.
‘Gillet!’ Cécile helped her husband to his feet just as both of them spied Minette running like a frightened gazelle along the path.
‘Milady! Milord!’ she panted. ‘Come quick. It’s Odette.’ She burst into tears. ‘She’s dying!’
‘Start again, from the beginning.’ Simon lifted the jug from the fireplace and filled Catherine’s mug with the warm wine. The tavern was empty, the innkeeper having closed early as there were few customers to entertain. Roderick had offered him several coins for the exclusive use of the taproom. Now they had privacy to speak freely.
‘Agnes told me she knew the sword was missing. She said Clare Mentieth, the youngest daughter of Mentieth the Treacherous, sold the relic to your uncle, Aymer.’
‘Who hid it at Denny Abbey,’ Roderick deduced.
‘She went on to tell me Clare used her knowledge of the sword to bargain for the life of Agnes’ brother, John Randolph. Clare and John were betrothed.’ Catherine placed her chilled fingers around the goblet. ‘The first Earl of Salisbury caught Randolph trying to sneak into Dunbar Castle. Clare told Salisbury she could help him steal the sword, even though she knew it was already gone.’
‘How long did she think she could keep Salisbury fooled?’ Simon pondered.
‘Agnes said Clare was very naïve and probably thought she could keep the old Earl occupied long enough for Agnes to find a way to rescue her.’
‘I am assuming it did not go well?’ Roderick asked.
‘John Randolph was beaten and released and Clare was last seen leaving with Salisbury for Dumbarton. Several months later Agnes’ husband had a replica sword placed at Dumbarton so no one would discover the ruse.’ Catherine sighed.
‘Imagine the old lady’s surprise when she saw you carrying the very weapon she thought long hidden in England,’ Roderick mocked. ‘I bet it rekindled some nightmares.’
‘She told me she was terrified as she did not know your intentions!’
‘Because she assumed I was going to give it to David and tell him the truth of the matter?’ Simon asked.
‘I am not sure, but she is determined to see us return it.’ Catherine grasped her husband’s hand and gently squeezed his fingers. ‘Perhaps she wishes to right a wrong.’
‘Or wants to ensure that her part in such a treacherous act is never revealed,’ Roderick suggested. ‘Did she ascertain what happened to the young woman?’
‘Agnes appeared genuinely distraught by her friend’s disappearance. She claims Lord Dunbar did all he could to locate Clare, but was unable to do so.’
‘Perhaps we will learn more over the coming days,’ Simon speculated. ‘Lady Dunbar will be accompanying us to Dumbarton.’
Roderick nodded his agreement. ‘Are you going to leave Gabby here?’
‘I think that best. Though I know she has not complained, I fear Girda is finding our transient life quite taxing,’ Simon replied. ‘She is not a young woman.’
‘But I am to go?’ Catherine reinforced.
‘I doubt I could stop you,’ Simon conceded as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.
They departed the following morning. Mist from the River Clyde was thick and heavy and swirled around them, penetrating Catherine’s thickest cloak. She kissed Gabby’s brow before handing him to Girda, trepidation consuming her heart, but Simon had assured her they would be no more than four days, time enough for Girda and Tiphanie to rest.
They followed the course of the river towards Kilpatrick and rested outside the village by the old Roman wall. Agnes had hardly spoken with Catherine, avoiding any eye contact during the journey. Catherine wondered whether Agnes was apprehensive about their upcoming visit to Dumbarton or angry with her for sharing all she had been told with Simon and Roderick.
Catherine removed several apples from the basket they had procured from the innkeeper at Govan and held one out to Agnes.
‘Thank you, but I am not feeling very hungry.’
‘I am sorry if I have upset you, but I felt I had to confide in Lord Wexford,’ Catherine confessed.
‘I am not angry with you, Catherine. I am angry with myself. I am a stupid, selfish woman who should have acted as I knew was right.’
‘It was a long time ago. Many things have changed since then.’
‘Yes, not least myself,’ Agnes admitted. ‘I have been a poor example to you.’
Catherine was filled with a sudden surge of pity for the older woman. ‘You may have made some poor judgments, but I can truly understand why you did. I, too, would do all I could to save my sibling.’
Agnes reached out and embraced Catherine. ‘You are a dear, sweet girl.’
‘And regardless of what you may think, you have been a wonderful chaperone and companion,’ Catherine added, ‘and I will be forever grateful.’
Dumbarton Rock rose before them, visible across the lowlands as far as the Kilpatrick Hills, dominating the skyline. Roderick rode ahead, the carriage bumping along the track some distance behind him.
‘What are your plans once we arrive?’ Agnes asked Simon as she steadied herself on the bench seat.
‘I am relying on you, Lady Dunbar, to gain us entry.’
‘I see. Perhaps I should spend some time constructing a decent lie!’
Simon looked back over his shoulder and caught Catherine’s grimace. ‘Do what you must.’
‘You have taken great risks to return something that is of little interest to you, something which could have potentially made you a very rich man,’ Agnes observed.
‘I am, by God’s good grace, already wealthy and I would prefer to
know the sword is secure at Dumbarton and not in the hands of either the French or the English. Too much could be made of its heritage, drawing men to war. I want no part of that.’
Agnes laughed. ‘So you do not trust your own kin?’
‘I do not trust anyone.’
‘A wise philosophy.’
‘Should the theft be revealed the reputation of my family, like yours, would be forever sullied. I am fortunate that I am able to correct the wrongdoing of my uncle.’
‘And I hope I may also do the same,’ Agnes admitted.
‘Lady Dunbar! We were not expecting you.’ The elderly Lord Cameron shuffled into the hall followed by two maids with trays of mulled wine, warm bannocks and bowls of steaming pottage.
‘I am sorry to impose, Dougal, but I am hoping you could offer my travelling companions and me some respite, just for a few days.’ Agnes drew the older man closer and slipped her arm through his. ‘We are on our way to Glasgow but Lady Wexford is with child and has not been well.’
‘Oh course, of course.’ Dougal blushed as he sidled away from Agnes. ‘But I will not be able to offer much comfort as I have only just arrived myself.’
‘Rest assured, Lord Cameron, we require little,’ stated Simon. ‘We are simply grateful for your hospitality.’
‘That, I can provide, for we have rooms in abundance. But tell me, Agnes, how did you know I would be here?’ Dougal asked.
‘A fortunate circumstance! I was told Dumbarton had a caretaker in residence. I was not expecting it to be you,’ Agnes said.
‘Yes, well, normally it wouldn’t be, but rumours reached my ears that several members of staff have been lining their pockets by allowing visitors to view our precious relics.’
Dougal eased himself into the large wooden chair positioned directly in front of the fire.
‘I thought it prudent to return and sort matters out.’
‘I imagine the King would be none too happy to learn his goods and chattels were being handled by the sullied mass.’ Roderick smiled. ‘Imagine if anything had gone missing!’
The Gilded Crown Page 30
