The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  Confused, Gabriel held out his hands in supplication. ‘Gillet, I swear I tell the truth. She accepted and as I kissed her she suddenly started gibbering about oranges and lemons. Next thing I know she is crying!’

  ‘’Tis true what he says, Gillet,’ I laughed through my tears. ‘He did nothing wrong.’ I wiped my face, and spun within Gillet’s arms to face Gabriel. ‘Thank you for your kind invitation this evening. I am sorry I spoiled it.’

  ‘It was my pleasure, Cécile. Think nothing of it.’ He flicked Gillet a look of uncertainty and bowed gracefully. Gillet made no move and I was suddenly aware he still held me. It had not escaped Gabriel’s attention either. ‘I have the feeling that I am the intruder here,’ announced Gabriel, bowing again, ‘I shall withdraw. A good evening to you both.’

  Gillet took my hand and we walked in silence to the fishpond. He hoisted me to the high wall and then jumped up beside me. After a long moment he spoke. ‘Did you enjoy your evening?’

  ‘I cannot tell you.’ There was a pause.

  ‘Oh, may I ask why not?’

  ‘Because some might say that my evening has not ended. Some might say it is only just beginning.’

  He smiled in reply and reached for my hand. ‘Tell me about the banquet. You did not stay for the dancing?’

  ‘No,’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘For some reason it gave me no pleasure. These feasts are all the same. I see that now, the bored faces, the diversions and useless idle chatter about nothing. I cannot believe I once thought it so important to my life.’

  ‘And now? You may not be so easily reprieved. Your blood entitles you to attendance at court and may even demand it at times, depending upon whom you marry.’

  ‘Yes, that may be true but even so, were my life to travel a different path …’ I glanced up to find his dark eyes upon me. ‘I would not miss it.’

  He grinned, unconvinced. ‘Yes you would. You cannot hide from the truth, Cécile. Not about who you are or what you feel. Sooner or later it always reveals itself. I think you, of all people, know that.’ His finger firmly lifted my chin. ‘Why could you not kiss Gabriel? What truth were you afraid to face? Did you not want to discover which of us was the lemon?’

  ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘I was afraid I had two oranges.’

  ‘Ah.’ He kicked one foot against the stone in contemplation. The silence between us grew. ‘Hmm, two oranges, then you would have to choose, oui?’

  I looked up, my voice trembling. ‘No, Gillet, no. Do you not see? I could not kiss Gabriel because I had already made my choice.’

  ‘Céci.’ His whisper carried on the wings of the breeze and his mouth swooped to claim mine. His breathing was fired with passion. A thrill of delight swept through me as his kiss deepened. One arm swung around my back and a hand caught at my waist to slowly slide upwards. My heart pounded erratically, my senses ablaze as his palm cupped my breast and his lips traced the column of my neck.

  ‘Céci.’ His fingers brushed my throat and slid to the neckline of my gown, his eyes pleading consent.

  I offered my lips and his sweet assault was renewed. My gown was eased from my shoulder. I ached to feel his touch upon my skin. Gillet groaned and lowered his mouth. In complete surrender I leaned back, arching to grant him full access.

  I felt a shift in our universe and my stomach rolled. His head flew up with a look of horror as we tumbled backwards into the fishpond. The next thing I knew, I was spluttering for air and fighting with pond weed. My foot slipped on the slimy floor and I was submerged again.

  ‘Steady, Céci. Don’t thrash! Put your feet down and stand. The water is merely waist deep. Do not fear, I have you.’ I resurfaced gasping as Gillet’s powerful grip lifted me to the edge of the stonework. He hoisted himself from the pool, grinning sheepishly. ‘Lady, if my advances were offensive, a simple “no” would have sufficed.’

  ‘I d–d–did n–not w–w–want to say n–n–no.’

  ‘Your teeth are chattering.’ He tore off his doublet, shook it and settled his warmth around my shoulders, grimacing. ‘Come. Let us get you inside before you catch your death.’

  There is no experience quite like squelching along in a heavy, sodden gown. We made it to the first floor unseen but not inconspicuous. Our trail of puddled water would hardly go unnoticed. As we reached my door, Armand stepped from his room and gaped in disbelief.

  ‘She’s fine, Armand,’ intervened Gillet hastily. ‘Just wet. We, er, had a little mishap at the fishpond.’

