Pulling my trapped arm from under Simon’s shoulders, I jerked back, but Moleyns held the sleeve of my kirtle. As both men rolled I was unable to break free.
Suddenly, the thrashing stopped. I lay still, panting, struggling to calm my terror. Simon sat up, his face pale as he gaped, horrified, at the blood-drenched knife within my hand. It was the last item from his medicinal box that I retrieved from the straw. I had slipped it into my sleeve.
Staunchly, Simon rolled Moleyns’ limp body over, a spreading stain of crimson visible on the man’s doublet from the piercing of his chest. I dropped the dreaded weapon and began to sob uncontrollably. God forgive me, I had killed a man.
My memories of what occurred after our altercation with Molyens are confused and disjointed. I do not know how we travelled or what route we took. Anaïs wailing compounded my remorse as I retreated within, unable to face the truth of what I had done.
I was momentarily shaken from my stupor upon our arrival at Broughton, Roderick’s gentle hands lifting me from the cart, but so confused was I that, rather than feel the relief of safety, I wished only to be left outside, a victim for passing thieves, fodder for hungry wolves. Walking from the manor, I made for the main gate. I knew they were calling me but I could not look back as I shuffled on under the power of some hidden force, laden with my guilt. Even with an injured leg Simon caught up to me, softly calling my name until I stopped.
‘Catherine, Catherine, I beg you.’
I turned then and looked into his pleading face but he said nothing more. He offered no words of comfort, nor reasons or excuses. He knew the depth of my sorrow and that to say anything would have but driven me further from him. I swayed, the warmth of the day enveloped into a swirling mass of black, of evil and despair, as I felt myself fall forwards.
I fainted into his arms.
I awoke the next day, secure in my own room, my bed. For a moment I drank in the warmth, fleetingly content until a terrible memory began to surface. I sat upright and cried out. The door burst open and our aunt raced to my bedside, scooping me into her arms. She sat rocking me like a babe, soothing me, whispering gentle reassurances as tears streamed down my cheeks.
‘I killed him, I killed him!’
‘Shush, my dear Catherine. It was an accident. They rolled on top of you, ’twas naught but a terrible accident.’
‘No, no, you are wrong! I took the knife from the floor. I took it with purpose!’
‘Yes, you might have, but did you intend to kill Moleyns? No, I think not,’ she said, hugging me tightly. ‘I think you picked up that knife because you wanted to defend me and save your sister, and that is not an intention to kill.’
‘I have committed a mortal sin!’
This she did not answer but swept a wayward lock of hair from my eyes. ‘God is forgiving and He sees all. He knows the hearts of men like Moleyns.’
I looked at her face as she tried to reconcile my action with my beliefs and slowly withdrew from her embrace to return to the safety of the bedcovers, my tears subsiding. She brushed my forehead, sighing as she left the room but no sooner had she gone than her weight was replaced by another upon my bed, someone far heavier.
His soothing voice was a warm breeze to thaw my chilled heart. ‘I came to thank you.’ This approach had my attention and I turned to his ashen face. ‘You saved my life. I am deeply grateful.’
‘I did not want mine to be filled with regret but instead, I am riddled with guilt.’
He smiled tenderly. ‘When a man stands on a battlefield or in a tavern or even a stable, with a knife in his hands, if his intention is to maim or kill, he must thrust it, with purpose, without deliberation into the body of his enemy.’ He opened his doublet and from its silky folds removed the offending weapon, the handle now clean and polished. ‘The strength required to force a blade this small into a man’s chest, through his jupon, is by no means an easy task.’
I looked away, the sight of it far too familiar as the source of my pain.
‘Catherine, look at me. Moleyns is a big man. It is just not possible that with your diminutive build you would have enough strength to force this into his large frame without some help.’
Pulling myself into a sitting position, I wiped my face with the sleeve of my chemise. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I am not suggesting anything. I happen to know that without my weight bearing down upon your arm Lord Moleyns would not be injured.’
‘Injured?’ I gasped.
‘Yes, injured. When I last saw him lying on the floor, he was certainly not dead.’
