Written by Cécile d’Armagnac at Palais du Rois, Paris, 3 March 10 Jean II.
Letter from Sister Mary Catherine
Aylesbury, England.
To Lady Cécile d’Armagnac, with faithful heart and loving consideration,
be this letter delivered.
Sister. How do I convey the emotion conjured by just one word? How can I confer the change this has wrought upon me? Like yours, my life will never be the same.
I had been, in God’s good grace, a novice at Denny Abbey, awaiting my time to take Holy Orders, having not yet been able to prove my worthiness. Left at the mercy of my benefactress, Lady Mary St Pol, Countess of Pembroke, and the Poor Sisters of Clare when I was only a babe, I had been led to believe that I was a waif with no family, poverty and piety my hand fast friends. And yet all the while I have suffered as though my heart had been cleaved. Though I have dedicated my soul to the Lord, I could not fill the void within. At last, I know why.
Two days ago, returning from vespers, I received your letter. But it was not delivered by an angel from heaven. No, the messenger was an evil man, a demon, his scarred face hidden beneath a cowl.
‘I have you at last.’ His countenance displayed evil intent.
I tried to flee but he grasped a large section of robe hanging from my elbow and pulled me back. ‘Lord God, help me!’ I cried.
‘There is nobody to help you.’ He drew me in and covered my mouth with his hand. His face was but inches from mine, the yellow hue of his teeth visible in the candlelight. ‘I had foreseen a long and difficult search, but here you are. And all alone.’
My attempts to break free were pitiful and I fought to scream my alarm.
‘I know who you are, you and your sister,’ he grinned as he waved an opened parchment before me, the very same letter I now know you so recently penned. ‘Your mother’s foul actions have brought untold misery to my family, but the time has come for retribution.’
My eyes widened with shock and confusion. He threw back his head and laughed, then with one quick, decisive movement, wrenched the veil from my head. My hair fell from its clasp and tumbled down onto my shoulders.
‘Yes, how like her you are,’ he mused wryly. ‘Another whore.’
The stench of his breath was overpowering, but his hold prevented me from turning away. He smiled as his tongue, thick with mucus and the remnants of his last meal, flicked out between his coarse lips. He placed it on my chin, lingering for a moment before sliding it up and across to my nose and onto my temple, its trail chilling in the dark, cool air. I choked, my throat constricting with disgust.
Wiping away his spittle, he released his hold.
‘Please, I implore you.’
He raised his fist and struck my face. ‘Shut your filthy …’
Before he could finish, my attacker tumbled to the floor and it was some moments before I recognised Gillet, m’lady’s steward, as my saviour. I slid to my knees and watched in horror as the villain drew a knife.
Gillet’s eyes followed the blade as the shorter man waved it madly from side to side. Timing his attack, Gillet lunged and the two rolled over, a cloud of dust exploding as they thrashed their way across the flagstones. Snatching the intruder’s wrist, the able steward slammed the rogue’s knuckles into the ground, loosening his grip on the weapon. The knife and discarded parchment skimmed across the floor towards me. The attacker grunted several times before hitting out. His swing was wide. Gillet’s fist did not miss its mark. The man’s head flew back from the force of the blow and a trail of blood oozed from his lip. Rising to his feet, Gillet retrieved the dagger from the shadows and pointed it menacingly.
‘My Lord Salisbury, what are you doing?’ Lady Mary of Pembroke stepped into a shaft of light, her aura commanding a holy righteousness. ‘Gillet, stand aside!’ The steward reluctantly lowered his weapon. ‘Lord William Montagu of Salisbury, explain yourself.’
‘That,’ he replied, indicating in my direction, ‘is the filth which comes from the womb of a bitch in heat, the offspring of lust and the creature for whom I have long searched and now found, and as such I demand compensation for that which I am duly owed.’
He was standing over the Lady Mary in a most demonic manner yet her courage held fast as she looked across at me. ‘Gillet, help the good Sister from the floor and take her to the infirmary. Then come to my rooms, where I will be discussing this matter with our visitor.’