  ‘What, Céci? I find that hard to believe.’ He headed for the staircase, laughing. ‘Perhaps you mean fish-hap!’

  Gillet pushed me inside my chamber. ‘I will send a maid to you. Meet me in the morning.’

  ‘I will want an explanation, though,’ sung out Armand. ‘Perhaps you should meet me in the morning.’

  It is amazing how a warm bath and a night of good sleep can alter one’s perception of an event. I was humming by the time I descended the stairs to break my fast, the water incident forgotten as I dwelled more upon the kiss that had preceded it. As I arrived at the table Gillet was unfolding a newly delivered parchment. Seating myself opposite, I watched as he read the missive, his welcoming smile gradually fading to a deep scowl.

  ‘It’s from Simon,’ he commented. I jumped as he thumped the table. ‘ Merde!’

  ‘Gillet,’ I said, reaching out. ‘Lower your voice. You are drawing attention to us.’

  He looked up at the curious faces and waved the document with a feeble smile. ‘She wants me to swap all the chickens for geese!’ Heads nodded in sympathy and went back to their own business.

  ‘Jesu,’ he growled, in a lower tone. ‘Does God give with one hand only to plaguey well take with the other?’ He slid the parchment across and I picked it up.

  Monsieur de Bellegarde,

  It grieves me that I must write under such circumstances but considering my current position and the responsibility I bear, I feel I have no choice.

  Forgive my opening, I do not wish to allude that either I or my charge, the Mistress Catherine, are in any direct danger.

  Unfortunately, the matter I must address is that of the maid, Anaïs, whom I have been forced to pacify these last weeks. In a spiteful rage, she attacked young Catherine, but be assured that the wounds heal well. I had planned to continue to sedate the culprit. However, this does her health no good and I fear that, without restraint, she will flee this place and inform the Prince Regent, Salisbury or Moleyns not only of our location but also of yours and that of your ward. This she has threatened on numerous occasions of late.

  Sir, she has become unmanageable and demands your presence. I feel that the matter requires urgent and immediate attention. Therefore, I respectfully request your attendance, whereupon we will be able to deal with this situation together.

  I await your prompt arrival.

  Your trusted servant and friend,

  Simon Marshall, Lord Wexford.

  Written from Broughton Manor, Salisbury, England.

  ‘When will you go?’ I sighed, handing back the letter.

  He stared at his congealing potage as though it were a bowl of swill. ‘I will leave at sunrise tomorrow.’ My heart sank. His departure had been inevitable for some time but that did not stop the disappointment. His fingers slid across the table to entwine with mine. ‘I have business to conclude in Arras. Armand will have to escort you to the mêlée in my stead.’

  ‘But it will be your last day in France! You do not spend it with me?’

  Gillet grimaced. ‘’Tis not for the lack of wanting, Cécile, but I have other matters at hand.’

  ‘What could be so important? I thought I was your mission.’

  ‘I know, but we cannot always choose our path in life. I have not cared for mine for some time now, but events of late have seen a turn. I wish to disengage myself from Edward’s employ and there are other issues to which I would attend.’ His face softened. ‘Lady, I can offer you nothing but my protection.’ He took bo
th my hands and tenderly pressed them to his lips. ‘I had hoped you wanted more.’

  Unbidden tears rose to sparkle on my lashes. ‘I do,’ I whispered.

  ‘Listen, there will be a courtiers’ and commoners’ dance tonight to celebrate the tourney. I will ask Gabriel to take you, for I know Armand wishes to catch up with his own companions. Go, sweetheart,’ he encouraged, ‘and I will meet you there as soon as I can.’

  My heart melted as Gillet called me ‘sweetheart’ for the first time. He did not say it as Armand did. He said it as a lover’s caress.

  ‘You trust me with Armand’s companion a second time?’

  Gillet grinned and some of the tension left his face. ‘I will worry more for Gabriel’s sake. If I end up in a fishpond, Lord knows what you will do to him!’

  ‘Ha. Where shall I meet you?’

  ‘Look to the northern side of the village green and you will see a large oak. If I cannot find you amidst the dancers, I shall wait there.’ He produced a sealed letter from his lap. ‘Perhaps this will cheer you. Catherine’s letter arrived with Simon’s.’

