The Gilded Crown

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘Hmmm.’ Cécile arched in pleasure. Any thoughts of her new cousin or weddings flew from her mind as Gillet’s hand slid between her thighs. There was no more talking, only the crackle of the fire and the moans of lovers.

  When, sometime later, they fell back among the pillows, sated, Cécile traced tiny patterns on Gillet’s chest and asked. ‘What now?’

  ‘What, woman? You want more already?’ Gillet tugged her hair. It hung in ringlets around her neck, almost reaching her shoulders.

  Cécile giggled. ‘No. I mean what now for us, here in Bellegarde?’

  ‘We live our lives,’ stated Gillet matter-of-factly.

  ‘But what about the Dauphin? When he receives that scroll, won’t he call you forth to withdraw the charges against you?’

  ‘I do not think that will happen anytime soon.’ He looked at his wife. ‘Trust me. I had a decision to make and I made the right one.’ He stretched out his limbs like a great lion taking pause, and then clasping his fingers under his head, stared at the ceiling. ‘I can only pray that damning evidence made its way into the right hands.’

  September, 1361

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  Simon waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior, then made his way along the nave towards the large stained glass window. He was expecting the church to be empty given the lateness of the hour, so was surprised to find several nuns worshipping in the transept. Selecting a pew midway between the back and side entrances, Simon knelt and bowed his head. He could feel the scroll beneath his doublet, the broken wax seal catching on his shirt.

  Catherine had settled well back at Cambridge Castle and he had begun to believe that she would recover from the grief that had all but consumed her. He lowered his face as the sisters filed past him, their habits stirring a fond memory. A vision of his wife, dressed in a brown surcoat lifted his heavy mood. How she had changed in such a short period of time!

  ‘The Church of Saint Giles? An odd place to suggest for our meeting.’ Robert Stewart leaned against the pew. ‘I would have much preferred the tavern.’

  ‘Saint Giles invokes good tidings for me,’ replied Simon.

  ‘Care to share?’ Robert folded his arms and waited.

  ‘A friend once gifted a medal of Saint Gilles to the woman of his heart. In return, he wears a medal of the saint bearing her name.’

  ‘And he gained her respect?’

  ‘He won her love and they married.’

  Robert gazed up at the arched beams. ‘Touching story. Are you telling me you now feel the need for protection from a saint?’ He looked at Simon. ‘I heard of your loss and I am sorry. How is your wife?’

  ‘Recovering, but it has not been an easy time. The imminent birth of our second child has brought her renewed purpose.’

  ‘You have my sympathy, Wexford.’ Robert grasped Simon’s shoulder. ‘I, too, know what it is to lose a babe.’

  ‘I will pass your well wishes to Lady Wexford,’ Simon offered, unable to determine if Robert’s sentiment was genuine.

  ‘Your message said you had something for me.’

  ‘I do.’ Simon’s hand hovered over his doublet. ‘And this fulfils our arrangement?’

  ‘I will decide that once I have seen it.’ Robert grinned

  Simon removed the parchment and passed it to Robert. The heir to the Scottish throne unfolded the document and examined it under the dim light cast by the candle on the altar. His smile grew wide as his eyes skimmed over the agreement.

  ‘I believe this more than adequately meets my expectations, Wexford.’

  ‘Then we are finished here?’

  ‘Aye, we are,’ Robert agreed. He held the document up to the candle and examined the contents once more before placing the corner into the flame.

  Simon watched, mesmerised, as King Edward’s insignia erupted, the Thistle of Scotland following closely behind. ‘You know it was obtained at great sacrifice by some.’

  ‘Tell them they have the gratitude of the nation. Scotland will remain ruled by a Scottish monarch.’ Robert held onto the scroll for as long as possible, only dropping the sheet when it was fully alight. Large pieces of blackened parchment floated like feathers to the flagstone floor where they settled at the base of the alabaster statue of Saint Giles. ‘It is done.’

  Simon nodded and without a backwards glance, marched from the church.

  Edward of Woodstock dismissed his servant and closed the heavy oak doors to his chamber. He poured himself a large goblet of Bordeaux and gazed dispassionately into the murrey depths. Was it irony that the name of his favourite wine was also to be the place of his new court, his paradise, his world to rule? His lips pulled into a thin line. His domain would be missing something he had long coveted. And now all hope was gone.

  He’d just come from an interview with Humphrey de Bohan. The snake had enjoyed two months of court dalliance before requesting his audience. And Edward was sure he’d seen Salisbury hanging off de Bohun’s elbow.

  The Prince had kept his face void of all emotion during the interview, and now, in the privacy of his own chamber, he permitted himself an expression of contemptuous disgust. His thoughts passed over de Bohan and clutched at the heart of the matter. He took a large swig of the wine.

  The one woman who heated his blood, made his senses sing, who could have become his queen and at whose feet he would have kneeled prostrate, had married Gillet de Bellegarde. In the eyes of God, they were man and wife and there was nothing, nothing, he, Edward of Woodstock, son of King Edward III, Prince of Wales, could do.

