The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘Be brave, Cécile,’ said Madame Rosetta. ‘You will see them soon enough. Monsieur de Bellegarde is only away for a short time, is he not? We shall just have to keep you so busy that you will not see the days fly by. Is that not so, sister?’

  Violetta distractedly smoothed her grey hair. ‘Hmm, what was that? Oh, oui, busy, busy. We shall keep Cécile busy. She can assist me in the garden. How does that sound, dear?’

  6 September

  Dame Violetta made good her promise and has provided me with the necessary tools, including a sturdy pair of gloves, to while away my hours in the garden. I began with the roses, but memories of Compiègne were uprooted with every weed. Of how Gillet had gently lifted my fingers from the thorny foliage to carefully wipe the blood, and then carried them to his lips. If Mother Nature were collecting my sighs, she could send the north wind south this year.

  This evening I ventured outside as I have every night, to gaze up to the floor of heaven, but an unreasonable fear gripped me as angry, dark clouds muffled the stars from sight. Dearest Catherine, what news do you have for me? What is happening in England? When will Gillet return?

  12 September

  My dear sister, your letter arrived two days ago. Had I known the devastation it would bring, I would have never broken the seal.

  How can my heart insist on beating when it has been so completely shattered? How can I wake each morning when I feel as though I have no life? Gillet married Anaïs.

  Upon reading your words, I ceased to breathe. My lungs suffered some wheezing malady and had it not been for the quick ministrations of the Mesdames I am sure I would have perished. As I lay abed, my head upon a sodden pillow, I wished they had let me. It would have been kinder than the pain that strikes at me now.

  Oh, Catherine, how could Gillet have done this to me?

  Written by Cécile d’Armagnac, Maison de les Fleurs, Arras, 12 September 10 Jean II.

  My devoted sister, Cécile d’Armagnac, I commend this letter to you.

  As I peer from my window over the green meadows, I imagine you looking back at me, my dearest, and this brings me great joy. I only hope that there might be something or someone from whom you too can draw comfort during this terrible time, for I fear that you are filled with unhappiness and I concede that I may be the cause of it.

  The distant clang of the morning bell had awakened me but I was unwilling to face food, so instead set myself to the writing of this letter. However, I had barely raised my quill when disturbed by my guardian.

  ‘You must eat.’ Lord Wexford’s early morning countenance reflected a restless night, for he appeared weary and somewhat tousled. ‘You cannot expect to recover without food in your belly.’

  ‘It is difficult to consider eating when one is filled with woe.’

  ‘You are being overdramatic. Trust me, your heart will heal far quicker than you realise.’ I felt obliged to take his outstretched hand, particularly as he had begun to tap his toe impatiently. ‘Besides, you do not wish your stomach to betray you during your introduction to Lady Matilda, surely?’

  ‘She has returned?’

  ‘This very morning and is eager to meet my travelling companion.’

  She was much younger than I had thought, her blonde hair only just beginning to grey and her cheeks rosy, but her eyes, though bright, were not centred on me.

  ‘My dear, come in,’ she called, addressing Lord Wexford.

  ‘I have your young guest with me.’ Reaching for my hand, he pulled me forward.

  Unsure of the greeting I was to receive, I hung back, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Simon curled his fingers over mine as my hand rested upon his arm, his smile encouraging. I stepped into the light. The effect on Lady Matilda was instantaneous. She stumbled, reaching out as though she were about to faint. Simon dashed to her side and, taking her weight against him, directed her to the chair under the window.

  ‘Oh, my, I am so sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I am quite shocked.

  Did you know?’

  ‘I suspected as much, but have told no one. I decided it best to wait for this moment, knowing that upon seeing her you would instantly recognise Joan’s daughter.’

  I looked from one to the other and back again, wondering what I should do, but then Lady Matilda opened her arms and gathered me into the warmest and most accepting of acknowledgements. When she finally released me I noted that my guardian had discreetly left the room.