As they retired to Lady Pembroke’s private residence, I slid the forgotten parchment into my sleeve just as Gillet reached me.
‘Sister Mary Catherine, are you hurt?’
‘No, no, I am shaken but that is all.’
‘Here, let me help you.’
‘No, you must go to Lady Mary,’ I said as he assisted me to my feet. ‘Please, Gillet, I fear for her safety. I can make my own way downstairs. She needs you.’
He shook his head. ‘I will not leave you alone.’
‘Then send Anaïs to me.’
Stepping back, he bowed formally. ‘If that is what you wish.’ He peered from beneath lowered lashes to ensure we were alone and then extended his hand, his fingers lightly brushing the burgeoning bruise on my cheek. ‘Catherine?’
‘Please, I need you to go.’ I stood watching until he disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
’Twas with great haste that I made my way to the rear of Lady Pembroke’s rooms, by way of the kitchens, through a passageway in the lower cloister. I peered into the gloom and found the door to the hidden cupboard, which I knew contained a peep-hole into Lady Pembroke’s private chamber. I had discovered it years ago, as a child at play. I was terrified but I had to know. Who was this man and who were the mother and sister of whom he had spoken?
By the time I arrived they were deep in conversation. Crouching, I peered through the hole. The voices within were muffled, yet I could hear Lady Mary exclaiming her disgust at this man’s behaviour.
‘How dare you force your way into this house of God and assault one of our innocent young novices!’
‘That was no nun, as you very well know.’ He paced the room from fireplace to door.
‘You are mistaken, Lord Salisbury,’ she argued, ‘for that was …’
‘Enough! You and Holland can trick me no more! That was Catherine in my grip just now and I can prove it. I want her brought before me and I want it done now!’ He reached forward and pulled the Lady Mary out of her seat.
‘She is not here,’ she boasted, as her hands feebly wrestled with his hold on her gown.
‘You are a stupid old woman, Mary St Pol.’ He shook her fragile body with each word. ‘She’s in this convent and I will have her, with or without your help.’
‘I can assure you, William, you will never find her.’
His anger was without conscience and, from my concealment, I watched in horror as he struck the Lady Mary to the ground.
‘I have been a fool! I should not have let her out of my sight, but I thought I could convince you to see it my way. No matter.’ He kicked the seemingly lifeless body with his boot. ‘It will but forestall her discomfort.’
He lifted his arm and with one movement swiped the contents atop the desk onto the floor, then marched from the room.
I remained in the cupboard, shaking uncontrollably, too frightened to venture forward but desperate to assist the Lady Mary. However, it was not long before Gillet entered and fell to his knees beside my prostrate benefactress.
‘Lady Mary, can you hear me?’ he whispered as he gently lifted her shoulders.
I broke free from my hiding place and within two twists of the corridor was by his side.
‘The Earl struck her.’
He lay the good Lady back down. ‘You saw him leave?’
I nodded my reply, my gaze now fixed upon the innocent victim before me.
Gillet scooped up the papers strewn across the rug and, quickly scanning them, scowled darkly. ‘Did Lady Pembroke give him anything? Did Salisbury take anyth
ing from this room?’
‘No.’ I looked up, puzzled at his tone. ‘I am sure he took nothing. Why?’
He gently grasped my hand. ‘Never mind now. We must flee this place before Salisbury discovers you. I will have the chaplain attend Lady Mary.’ His concern convinced me of his sincerity but before I could leave I begged him to allow me just a few minutes with her.
She seemed so old and broken lying on the floor. Struggling, she grasped my tunic and pulled me close, whispering but one word, over and over.
‘Broughton,’ she wheezed. ‘Broughton … Broughton.’
Bending lower, I was suddenly pushed aside by the frantic Sister Anne, Abbess of Denny.
‘Blessed Lord, what has happened?’
I relinquished my hold of Lady Mary’s fingers and stepped away to allow Sister Anne to commence her ministrations.
