The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘No,’ breathed Cécile, ‘No! You must not think such thoughts. You must never blame yourself for the loss of your mother, and your family was wrong, so very wrong to do so.’ Tenderly, she brushed the damp cheeks. ‘Gillet, I will not let Edward’s child come between us.’

  She drew his face towards hers and kissed him gently. The scent of his freshly scrubbed skin rose to tease her senses, the taste of him, his very essence. She allowed the kiss to deepen.

  Slowly Gillet unbound her hair, drawing it around him like a curtain, shielding them both from the world outside. Only the two of them existed.

  Cécile moved away but their gazes were locked. She unlaced her gown and let it fall to the floor. Her chemise and stockings followed. Gillet’s eyes slowly meandered over her body as she stood wearing nothing but a yearning to relieve his pain. Her hands slid over her belly. ‘Do not see the child,’ she murmured, ‘see only me. Let me prove to you that I am yours. I will not leave you, Gillet.’

  ‘Cécile,’ he whispered hoarsely.

  ‘Hush.’ She stepped toward him and began to remove his clothing. Gillet said nothing. He lifted each limb obligingly, moving as though in a trance. It was only when he wore nothing but his braies that a flicker of life sprang into his eyes. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He kissed her ardently, and she responded with equal fervour, both of them slaking the devils that haunted their souls.

  Gillet lifted his head. ‘Cécile, my beautiful Sprite.’ He covered her breasts with kisses, his lips as gentle as the brush of butterfly wings. Cécile arched beneath his long, sweeping caresses, helpless as she plummeted into an abyss of sinful enjoyment. Gillet’s mouth plunged onto hers and with a soft growl, he lowered himself. Cécile felt as though her body knew its rightful master and welcomed him home. Together they rode the waves of delight, and then soared to touch the heavens.

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ Crumpling beside her on the bed, Gillet brushed his knuckles down Cécile’s moistened cheek. ‘I have made you weep.’ Dimples appeared in his smile and he gathered her to his breast. ‘Lady, you cannot know how long I have wished to make you mine.’

  Cécile glowed up at him. ‘I love you, Gillet de Bellegarde.’

  But rather than return the endearment, he frowned. ‘Cécile, there is something about my family that I should tell you. Perhaps it would be easier over a goblet of wine.’ Rolling from the bed, he donned his abandoned braies and had taken only two steps when there was a reverberating crash coupled with the sound of splintering wood. Cécile screamed as three men burst into the room and two helmed soldiers in French uniforms hauled Gillet aside.

  A large, burly creature with an unkempt beard casually strolled to where Gillet struggled frantically. ‘Well, well, well … look what we have here – the special envoy of the Black Prince. Lord d’Albret, himself!’

  The bustling dock of Portsmouth teemed with life. Sailors, soldiers, merchants and mercenaries rubbed shoulder to shoulder in the narrow alleyways.

  ‘Watch your step, Catherine!’ Simon’s fingers wrapped possessively over hers as they pushed their way through the crowded market place. The smell of fish mixed with the stench of humanity and Catherine’s eyes watered with disgust.

  ‘The captain said he was moored at the end of the wharf.’ Roderick was two paces behind them, dragging the gibbering Anaïs along. One of the maids at Broughton had kindly gifted her a crude wooden doll and she clung to it with a strange obsession.

  ‘I hope to God he is still there and hasn’t sailed with my gold tucked in his belt,’ remarked Simon.

  Avoiding as much mud a possible, Catherine lifted the hem of her blue gown over the worst of the refuse. It was pooling like excrement in every depression. Numerous small boats were lined up against the pier, each secured to the timber posts and bobbing in the shallow water.

  ‘Ahoy! Step lightly, the tide is turning.’ Tossing the last of the chests aboard the vessel, the captain encouraged the group aboard.

  Roderick jumped over the rail. He assisted Anaïs and Catherine and left the crewmen to help Simon, whose leg was causing him some difficulty.

  ‘Where are we going?’ demanded a suddenly lucid Anaïs.

  ‘To Ireland,’ winked Roderick.

  She cradled her dishevelled doll. ‘Did you hear that, little sweetie? Mama’s off to Ireland!’ Her eyes glittered and she twisted the neck sharply. ‘Whoops! Baby lost her head.’