  ‘Oh, my darling! You have no idea how worried I have been for you all these years. Not knowing what had become of you or your sister, whether you were dead or alive. And now, suddenly after all this time, here you are! You must forgive an emotional old woman. It is Catherine, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, I am Catherine,’ I replied, ‘and Cécile is in France.’

  She dabbed at the tears in her eyes. ‘You must tell me everything, everything,’ she repeated, patting the back of my hand.

  At first I was hesitant but reasoned that, as the sister of Thomas Holland, Lady Matilda was now our aunt-by-marriage, Joan having been confirmed as our mother. Under her gentle persuasion, I warmed to my tale and I told her, my dearest, everything. I spoke of my childhood at the convent and of Lady Mary St Pol, my benefactor. I shared with her that moment so special to me, when I discovered that I was not alone in the world, that I had a sister, a twin no less, living happily in France. I recounted the attack made on me by Salisbury, my meeting with Lord Moleyns, and of my time in London with Anaïs and Simon. It was far more disconcerting to explain your treatment at the hands of the Black Prince and your resulting delicate condition. We cried together over your pain and betrayal by Gillet, whom I too had grown to love.

  But not all was sad, for she laughed at my description of Lady Elizabeth d’Aubedcicourt and of my time with Simon, and your teasing of the poor widow, Madam Duvall. Oh, my darling, I know you would fall in love with our aunt instantly, in the same manner I did.

  Some considerable time later she called for the maid to bring refreshments. Taking the opportunity provided, I made my way around the room, looking at her many tapestries. The chamber was large and well-appointed and appeared to be the last on the southern wing of the house. It was decorated in a very feminine fashion with adornments of flowers and cushions, silks and ribbons.

  ‘This is my private bower,’ she said once the maid had left, ‘set aside for me by my brother, Thomas.’ She poured wine into two large, ornate gem-studded goblets, the most exquisite that I had ever seen. ‘I never married, you see, so even though this house now belongs to him, it remains my home.’

  Placing my cup carefully on the table, I noticed a bejewelled trinket box and, unable to resist, picked it up. ‘That belonged to your maternal grandmother. Her name was Margaret, Baroness Wake of Liddell. She was purportedly a beautiful woman. She was married to Prince Edmund, the son of King Edward I, from his second marriage to Margaret of France. By all accounts they were very happy,’ she said wistfully. ‘Your grandfather’s story is well known. They beheaded him you know, Isabella and her upstart lover, because he stood up for his beliefs. He was so respected that he waited for five hours on the scaffold before they could find a willing participant to perform the execution.’

  ‘God bless and keep his soul,’ I replied, thinking Edward II should never have been deposed simply because Queen Isabella wanted to rule England with Mortimer.

  ‘After that, the Baroness had to flee London. She feared for her life and those of her children,’ said Lady Matilda. I collected my goblet and seated myself beside her. ‘It was difficult then, with so much turmoil, to obtain protection with the threat of treason hanging over them. It was about this time the King instructed Lord Salisbury to find a place in his home for Joan, Margaret’s young daughter.’

  I held my breath, following the story intently, for here I felt was the answer for which I so longed.

  ‘What you might not have known was that my brother, Thomas, was the Earl of Salisbury’s seneschal, and had been placed i
n that household when he was very young, being that he was not the eldest son, so not likely to inherit. But it came to our notice and eventually to the Salisbury’s,’ she continued, ‘that Thomas and Joan had fallen in love. This went against the plans of Katherine, Salisbury’s wife, for she wanted Joan to wed their son, William, who was then but twelve years of age.’ Her gaze fixed into the distance, focusing perhaps upon a memory. ‘So, the old Earl had Thomas signed over to the immediate retinue of the Earl of Warwick and my brother sailed to France with Edward III. This left the door open for William.’

  ‘The current Earl of Salisbury,’ I clarified, sipping my wine.

  ‘Yes, none other, but of course, there was a problem.’ She smiled rather unexpectedly. ‘They discovered your mother was with child.’