‘Oh, thank the Lord!’ I threw my arms around my guardian.
He seemed to hesitate before gathering me into his embrace. I could hear the beating of his heart, feel the softness of his shirt against my cheek, and smell the hint of lavender.
‘Catherine …’ Brushing my cheek with his thumb he stared into my eyes. He was only inches from me, his breath warm upon my chin. I was filled with conflicting emotions. I suddenly wanted to flee, terrified by his closeness. Yet there was something else, a longing, a need, that I had not had the courage to recognise before. Then, our lips touched. I did not pull back. I wanted this. I wanted to feel the softness of him and explore that part of me I had constantly denied. Strengthening his hold, his ardour increased, his lips parted and encouraged mine to do the same but, sensing my reservations, he released me. He respected my shyness and I adored him all the more for it.
He cleared his throat gruffly. ‘If I send a tray, will you eat?’
‘I shall try.’ I smiled as he placed a light kiss upon my brow before leaving.
Dearest sister, the last few days have filled me with such conflicting emotions. Though I want nothing more than to lie abed and explore my heart and all its newly discovered facets, I find that I am consumed with worry for both you and Gillet. How in God’s name are we to warn you in time?
Forever your devoted sister, Catherine.
Dispatched with haste from Broughton Manor, England, 15 September, one day after the Feast of Pope Saint Cornelius, 34 Edward III.
To my well beloved sister, Catherine Pembroke, at Broughton Manor, be this letter taken.
Dearest, we have arrived in Calais. I sit penning this from Armand’s room at the Port Royal Inn, where we hide. Armand’s younger brother, Guiraud, shares his chamber but he is currently on guard duty.
Our departure from the Mesdames was sad for I grew to love their little manor house along with its two wonderful occupants. Gillet has promised we shall return one day.
We departed under the cover of night, the half-moon tossing like a drunken ship on swirling, cloudy waves. Inferno, experienced in nocturnal flight, plodded on relentless but Ruby shied at every shifting shadow. Following the old tracks of charcoal burners, we travelled well into the following afternoon, avoiding the roads and looping through the woods. The journey was slow and tedious and by the time we finally stopped Gillet’s temper was frayed. The long hours in the saddle had given him plenty of time to think and I suspect, with Calais as our destination, his thoughts were of Edward.
The first indication that his humour was not at its best was when he tried to tether Inferno. For some reason, Gillet chose to tie him at a distance from Ruby but his steed objected and pulled back his great head. The reins slipped from Gillet’s grasp and he mouthed a ripe expletive. He lunged, grabbing the strap, and smartly led Inferno back to the tree.
‘Has Ruby come into season?’ I asked, sure this could be the only logical reason Gillet was separating the horses.
‘Well, if I am to refrain,’ snarled Gillet over his shoulder, ‘so must he!’ Ruby whinnied and Inferno kicked out, snorting. He reefed against his binding and broke free a second time.
‘Christ’s nails!’ Gillet placed himself squarely between Ruby and the excited stallion, arms outstretched to ward him off, as his steed continued to prance testily. The horse was not vicious, respectful of his master even, but his manner exuded some determinatio
n. ‘Easy boy, easy,’ crooned Gillet. ‘Just because a female is within reach does not mean you can possess her.’ Inferno did not share his opinion, however, and thwarted his owner by lifting his tail to deposit a large heap of steaming disapproval on his recently removed saddle.
‘Poxy son of a whore.’ Gillet threw up his hands. ‘Aagh! I give in!’ He stormed off into the forest.
Deciding which wayward male it would be in my best interest to subdue, I calmly walked to Inferno. He eyed me warily, sniffing, as I gathered his dangling reins and ventured to pat him. ‘You are a magnificent beast. Pay no heed to your master’s temper.’ I spied a large log lying between two trees and had an idea. Inferno nudged me so I led the recalcitrant horse and tied him, then moved Ruby to the other side of the fallen trunk. They nuzzled each other, content in their courtship with shrieks and the stamping of hooves. ‘There. Sometimes the answer to a problem lies in compromise.’