  It was not long before England was a shadow shrinking towards the horizon. Catherine paled as the vessel dipped. She gripped the rail as her stomach tumbled.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Yes, I think so. I am not at all sure about the business of sailing,’ she admitted as he draped his arm about her shoulders.

  ‘The nausea will pass.’

  ‘But not the fear,’ she clarified.

  The breeze picked up and whipped Catherine’s hair across her eyes. Simon wrapped his cloak around her, shielding her face from the wind.

  ‘What do you fear the most?’

  ‘That we will not reach them in time, that I will never see England again, that I will drown in the middle of this vast sea!’

  ‘Attacked by a serpent perhaps?’ he asked.

  Catherine pulled a face, unhappy with his flippant attitude.

  ‘Catherine, you will return here one day and I am a very good swimmer, so you shall not drown. As for Cécile and Gillet, we cannot get there any faster no matter what we do.’ He tucked her hair behind her ear. She shivered as his finger lightly brushed her cheek. ‘Besides, Gillet is no fool. I imagine he took precautionary steps to protect both himself and your sister.’

  The large soldier viciously drove his fist into Gillet’s stomach and Cécile screamed again. Gillet doubled over, struggling for breath, but slowly drew himself upright.

  ‘Albret?’ Cécile echoed, the man’s words exploding in her head. The room began to spin. ‘No, no! You have made a mistake!’

  ‘Mistake?’ growled Bonneuil. He swung again and Gillet’s head flew sideways, blood spattering. Then he punched his prisoner in the gut a second time for good measure. ‘I would know this foul vermin in my sleep! Captain d’Albret, commander of forces under King Edward. The most sought after agent of the Black Prince and traitor to all France! His own father was a lieutenant. Their entire family is loyal to the English crown.’

  Clutching the sheet in desperation, Cécile scrambled along the bed, shaking her head with disbelief. ‘No! No! This cannot be!’ she screamed.

  Gillet’s gaze fastened on hers and she saw the truth in his eyes. Air whistled back into his lungs. ‘I … can … explain. Aagh!’ His head was cruelly wrenched up by a fistful of hair.

  ‘You don’t explain to putains.’

  ‘You … bastard … Bonneuil!’

  Cécile was reeling. Albret? And she had trusted him. Mon Dieu. They had just … Dizziness overcame her. Had Gillet brought her to Calais for the purpose of handing her over to the Black Prince? Her stomach heaved. All this time had Gillet been working with Anaïs? Cecile felt faint as Bonneuil’s attentions refocused.

  ‘Who is she?’ he snarled.

  ‘She’s … no one,’ wheezed Gillet. ‘Just an expensive whore … with whom I have been amusing myself.’

  Tears sprung to cloud Cécile’s vision and she choked, ‘This has all been a game to you!’

  Stony-faced, Gillet shrugged. ‘It passed the time.’

  Bonneuil laughed. ‘Still playing the high and mighty. Well, your games are about to end.’ He took a step back and his voice took on an official tone. ‘You are hereby charged and arrested for crimes against the French Crown, including intent to do harm upon the royal family, inciting and leading the unlawful existence of the gathering known by the name of The Jacquerie, conspiring against our King, and evasion to stand trial for the above crimes.’ He paused before snarling. ‘I bring upon you the charge of treason, most foul, and spit on the name of Albret.’ To make good his word, a greeni
sh gob landed on Gillet’s foot.

  Gillet’s face went white.

  Albret, the first of the Gascons to trade their souls for English coin, the confidantes of Edward, Prince of Wales. Gillet’s eyes flickered to Cécile’s and her loathing erupted.

  ‘You poxy, lying whoreson.’

  Catherine hung on to the rail of the ship, her knuckles white. She closed her eyes and tried to set her mind upon the swell of the ocean, but she could not dislodge an intense feeling of unease.

  ‘Catherine, come, tell me about her.’ Simon seated himself amongst a large pile of fish netting.

  ‘My sister?’ He nodded, shifting to one side to make room for her. ‘I know nothing of her looks, but Gillet tells me she has great beauty. I long to see her with my own eyes. Her courage and determination have captured my heart for she has more spirit than anyone I have ever known.’ Grasping her cloak, Catherine leaned in against Simon. ‘But I fear that she will be disappointed in me.’