  The Prince’s nostrils flared. With a mighty roar, he swept his arm over the top of his writing bureau. Wine, ink, pots, quills, parchments and coins plummeted to the costly Persian rug. Did she think she could pluck him from her life so easily? She was the daughter of one of his vassals! He frowned darkly. But Armagnac had yet to come to heel and Edward needed some connection, some bond or tie now. He could not just let Cécile d’Armagnac slip through his fingers again.

  Exhausted, Edward sank onto the stool at his dishevelled bureau and stared at the row of books protruding from the upper narrow shelf – old volumes, poetry collections and lessons from his schooling. His fingers alighted upon a gilt-crusted cover and he extracted it. It was a missal from his studies in the days he had shared his tutors with the other children fostered at Woodstock – a time long before Cécile d’Armagnac. He thumbed to the back pages and found an inscription on the yellowing parchment. It was penned in a childish, female hand; a clumsy outline of a heart enclosing two names.

  The Prince stroked his bearded chin and inhaled deeply. It was not in him to admit defeat. No, the day would come when Cécile d’Armagnac would kneel to him. And she would grace his bed again but in the meantime … he stared at the two names within the drawing – Edward and Joan – and he knew he would align himself in any way possible. Edward of Woodstock snapped shut the book, his fingertips caressing the embossed golden lion.

  ‘Your France will feel my presence, Gillet de Bellegarde, and by God, truce or no truce, wherever you are, you will hear me roar.’

  To be continued in

  Lions and Lilies – Book Four – ‘Roar of the Lion.’

  ‘Well, well, well. I must say, I am surprised to see you here, Wexford!’

  Simon Marshall clenched his jaw and glared at the Black Prince before replying tartly, ‘Your bride requested our attendance, Sire. I was of the impression that we were not in a position to refuse.’

  Space within the great hall at Windsor Palace was at a premium. Anyone of rank or title had arrived at the country estate to attend the royal wedding and were now squeezed cheek-to-jowl as they waited to partake of the gastronomical banquet. The Prince gathered two goblets of wine from a passing steward and handed one to Simon. ‘I have yet to cast my eyes upon Lady Wexford. How fares her health?’

  The sea of velvet, silk and fustian momentarily parted, providing Simon a glimpse of Catherine on the far side of the room. She was se
ated in a high-backed chair by the door. Her thick brocade gown was not conducive to the unseasonably warm October day and heavily pregnant she appeared hot and uncomfortable, fanning her face in an attempt to cool herself. ‘My wife is well.’

  ‘And she is recovered from the tragic loss of your ward?’

  Simon turned his attention back to the Prince. The royal heir’s tone inferred he was far more interested in seeking information than conveying any concern for Catherine.

  ‘You can imagine my surprise,’ continued the Prince, ‘when I learned of the mysterious death of my trusted servant, John Moleyns. This, followed by news of a child accepted into your home and treated like a son. But then he, too, perishes in a fiery inferno along with several others as yet, unidentified individuals. And it appears that the events all share something in common.’

  ‘Really, what would that be?’

  ‘You were present on each occasion!’

  Simon remained tight-lipped. It would do his cause no good to utter a careless comment.

  ‘Perhaps my inquiry will provide some clarity.’

  Simon swirled the ornate drinking vessel before swallowing the remainder of the expensive Gascon red.

  Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, brushed behind the Prince, her fingers trailing across his shoulder. Dressed in a russet, velvet gown, the veil of her headpiece flowed from her shoulders to below her waist; Joan’s beauty had not diminished with age. Simon had to admit, even to himself, that the bride looked radiant.

  Joan smiled demurely and placed a chaste kiss on her husband’s cheek before turning to speak with a courtier.

  ‘There have been a number of untimely deaths of late.’ Simon paused, waiting to ensure he had the Black Prince’s full attention. ‘One in particularly that has many court tongues wagging.’

  Edward’s face coloured. ‘Take heed, Wexford, your sarcasm angers me!’

  ‘You misunderstand, Sire. I am simply concerned for

  In 1360, Edward of Woodstock would have been thought of as the next king, Edward IV, but since he did not outlive his father, Edward III (and history later saw an Edward IV take the crown), he became known as ‘the Black Prince’ – a title we loved and chose to use anachronistically.

  There seems to be a difference of opinion between well-known academics as to whether or not women could read and write in the middle to late Middle Ages. Also whether the availability of parchment for letters was plentiful or could be afforded. It is best summed up by another researcher who declared, ‘It may be taken as axiomatic that any statement of fact about the Middle Ages may (and probably will) be met by a statement of the opposite or a different version.’ Certainly this has been our experience.

  We simply wish to say that this is not an historic account but a ‘medieval adventure with a dash of romance’ using history as its background. We have tried at all times to remain faithful and accurate to that history but it is a fictional story.

  Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, did marry Thomas Holland when she was very young. It has been suggested she may have been carrying his child and that is why they married in secret, without permission. We gave our women education and the wherewithal to procure parchment for their letters (The Lily and the Lion) so they could tell their story. Couriers did run private services if you had the coin and both families to whom we refer, did not lack fortune. Edward of Woodstock did have bastard sons; one called Jean Sounders of Calais who was conceived by an unknown mistress (The Order of the Lily). We draw from references (the places and dates are real) and we weave our story with fact and interpretation.