‘We must be away, and quickly,’ instructed Gillet as he led me back through the kitchens and out of the garden. We found Anaïs, Denny’s kitchen maid, waiting at the waif’s gate, hopping from one leg to the other, with a small bundle of clothing tucked beneath her arm. The sounds of commotion from within the convent heightened my desperate need to escape and, creeping under cover of the orchard, we fled the great stone walls out into a world completely foreign to me.
I never thought I would long for the austere reverence that was my life. I want nothing more than to be on my knees, praying before the plain wooden cross, the only ornament in Lady Mary’s private chapel. Yet the familiarity of my maid is all that remains, for nothing is as it was. I am lost at sea, unable to swim, drowning as each new wave engulfs me.
Gillet’s smile was encouraging as we sat together within the inn at Aylesbury the following day. The owner, his trusted friend, had greeted our late arrival warmly and, with politeness, held his curiosity in check.
‘Salisbury was seen riding towards Norwich,’ said Gillet. ‘Perhaps he has assumed that you will seek sanctuary at the cathedral.’
‘I pray you are right,’ I mumbled, unable to meet his gaze. ‘How long before I can return to Denny?’
‘You cannot go back.’
‘But I will be missed.’
‘I was told Salisbury was furious when you were not forthcoming, and swore an unholy vengeance upon you.’
‘What could possibly be the reason for this?’ I sobbed as Anaïs placed a comforting arm about my shaking shoulders.
‘Did Salisbury question you?’ demanded Gillet, reaching for a goblet from the tray of victuals.
‘He asked me nothing, rather, laid blame upon me for a sin committed by my mother,’ I cried. ‘I believe she is the key, for who am I if not an orphan? I must find out who she is.’
‘No, it is too dangerous! Once I know Salisbury’s whereabouts I can decide upon the next course of action and where best to hide you.’
‘Perhaps France,’ I suggested, removing your letter from my sleeve. ‘This is the parchment that he waved in my face. I have a sister, Gillet!’ I exclaimed, the truth finally dawning. ‘A twin, no less, by the name of Cécile d’Armagnac.’
The jug of ale crashed to the floor as Gillet spun around. ‘Armagnac!’
‘Yes, she resides in France. Mayhap I could go to her,’ I replied, frowning at the broken shards. ‘I have always known that I was not a member of the St Pol family as the Lady Pembroke is my guardian, but she implied that I had no kin.’
Ignoring the puddled ale, Gillet reached over and took your missive from my hands. ‘May I?’ he asked, but began reading before I consented. He first glanced at the final page and read your name aloud, before returning to the beginning. ‘Comte d’Armagnac has broken your sister’s engagement!’
‘Yes, as her breeding was questionable.’
‘It would seem that the courier delivering her letter was intercepted. I can only assume then that Salisbury has had you within his sights for some time. Perhaps he was simply waiting for confirmation.’
‘Confirmation of what?’ asked Anaïs, her arm remaining protectively about my back.
He took a goodly sip of ale before answering. ‘Their location.’
‘Will you reply to Cécile’s letter?’ asked Anaïs as she wiped ale from her mouth with the back of her hand. She is a little older than I and born in Gascony. She once intimated that she had known Gillet when they were children and therefore was able to form a firm friendship with Lady Mary’s steward. Gillet is the centre of my dear friend’s world. She discusses him endlessly and exalts his reliability at every opportunity. I suspect she is more than a little in love with him.
‘Of course I shall reply to my sister! I intend to ask permission to seek refuge with her.’
‘No!’ retorted Gillet. ‘For we have much to consider, as it seems that Salisbury wants you both. If you go you will be playing right into his hands. Separately, you are much harder to locate.’
‘But now we have found each other we must be together and learn more of our mother and father.’
‘Mary Catherine, you do not understand. To go now would be to place Demoiselle d’Armagnac in extreme danger. I will deliver your letter to France and seek explanations. ’Tis imperative that you remain hidden within these walls until I return. Adam will see you safe.’