  ‘I doubt that she will find you lacking in any way. In fact, she might be surprised.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I do. You no longer resemble the novice I met in March.’ Gathering Catherine’s windblown locks, Simon attempted a plait, huffing with irritation as a curl escaped his grasp.

  ‘Any more than you are that pompous, overbearing, opinionated knight who so gallantly came to my rescue!’

  ‘You thought me pompous?’

  ‘I did, Simon,’ laughed Catherine shyly.

  ‘Ridiculous!’

  ‘Here, let me.’ Taking the blue ribbon from him, Catherine secured it halfway down the braid, thankful that her hair was at least under some control.

  Silence fell comfortably between them. Catherine laid her head upon Simon’s arm.

  ‘What shall we do once we find Céci and Gillet?’

  ‘I had assumed that you would want to stay with them.’

  ‘Of course, it is what I have longed for – a true family.’ She hesitated, unsure of her next question or his response. ‘But what of you?’

  ‘There is much to consider,’ replied Simon. Catherine’s heart plummeted. ‘I have yet to decide.’

  Catherine closed her eyes and searched her soul. What did she want? What had she expected him to say? That he would remain at her side and be part of that family? That he could not return to England without her? She had no more understanding of Simon’s feelings than her own.

  ‘Land ho!’

  The announcement brought them sharply to their feet. Catherine’s eyes scanned the distant shore but she could see very little.

  ‘Catherine, we are still more than an hour from land.’ Simon sounded exasperated.

  ‘I worry for her.’

  ‘Unnecessarily, for she is in very safe hands.’

  Bonneuil strode to the bed and wrenching Cécile by the hair, jerked her to her knees. She screamed and clawed at his arms but he laughed and shook her like a rag doll. ‘She certainly has the mouth of a slut.’

  ‘Let her go, you bastard!’ Gillet struggled wildly but the soldiers held him fast. ‘Let her go. She is not a part of this.’

  Unperturbed, Bonneuil dragged Cécile’s face to within inches of his own. The stench of his breath was putrid and Cécile gagged. ‘Your lover is a known traitor. A disgusting piece of shite! You ought to choose your customers more carefully.’

  ‘Let her go, Bonneuil! She is nothing to me.’

  The sheet fell away and Bonneuil gaped in astonishment. He reached out and squeezed her breast. Cécile cried out in pain. His hand slid south, across her belly. ‘Nothing eh? Well it looks as though you’ve had this nothing for a while.’

  Gillet spat the blood from his cut lip in disgust. ‘Her bellyful is not mine.’ His contempt was genuine and even through her fear, Cécile felt it cut deep.

  Bonneuil grinned. ‘Then allow me to pay her on your behalf.’ He made a gurgling noise and, hawking a gob into his mouth, spat it into Cécile’s face. For the next few moments her stomach heaved and she retched.

  Gillet thrashed violently, growling like a chained animal. ‘Let her go, you stinking whoreson! ’

  The two soldiers were relishing the show of Cécile’s exposed flesh and with a laugh Bonneuil ripped the last of the sheet away. ‘Since I have paid her, you all may have the pleasure of watching while I split this juicy peach of yours. I’ll warrant she’s nicely greased.’

  ‘ No,’ screamed Gillet. ‘I will kill you, Bonneuil. I swear I will kill you!’

  Cécile screamed in desperate panic as Bonnueil threw her face down. Her hair-smothered face was pushed into the covers as the man’s knee slammed into her back. He fumbled with his laces. ‘If she’s just a whore like you say, why should you care?’ He wrenched her legs apart.

  A dreadful noise filled the room, the roaring of a demon from Hell accompanied by a metallic clanging sound. Taking advantage of the soldier’s distraction, Gillet had ripped off the helm from one, smashed it into the face of the other and returned it to its owner. The men fell to the floor, their faces bloodied.

  The bed rocked with a great force and the weight on Cécile’s back suddenly released. Scrambling to the wall, she watched, paralysed, as Gillet and Bonneuil tumbled to the floor.

  The two men wrestled, first Bonneuil rolled on top, then with a shift in strength, Gillet. They broke free and Gillet sprang to his feet but Bonneuil was surprisingly quick. He lunged at Gillet with his full weight and caught him in a bear hug, squeezing with all his might. Gillet drew back his head and with a sickening crunch smashed into the other man’s face. The repulsive creature stumbled back, temporarily blinded, blood pouring into his beard from a broken nose. Driving a punch into Bonneuil’s stomach that had him wheezing like broken bellows, Gillet seized a handful of Bonneuil’s hair and hammered a fist into his face. The man’s jaw fell slack and pink spittle flew with the next blow delivered to his windpipe. Wrenching the soldier’s head backwards, Gillet flung it down, smashing it upon the force of his rising knee.