  The rest is imagination.

  We would like to express our gratitude to the following people who have made our journey a part of their lives.

  Firstly, we wish to thank our publisher, Kerry Collison, at Sid Harta; our editor, Les Zigomanis; our designer, Luke Harris of Working Type Studio; and our webmaster, Andrew Hill-Male. To see our dream come true is truly a special thing and we could not do it without the help of these wonderful people.

  To Gary Schweikert, (Big Hat Pictures) and to Peter Enright (EnrightOgraphy) for making the documentary of how we met, first online, then eventually in person. Your support in our project has been unwavering and uplifting. This twenty-minute documentary is available for viewing on our website www.lionsandlilies.com under the authors tab – Interviews with the authors.

  We also wish to thank Justin Webb, known locally as ‘Sir Justyn Webbe,’ for the excellent advice on weaponry and fighting with weapons, and also to his son, Tyler, and fellow members of the re-enactment group, ‘Eslite d’Corps’ for their demonstrations. These displays, many in slow motion just for our observance, gave us the detail we needed to complete realistic fight scenes.

  Another site we pay homage to is that of ‘Kat’s Hats’ which gave us extra insight into beautiful 14thC clothing. It’s great to meet people who share our passion for the Middle Ages.

  As always, we must thank our families and friends, in particular, our husbands. Their never-ending support is astonishing and truly appreciated. Without them, there would be no dream.

  And the last recognition of appreciation is reserved for our readers. If this story fills your heart, if at times it makes you laugh, makes you cry, and brings some pleasure into your life, we will have succeeded in our quest, and for that, we thank each and every one of you.

  (Please note: this covers the series. Not all words are in each book)

  A visual dictionary may be found on our website –

  www.lionsandlilies.com

  Argent

  Heraldic description of the colour silver.

  Arras

  A tapestry of Flemish origin used especially for wall hangings. A screen of tapestry.

  Bernadine

  Also known as a Cistercian, a member of the Cistercian Order of monks so named for St Bernard of Clairvaux.

  Bliaut

  An over garment featuring a voluminous skirt and horizontal puckering or pleating across a snugly fitted abdomen. The sleeves are long and loose. It was worn with a belt or stomacher.

  Braies

  An undergarment tied about the waist, a form of men’s underwear to which the chausses were tied.

  Camail

  Armour – also called aventail. A curtain of mail attached to the helm, covering the shoulders.

  Camaca

  A fine cloth-like silk.

  Caparison

  The decorative covering for a horse bearing his owner’s colours and heraldic device.

  Chaperon

  The fashion of a hood with a thick roll at the base and a liripipe draped around the chin.

  Charge

  A heraldic term for a shape as in a ‘v’ shape (which is also know as a ‘pile’)

  Chausses

  Individual leggings (not joined with a gusset) usually made of wool and tied at the top to the braies. Some knights wore gamboised (padded) chausses for protection in battle.

  Chemise

  Linen undergarment for women. The shift beneath the gown, sometimes visible at the neck and sleeves.

  Cistercian Order

  An order of monks so named for St Bernard of Clairvaux. Also known as a Bernadine.

  Cockscomb

  The comb or crest of a cock incorporated into a hat worn by a jester or professional fool.

  Compline

  The last of seven canonical bells that indicated mid-evening prayer.

  Cordovan

  Expensive soft, smooth leather made in Córdoba, Spain.

  Cotehardie

  A 14th to 16th-century unisex garment tailored to fit the torso and arms, usually with a row of buttons down the front as well as down each fitted sleeve, from the elbow to the wrist.

  Couped

  Heraldic term meaning cut off in a straight line.

  Cuisses

  A piece of armour made to fit the thigh.

  Device

  Coat of arms or heraldic emblem.

  Demesne

  Th
e central part of a manorial estate set apart for the lord’s own use that provided for the needs of his household.

  Ducat

  A gold coin used in medieval Europe.

  Ephedra

  Shrubby, almost leafless plant found in dry regions.

  Eradicated

  Heraldic term – used of a tree which has been torn up by the roots.

  Falchion

  A short, single-edged sword with a cleaver-like curved blade.

  Gamboised

  Quilted or padded – as in ‘gamboised chausses.’ Sometimes, quilted in longitudinal folds or ridges so as to be pliable in one direction and more or less stiff in the other.

  Garcon

  French word for boy.

  Garderobe

  A medieval toilet consisting of a simple hole, discharging waste into a cesspit or moat.

  Gules

  Heraldic description of the colour red.

  Hawking glove

  Thick, sturdy glove used in falconry.

  Hastilude

  A medieval term that refers to many kinds of martial or lance games.

  Heraldry/Heraldic

  The art of blazoning armorial bearings; of settling the rights of certain persons to bear arms and use certain bearings, recording honour, genealogy and deciding precedence.