  ‘Yes, to William, I know.’

  ‘William? No, you misunderstand, my dear. Joan had married and was with child prior to her vows with Salisbury’s son. The rumour that William was the father was spread by the Salisburys themselves to hide what they had just learned.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that William of Salisbury is not my father?’

  Lady Matilda looked confused. ‘Dear girl, did you not know? Your father is Thomas Holland!”

  ‘Oh, my Lord!’

  ‘You see Joan discovered Katherine’s plans and had somehow managed to marry my Thomas right under the very nose of the old Earl, thereby legitimising their forthcoming children. You and your sister are the daughters of Joan and Thomas – Catherine and Cecily Holland. I suppose Cécile’s French family changed her name.’

  ‘Then you are not just my aunt-by-marriage?’

  Lady Matilda laughed joyfully. ‘Oh no, my dear! I am your true blood aunt!’

  The tears flowed then, so great was the relief in my heart. I had not realised just how heavy a burden I had carried, for I felt at once completely renewed, the unseen blemish removed.

  ’Twas some time before I regained composure, our aunt consoled and offered encouragement until I felt my curiosity returning. ‘If I am not the daughter of Salisbury, why then is he so intent upon my ruin?’

  A deep sadness washed over her eyes. ‘Several months passed and Joan gave birth to two beautiful daughters, but the Earl lied to Joan. He told her that Thomas had been killed in battle. Naturally, she was devastated.’

  My heart trembled as though her grief, felt so long ago, was raw and new and living again in me.

  ‘Your mother was terrified, alone at only thirteen years of age, left to bear and raise her children without the protection of her family who were scattered across the countryside.’ She reached for her kerchief, which she gathered from her sleeve. ‘You must try to understand, Catherine, that your mother was very young and easily manipulated by a woman tormented by anger and bent upon retribution.’

  ‘Lady Katherine Salisbury?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. You see, Katherine alleged that she had been brutally raped by King Edward and although she took her complaint to the church, nobody really endorsed her story,’ she said, dabbing her eyes with a corner of the silk square. ‘But the King has absolute rule and may do as he pleases, as you have grown to realise.’

  This was true, for I knew that the Black Prince thought it his divine right to take and use you in any way he saw fit.

  ‘So when your mother fell into Lady Salisbury’s lap, she saw this as her chance to get back at the King by marrying his cousin to her son, but without the Monarch’s permission. In doing so, she conspired to bigamy, a serious offence indeed! It fell to the Earl to clean up her mess. Both were now as guilty as sin.’

  The morning sun had risen sufficiently to allow its rays to strike the lower slats in the windows, creating myriad patterns upon the far wall. The effect was mesmerising and I made my way over to them, hoping that my mind could be somehow distracted from the anger building within my chest.

  ‘So, my mother married William Salisbury, that wicked, filthy, lecherous being, and he became protector of both me and my sister,’ I stated.

  ‘Yes, but the old Earl had to eliminate all evidence of the union between Joan and Thomas,’ she explained. ‘Servants who could not be silenced with coin were silenced in another manner. Nevertheless, he took the further precaution of separating you both, lest any rumour of twins should surface.’

  ‘So the King never learned of these events?’

  ‘No. I suspect Salisbury’s father manipulated Lady Pembroke into acting on his behalf. She had been your mother’s guardian when Joan was a very young child and was quite fond of her. I can only assume that she agreed to offer protection, eventually finding a way to hide you both from a world that never even knew you existed. To any who were aware of Joan’s condition, they were simply told she lost the babe. The old Earl died suddenly and it became clear that he did so without first telling his wife and son of your whereabouts.’

  ‘How fortunate,’ I replied vehemently, closing my eyes against the overwhelming feeling of abandonment. Matilda reached out and pulled me towards her, the warmth from her embrace both calming and reassuring.