  Dearest, I have read your news and I am sick at heart over your injuries. Take this page and place the lower left corner to your abused lips, for upon it is my kiss, sent to help you heal. Anaïs is a spiteful woman. How can Gillet have seeded such a bitter womb?

  I wish that I could go to England with him but he will not hear of it.

  After breaking our fast Armand and I installed ourselves in a high row on one of the stands, as the excitement for the upcoming mêlée grew amidst the milling crowd. My own enthusiasm was severely dampened, my thoughts lingering on Gillet’s impending departure but as the sortie began I gradually lost myself to the excitement. As Gillet had predicted the squires were eliminated early and the knights set about their task in earnest.

  We leaped to our feet in horror when Gabriel and his competitor tumbled from their mounts but, recovering quickly, they drew swords and continued their foray on foot.

  ‘Gabriel is quite smitten with you,’ remarked Armand casually as we took our seats once more. ‘He is looking forward to the dance tonight.’

  ‘Non, Armand. He must not! I will go to the dance but he must not take to me too kindly.’

  ‘And why not, pray tell?’ His cerulean gaze penetrated mine and he guffawed. ‘You need say nothing more. I shall inform Gabriel he is too late to this field.’

  My cousin left me after dinner to join his companions and I paced my room for an hour awaiting Gabriel. I had tied so many knots into my cord belt it could pass for a rosary. Buttoning back the olive silk-lined sleeves for the hundredth time, I straightened the low-cut rust-coloured bodice and questioned my decision to wear it.

  ‘Oh, a plague ’pon it!’ I headed for the door. Time was short.

  To my surprise, I found Gabriel lying abed in his tent, his ankle tightly wrapped and elevated on cushions.

  ‘Did you not get my message?’ he apologised. ‘If the blasted thing ever stops aching I may shuffle over to the tavern later but I doubt I could tread a step with you.’ He rolled onto his side and propped up his head. ‘I think that hurts more than the foot.’

  ‘Tell your squire to fetch the blue flask from my room. It will ease the pain. Only a few drops, mind.’

  ‘Would you rather not bring it yourself? You still owe me a kiss, Lady.’ His eyes sparkled hopefully.

  I kneeled by his cot. ‘Gabriel, I am honoured by your attention but tonight my kisses are reserved.’

  He picked up my hand and pressed it to his lips, his gaze meandering to my low neckline. ‘A plague on Bellegarde then.’

  I left Gabriel’s tent and hurried to the village green. It was filled with flamboyant courtiers, their costumes a swirl of silk and velvet, damask and fur, a patchwork of fabrics that would make Joseph’s coat of many colours look pale. Skirting the crowd, I located the oak and sat beneath its great branches to wait.

  The musicians strummed an opening chord. The Bransle de Chevaux! Unable to keep still, I sprang up and trod the steps with an imagined companion, whirling in delight. Stamping my right foot twice, then singly, I twirled, mimicking the dancers on the green. Eyes closed, I reached for my invisible partner when warm flesh brushed along my palms.

  ‘Gillet!’

  He threw his cloak to the base of the tree with a grin and took up the steps. ‘Where’s Gabriel?’

  In a dramatic gesture, I flung out my arm. ‘He twisted his knightly ankle and lies abed, bemoaning his loss.’

  Gillet’s eyebrow arched. ‘And you did not stay to offer comfort?’

  ‘Non,’ I snorted in a most unladylike fashion. We clapped hands and joined palms, circling.

  ‘Lady, how ungracious of you.’ We spun away and stepped together again, looping in the opposite direction. ‘Then where is Armand?’

  ‘At the tavern, with his soldiers.’

  ‘You came here alone?’ Drawing apart, we clapped again and then, palms together, circled once more.

  ‘Mademoiselle, you left the inn unescorted yet again.’ His eyes burned into mine as the music reached its crescendo and, veering me backwards against the tree, his face inches from mine, he growled softly. ‘When will you learn of the dangers?’ His lips plunged onto mine with a rough tenderness, then roved to my temple and down my throat to the daring neckline. ‘Cécile, my sweet.’

  My arms garlanded his neck as we slid down the trunk onto his cloak.

  ‘We … should … stop,’ he rasped in between kisses.