‘Merde, Cécile!’ Gillet appeared with some wood and threw it onto the ground in disgust. ‘Now Inferno will think to have his way all the time. Do you suppose putting them in close proximity will lessen his ardour? Let me tell you now, it only makes it worse!’
I tied on their feed bags and set to, brushing Ruby’s coat as Gillet, still grumbling to himself, snapped the twigs for a fire.
‘You kept your mare’s name as Ruby,’ he said sulkily, striking the flint.
‘Oui, I did.’
‘I thought you would have changed it.’
‘No.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘I have my reasons.’
He dropped onto a log, huffing, and stared dejectedly at the ground. ‘Did you want to keep a reminder?’
‘Of what?’
‘Edward.’
‘What?’ He looked so forlorn and wilted that I dropped the brush and went to sit beside him. Sliding my palm beneath his, I softly traced over his fingers. ‘That is the most ridiculous notion I have ever heard.’
‘You must have known that I deliberately chose it to annoy you.’
‘And did you not consider that by keeping it, I would annoy you?’ He stared at me blankly and my heart clenched in a rush of tenderness. ‘You simpleton, Gillet de Bellegarde! The truth is I wanted to keep the only ruby that you would ever give me.’
He slumped. ‘Oh, Cécile, I am acting like a fool.’
‘No, but you needlessly carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.’ Lifting his roughened knuckles to my lips, I kissed them. ‘God has set us upon this path together, Gillet de Bellegarde, but I am not so naïve as to think it is paved with marble, more like mud. We are bound to step in puddles along the way. Some days my feet will be soiled, and some days yours will. But you have me now, Gillet, and in the times when you are tired, I shall clean your boots for you.’
He stared into the flickering fire for a long moment. His gaze shifted to the tree and he grinned. ‘I don’t suppose you would consider cleaning my saddle instead?’
We reached Calais early the next afternoon, skirting the town wall to enter by the eastern gate. Cautiously we made our way to the wooden tower that overlooked the harbour. I could not tear my eyes from the castle where the Black Prince’s sister had been born. The story was well known amongst the French. After the siege which had starved Calais into submission, King Edward had demanded the lives of six burgesses to appease his wrath. Deaf to the pleas of clemency from his own knights, he had been touched only when his wife, Philippa, heavy with child, had risen from her lying-in to kneel at his feet and beg for mercy. The men had been pardoned in honour of the forthcoming birth.
My hand slid over my stomach as I realised with a shock that the woman who had saved them was the grandmother of my own child.
Close to the harbour, we located the Port Royal Inn, where Armand and Guiraud were lodged. The delight on my cousin’s face, as he opened his door, was worth every hard-ridden bruise.
Replete with wine and talk between two hour bells, I began to yawn. The decisions of men were made and I found myself bundled into Armand’s cot while they took their conversation downstairs.
The sound of laughter woke me later, and I rolled to see Gillet and Armand returning, carrying a full tray. Gillet set it upon the table, and as I rose I was smothered in my cousin’s embrace.
‘Céci, my little Céci, about to become a mother. Do not worry, chérie, Gillet and I will look after you.’ He thumped his chest, laughing, ‘And I shall be the child’s Godfather! Now come, eat, eat.’ He pulled me to the table. ‘No more starving yourself.’ My cousin sat and rested his ankle upon his knee. ‘Now that I think upon it, I should have known Céci was not her normal self. She usually eats like a horse. But I just thought she was recovering from the fever. Hmm, there were other signs I missed too.’ He nudged me with his toe. ‘The stop on the road to Amiens when you thought that Gillet had …’
‘Armand! That is private.’
Gillet spiked a chunk of pickled pork and looked up. ‘When she thought I had what?’
‘Chérie,’ chuckled Armand. ‘Let me have some fun whilst I can.’
‘Armand, non!’
‘When she thought I had what?’
‘Armand, no. Please,’ I begged desperately. ‘You promised.’
‘I did no such thing.’ He turned to Gillet who sat patiently watching us. ‘Remember that first relief stop on the second day? We agreed that Cécile had woken in a foul temper and we thought it best to just leave her be.’