  ‘You have not heard the end of this sorry tale.’ She took my hand and led me back to the chairs. My heart was filled with resentment and anger. ‘Seven years passed before my brother returned home to claim his wife, and discovered the ruse. You can imagine his pain upon learning that his bride had been married to another, one whom he was known to despise.’

  ‘This is the part of the tale that I think I have heard,’ I said, recalling my conversation with Lady Elizabeth back in London. ‘Is it true that he went to the Pope and applied for a suit of nullity, supported by the King?’

  ‘Yes, a claim that Salisbury lost. It cost him dearly – his reputation, his fortune and ultimately his mother.’

  ‘His mother?’

  ‘Once it was proved that Joan had been legally married to Thomas, Salisbury had to pay compensation to the Holland family and make a formal apology. The resulting slander at court was too much for Lady Katherine. She returned to the Salisbury estate and died shortly after.’ Lady Matilda patted my hand. The warmth emanating from her heart spread out through her fingers and connected with my soul. ‘You see, the relationship Salisbury had with his mother prevented him from loving anyone else, so strong was the hold she had over him.’

  ‘Enough to keep me forever from my family?’

  ‘Yes, for his threats were real and menacing. Thomas and Joan did not feel that you or your sister would have been able to lead normal lives, had you been reunited with them. They would have had to take extraordinary steps to protect you. Not only from Salisbury but any of his minions, especially once you reached marriageable age, for whom could they trust?’

  I wanted to scream out with rage, for these people, the Salisburys, had altered our lives so completely. I had been hidden away behind the thick walls of an abbey, perhaps never to know the truth, and you were buried deep in the south of France, the chances of us ever meeting less than negligible.

  ‘It does not mean that Thomas and Joan loved you less. In fact, it proves quite the opposite. Many times my brother has wanted to search for you, but fear for your future prevented him. The love of one’s children is indeed the greatest love of all.’

  Realisation of our situation began to dawn upon me as a flicker of hope ignited within. ‘But is there now a reason? For once the secret is revealed we can be reunited with our mother and father.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, her smile breaking through the long morning of tears. ‘I can see Thomas’ face clearly. Oh, he will be so happy. You are rather beautiful, more so than your mother at your age, and the resemblance is remarkable. You have her features but your hair and eye colouring belong to your father.’ She placed a hand upon my cheek, her fingers brushing a stray curl from my eyes. Her embraces, so frequent now, were welcome and comfortable. At last I belonged and my heart, though still feeling some trepidation, is more content than ever.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Matilda, thank you for everything!’


  ‘Oh my dear, I am just so very happy to have found my niece at long last.’

  Oh, Cécile, my heart was beating in a way much new to me. Not from longing or despair, by misery or need. Today my heart soars with joy, with love and acceptance. For we are, dear sister, the daughters of Sir Thomas Holland, Knight of the Garter, and his beautiful wife, Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, granddaughter of Edward I.

  Reluctantly I left our aunt to take her rest before midday prayer, with the promise of returning later to learn more of our family and its history. Nothing could have clouded my happiness as I all but skipped towards my room, desperate to share the wondrous news with you.

  ‘You seem pleased.’ Simon sat forward, his body hidden within the massive high-backed chair located along the hallway.

  ‘Simon, I am so happy, and relieved. Salisbury is not my father!’

  He rose and his right arm made a sweeping arch until his fingers almost touched his boot. ‘Lady Holland, I presume?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘May I be the first to address you by your correct name and title? However, I promise you that after this day I shall never bow quite so low again,’ he jested, making a mock gesture of rubbing his back.

  I smiled, for I knew that there was nothing wrong with him or his sense of humour. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I did not. ’Twas but a small suspicion.’ He extended his arm, indicating that I walk with him to the front door. ‘When we were in London, I saw Joan and Thomas at the Tower.’ He stepped aside, guiding me through the portal. ‘Your mother is extremely beautiful and I saw you in her. And you have Thomas’ light colouring, whereas Salisbury is dark.’