Rising to her feet, Anaïs appeared somewhat disgruntled. ‘Why must it be you who goes?’
‘Because only I can.’
So, my sister, I write this now, for on the morrow Gillet is away to you. I am most desperately sorry for any hurt I have caused. You were to wed a duke. I was to marry into the church. We have both lost a great deal. Yet there is so much to be gained. That you bear a great love for your cousin and brother is obvious. Can you not find a corner in your heart for me?
I cannot imagine what your life has been like and understand my existence will not be to your taste. Until three days ago I had not travelled more than two miles from Denny, nor frequented an inn, let alone feasted on such delicacies as capons and dried figs. My purse is meagre and my knowledge minute. Yet, though I have been thrust out into a place so frightening, so dark, there is hope, for we have each other. Dearest sister, your friendship would mean more than you could ever know. Will you not grant it?
Dedicating my prayers to your safety and good health.
By your grace, Sister Mary Catherine.
Written from the King’s Arms in the village of Aylesbury, Feast of Saint Paul Aurelian, 12 March 34 Edward III.
Gillet de Bellegarde reined in his horse. Shielding his eyes from the afternoon glare, he stared at the walled city of Paris. What foolishness had come over him? Madame Fate was playing the whore, opening her legs to entice him. If he succumbed and slid his hand up her thigh, he knew she would snap her knees shut. She always did. But what choice did he have? The girl was Armagnac.
He swallowed heavily and ran a finger around the collar of his doublet, feeling an invisible noose tightening. Two years ago he escaped the real thing, saved by the intervention of one man – Jean d’Armagnac. But had it saved him or just prolonged his misery? The price had been high. To serve his former master, the Prince of Wales. Were he discovered now, he would die a traitor’s death, but this time he would deserve it.
It was opportune that King Edward had chosen him to carry the ransom for a favoured courtier. It was convenient that the destination was the Dauphin’s palace where the Armagnac girl resided. To the north King Edward moved on Burgundy. To the south, in Chartres, his son, the Prince of Wales, waited. And straight ahead was the daughter of Armagnac. Gillet blinked in the harsh sunlight. Oh, yes, Fate was playing the whore but perhaps if he moved his hand skilfully enough, he could settle his accounts with all three.
To the reverent and esteemed Sister Mary Catherine, my greetings do I bestow.
Your courier arrived, a most handsome man and pleasing to the eye. A pity the same cannot be said for his manners.
Unaware of your fate, I was caught at an inconvenient moment in the palace rose garden. I had feigned a megrime to escape the
frivolous twitterings of the ladies’ embroidery circle, my temper as ragged as my stitching. A bee, diligently collecting his pollen, was politely listening to my tirade as I sucked my needle-pricked fingers.
‘Silly, vicious cows! “Have you heard,”’ I mimicked, ‘“the Duc de Berri has taken a preference to spring lamb? Apparently the mutton is tainted.” Do they think me made of stone that I should not bleed?’ Sniffing away the threatening tears, I jumped as a voice sounded behind me.
‘Mademoiselle d’Armagnac?’
‘Who wants to know?’ Piqued that I had been observed, I hastily wiped my cheeks and turned. A dusty-cloaked man with mud-spattered boots stood back a few paces. His mouth fell open with the discretion of a village idiot and he rubbed his eyes. ‘Well? Speak your piece, fellow. Were we not standing upon grass you would hear my foot tapping.’
‘I … I was told that I would probably find the Demoiselle d’Armagnac in the rose garden.’
‘And so you have, but do I wear two noses that you must stare at me thus?’ I noted his courier’s pouch. ‘Is your back broken, Monsieur, that you cannot bend at the waist?’
A flash of anger illuminated the dark eyes, but one knee went to the ground submissively, his black hair, worn long, falling forward as he removed his hat with the fashionable upturned brim. His head bent in a minimal gesture of respect.
The Lily and the Lion Page 2