Gillet nodded, frowning. ‘She was her usual charming self, yes, I remember.’
‘And when she did not come out of the bushes, you sent me in to look for her.’ Gillet nodded again. ‘Well, I found her sitting on a log, crying. Apparently the Parisian gentleman, to whom you gave up your room, spent the entire night entertaining. Quite loudly, from what Cécile had to say and she thought that it was you who had been indulging.’
Gillet’s eyes widened with astonishment.
‘You had no right to tell him that,’ I reprimanded, blushing furiously.
‘Céci,’ defended Armand, ‘I think it is very romantic.’
A knock sounded at the door. Gillet put his finger to his lips and drew the dagger from his belt. At Armand’s beckoning, we moved behind the door as he cracked it open. A few moments passed, fear throbbing through me as my cousin exchanged whisperings and then the mysterious visitor departed. Armand dropped the latch back into place and grinned.
‘The physician has granted your appointment. It is first thing tomorrow morning.’
Gillet exhaled with relief and sheathed his knife. ‘At last, some good news.’
We seated ourselves at the table and Gillet explained. ‘We heard an excellent physician is newly arrived in Calais. He is here to join King Edward’s court, a very learned man visiting from Granada.’
‘An infidel?’ I gasped.
‘I spent part of my squire service in Spain amongst the Moors,’ replied Gillet. ‘It is true their ways are foreign but they are vastly knowledgeable, especially in medicinals. Simon would agree wholeheartedly.’
I remained unsure but to Gillet the die was cast and that was that.
‘Guiraud is on duty tonight,’ said Armand, ‘so, by your leave, I will inform him of our discussion and then inquire whether any boats have docked. I think you would both benefit from an early night and if luck holds the tides will see you sailing before too long.’
Gillet rose, relief softening the tired edges of his face. My heart swelled with joy to see the two men I adore embrace so fondly. ‘Thank you, Armand, for all you have done.’
‘Hot-headed halfwit,’ he snorted. ‘Did you think that I would not?’
For me it was a honey glaze on an already sweet cake, but I suspected that had these two men met under different circumstances they would still have become firm friends.
Armand caught my look, grinning like the cheeky boy I remembered from our childhood as he left.
18 September
Next morning
we set off for my visit to the infidel physician but as we arrived at the Oar and Anchor Inn, Gillet surreptitiously tugged me to one side. ‘To be assured we could see this practitioner, I had to reveal your relationship to Thomas Holland, but don’t worry, the physician is a man of great discretion. No one else will know. Rather than explain our circumstances I simply informed him that you are my wife.’
Recovering from this shock, I felt a shiver of pleasure at Gillet’s outlandish statement. I also found my first impression of the physician to be a favourable one. He was tall and thin, dressed in a pale yellow robe, and wore a soft woollen cap on his head. Dark skinned, his long face was rather unflatteringly dominated by a large, hooked nose. He greeted us in a quiet and dignified manner, bowing with graciousness. ‘Lady de Bellegarde, it is a great honour to be of service to you. My name is Tariq ibn Córdoba. You may call me Tariq.’ He pointed to a small cross-framed chair. ‘If you will take a seat, Madame, and, Monsieur, please outline the nature of your wife’s problem.’
Seating himself opposite me, Tariq listened carefully as Gillet related my illness.
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘the first thing I would like to do is listen to her breathing. This is to ascertain whether in fact I can hear any rattling, thus indicating loose phlegm inside.’ He consented to address me directly. ‘Do you know of the four cardinal humours, Madame, the essential balance in your body of the yellow and black bile, blood and phlegm?’ I nodded as he reached for a set of odd-looking cups, funnel shaped with short necks. ‘Good. We will endeavour to learn whether or not you have an imbalance of phlegm. Gillet, if you please, will you undo your wife’s clothing?’
Hands alighted at the laces of my gown and my face glowed like a par-boiled crustacean as my bodice was carefully tugged down. I clutched my gown to my bosom but, unconcerned, Tariq positioned one of the larger cups on the exposed area, placing his ear to the other end.
The Lily and the Lion Page 35