  ‘Try … stopping the sun from setting,’ I replied hoarsely, ‘or the moon from rising. ’Twould be easier.’

  ‘Oh Lord,’ he groaned. ‘Cécile, my beautiful Cécile.’

  A fire danced in his jet black eyes and he tugged at my laces. ‘Does my Sprite weave a spell?’ he whispered, loosening the bodice. ‘Are you summoning your faerie folk to enslave me on my last night?’

  A laughing voice sounded through the bushes, from where the tables had been set up on the field. ‘Jean! Jean! Pass those almonds back!’

  Gillet froze and his complexion paled. I had heard it too. Absurdly the man’s words had sounded like ‘Jean d’Armagnac.’

  ‘Saints alive,’ he muttered. ‘What am I doing? Your father placed you in my care with his trust. I am to protect you, not seduce you.’ Decisively, he began to lace up my gown.

  ‘So for your honour I must suffer,’ I retorted. ‘I am not a total innocent! You are unfulfilled and will seek solace elsewhere tonight.’

  His hands stilled for a moment, then knotted the ties. ‘I won’t lie to you. My body craves release. Another five minutes and I would not have been able to stop myself. But it is not always about the body’s needs. Sometimes there is more.’ He took my hand and placed it firmly against his chest. ‘What do you feel?’

  ‘I feel your heart beating.’

  ‘It beats for you, Cécile d’Armagnac. I am in love with you. I want no other, tonight or any night.’

  ‘Oh, Gillet. There … there is something that I …. I … I need to tell you.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I … I …’ I threw my arms around him. ‘I love you!’

  We walked back to the tavern and as he tucked me beneath the folds of his cloak he began to recite.

  ‘Sweet is snow in summer for the thirsty to drink, and sweet for sailors after winter to see the garland of spring, but most sweet when one cloak shelters two lovers and the tale of love is told by both.’

  ‘That is beautiful. Another of Chaucer’s you were compelled to memorise?’

  He chuckled. ‘No, Asclepiades, a Greek physician who was a teacher of oratory in Rome and a very learned man.’

  ‘Learned? Your education is hardly lacking. You knew every inch of the tourney field. It’s as though … Oh Lord! That’s it, is it not?’ I stepped away from him, feeling the new foundations beneath my feet slowly cracking. ‘You are no courier at all! You are a knight of the realm!’

  ‘Hush,’ he drew me ba
ck under his cloak. ‘For now let that be our secret. Look, do you see?’ He pointed to the dark velvet night twinkling above our heads. ‘They say it is the carpet laid upon heaven’s floor and every time a star falls from the sky, another soul has entered God’s paradise. There, see that one, the brightest star in the sky. Every night that I am away, I want you to gaze upon it and know that I do the same. Know then that I will be thinking of how much I love Cécile d’Armagnac.’

  I buried my head into his chest, my scalding tears moistening his shirt.

  ‘Come,’ he murmured, pressing his lips upon my brow, ‘let us have a drink with Armand before I say farewell.’

  We entered the tavern and, pushing our way past the noisy patrons, located Armand at the far end. His face, flushed with ale, lit up at our approach.

  ‘Gillet! Céci! Here, shove up, lads. Make room.’

  The men shifted obligingly and we took our places opposite my cousin.

  ‘How fares your ankle, Gabriel?’ inquired Gillet as Armand’s eyes suspiciously flicked between us. ‘Cécile said it was twisted.’

  ‘And so it is, my friend, but as you can see, with a little help to get here,’ he shook a wooden crutch, ‘I am able to partake of the best medicinals I know.’

  A loud voice suddenly boomed over the noise: ‘By the blessed saints of heaven!’

  The crowd rolled back, parting like the Red Sea, as a most unlikely looking Moses descended upon our table, a stout, heavy-set man with unruly red hair and a bushy beard. Slopping his tankard as he sat at the board in the newly vacated space next to Gabriel, he clouted his comrade’s back affectionately, staring in our direction.

  ‘If it is not Beaumont de l’Oise, and the Devil take you, Albret! Where have you been?’ Beside me, Gillet tensed as my cousin scrambled hurriedly from his bench and grasped the outstretched forearm in traditional greeting.

  ‘Mouse! You hoary dog! Meet Gillet de Bellegarde, my companion.’