  Bonneuil slid to the floor, unconscious.

  Cécile’s heart pounded with the beat of a thousand hooves. Gillet swiped his skinned knuckles over his mouth, panting. His brow was split, the blood running freely down the side of his face. He turned to find Cécile cowering against the wall, clutching the sheet, numb with fear.

  ‘Merciful God,’ he puffed in great gulps. ‘I should slit his throat … for just thinking … about …’ He stepped toward her but she shrank further down the bed, whimpering like a wounded animal. Disappointment and compassion washed over Gillet’s face. He reached out, speaking between gasps, in gentle tones that he used when Inferno was agitated. ‘I won’t hurt you … Cécile. Listen … to me … very carefully. I asked … for your trust, and now … is the time to give it. Soldiers will come … and they must not find you … the English watch may have been alerted.’ He stepped closer, but Cécile cringed in abject horror. Gillet swore softly, his voice pleading. ‘Cécile, you must get dressed. You have to get out of …’

  She screamed as he suddenly lunged towards the door.

  ‘Jesu, Gillet! It’s me, Guiraud.’

  Armand’s brother, Guiraud, was set back on his feet. He took in the three bodies lying on the floor, then raised his eyes to Cécile. ‘Christ Almighty! What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Be still, Guiraud. Cécile is a little overset by what has … happened here.’

  ‘Well, make her coherent, and fast! Soldiers are on the way.’

  ‘English or French?’ asked Gillet without taking his eyes from Cécile.

  ‘Either! Both!’ spluttered Guiraud. ‘It doesn’t matter which. ’Tis imperative that you leave now.’

  ‘Easy, Cécile, easy,’ crooned Gillet, treading closer. ‘I will not hurt you. Look at me. At me.’ Cécile had been wildly shifting her gaze from one to the other but at Gillet’s instruction she stared into his dark eyes. ‘You must trust me, Cécile. My name is Ghillebert d’Albret. I am Armand’s cousin, nephew to Jean
d’Armagnac’s sister.’

  ‘Jesu, Gillet! Her eyes are rolling back. She is going to fit! Do something!’

  ‘Christ.’

  As a mist rolled over Cécile’s vision she felt a strong grip on her arm. Her head jerked as resounding slaps were delivered to her cheeks and she was roughly shaken. Her blood flowed once more.

  ‘Clothe yourself,’ hissed Gillet. ‘Guiraud, keep watch from the window.’ Pulling a corner of the sheet loose, he pushed back the mop of clinging hair and tenderly wiped her face. ‘Cécile, for the love of God, get dressed. Now.’ His voice penetrated her fogged mind and her limbs began to move. ‘Faster,’ he commanded.

  Cécile stumbled across the bed and scrambled into her chemise and gown, her fingers trembling as she tried to tie the laces, all the while emitting strange sobs. Gillet grappled with his shirt, then hurriedly packed their small travelling bag.

  He swept a cloak around Cécile’s shoulders. ‘Leave the laces,’ he barked, pushing boots onto her feet. They all heard a distant jingle of metal upon metal.

  Guiraud spun around. ‘Soldiers! They’re assembling at the rear of the inn.’

  ‘Listen hard, Guiraud,’ instructed Gillet. ‘Take Cécile to the boat, to Armand. She must not be found. Tell him to put out to sea and wait for the tide to turn. The moment it does, he is to sail.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I will lead the soldiers away from the inn.’

  Cécile listened in a daze but gripped Gillet’s arm when she heard. ‘No! Don’t leave me now.’

  He thrust the bag into her hands. ‘Cécile, please, please, for once in your life, do as you are told. Our very necks depend upon it. Go with Guiraud. He will take you to Armand. Your cousin will explain everything. Do you hear me? Everything.’ His voice was desperate and brooked no refusal. ‘Here, take this and keep it safe for me.’ He tore the silver medal from his neck and dropped it into her hand, his fingers closing over hers. ‘If we become separated, I will come for it … and for you.’ His mouth bore down in a frantic, bloodied kiss.