The Lily and the Lion

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘No, don’t! I can help you, I swear,’ begged Anaïs as she struggled against the soldier’s hold.

  Salisbury grinned. ‘Throw her in with the traitors.’

  Simon bent over Gillet who had been laid upon the bed in the adjacent room. With Catherine’s help he peeled back the doublet and sniffed the wound. ‘No vital organs have been pierced. Uncover that bolster and wrap it into a firm wad. What’s wrong, Catherine?’

  ‘Nothing, it’s just that …’ Her glance fell to the bed. ‘Outside Salisbury called him Albret.’

  ‘I’m not dying,’ gasped Gillet as his eyes flickered open. ‘And I can hear you. Tell her, Simon. Céci knows.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Simon. ‘Catherine, meet Ghillebert d’Albret. The man you know as Gillet de Bellegarde is, in fact, the paternal cousin of Armand d’Albret.’ He turned his attention back to Gillet’s injuries. ‘You’ve taken quite a beating tonight, lad. This sword wound will need stitching, and the cut above your eye, but you have been lucky. Any deeper and it would be a very different matter.’

  ‘Later.’ He clutched at Simon’s arm. ‘You have to get Catherine out of here. It is imperative!’

  Catherine passed the wadding and snatched Gillet’s hand as he struggled to sit up. ‘Where is Cécile? Where is my sister?’

  ‘On the dock …’ Gillet grimaced in pain as he clapped the makeshift dressing in place. ‘With Armand. They are due to sail on the next tide.’

  ‘Then we had better hurry,’ said Simon, frowning.

  The door flew open and a grey-faced Salisbury stumbled towards them. ‘I have sent word to Prince Edward of my most judicious find. He will be here soon.’ Catherine backed away and stepped behind Simon’s solid frame. ‘You weren’t expecting to see me, were you, conniving little witch? I have been looking forward to this moment for some time, delayed as it was by your interference, Wexford.’

  ‘I make myself readily available to damsels in distress, particularly when they are hounded by sick weasels such as you.’

  ‘Shut your stinking mouth,’ shrieked Salisbury. Beads of perspiration were glistening on his brow. Grappling for the chair, he swooned as blood flowed freely from his wrist. ‘You won’t be so cocky when the Black Prince gets here.’ He stabbed his finger in Gillet’s direction. ‘What pleasure he will experience as your body hangs from the gibbet whilst he weds and beds your slut!’ His eyes rolled and he leaned against the table.

  ‘You are delirious,’ growled Gillet, slowly standing.

  Salisbury plucked the knife from his scabbard and slashed the air in front of him. ‘Stay back, all of you!’

  ‘Exactly how many of us do you see?’ asked Simon, stepping closer.

  Sweating profusely, Salisbury shuddered. The loss of blood was taking its toll. Darkness gathered at the corners of his mind as the curtain slowly engulfed him and he slid to the floor.

  ‘Monsieur, your wine?’ The maid halted at the door, her eyes growing as round as two moons at the sight of Salisbury bleeding onto the rushes, and Gillet’s scarlet-sodden shirt.

  ‘Mademoiselle, please, all is well.’ Simon encouraged the young woman to enter, removing the tray from her grip and placing it on the table. ‘The lad here was attacked by English soldiers. We would not like them to discover their leader is now indisposed.’ He tapped the side of his nose. Reaching into his doublet, he removed a hefty coin bag. Her gaze shifted from the prostrate Salisbury to Simon’s outstretched hand, her mind assessing the advantages of monetary gain.

  ‘This inn is situated close to the water is it not?’

  ‘Oui, Monsieur.’

  ‘The wine barrels, are they floated or carried via a tunnel?’

  The girl stared at the generous offering and swallowed hard. Her voice lowered. ‘A tunnel, in the cellar, Monsieur, but it is only accessible from the inside. You can leave this way but not return.’ She uncurled her fingers awaiting her reward.

  ‘Excellent. Give me a moment.’ Simon moved to where Gillet was leaning against the bedpost holding his wound. ‘You would do better if I strap it, lad. Lie down.’

  ‘I’m twenty-five years, Simon.’

  The older man pressed his hand to his companion’s brow, checking the heat. ‘Are you testing my wits or yours?’

  ‘Neither.’ Gillet grimaced as Simon helped him onto the bed. ‘I just stopped being a lad some time ago.’

  Simon chuckled as he repositioned the bloody wadding. ‘I will make it as tight as I can. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Think you can run?’

  Gillet nodded. ‘From here? Try and stop me.’

  Inside the hull of the small cog the atmosphere was stifled with the tension of endless waiting. Armand heaved his body from the bale. ‘It is time, Céci. We must put out to sea.’

  ‘No! Just a little longer, Armand, please. ’

  ‘You think I enjoy the idea of abandoning my cousin now? I promised him that I would see you to safety. I gave him my oath.’

  A noisy clumping sounded from above. Running steps slapped against the deck as a booming voice assaulted their ears.

  ‘I am Lord Wexford. I need to see Armand d’Albret immediately. Hurry, man! Hurry!’

  ‘It’s Simon,’ gasped Cécile.

  Armand sprang to the short wooden ladder and, thrusting the bolt along its groove, flung back the hatch. He nimbly stepped up onto the deck. ‘I am Armand d’Albret.’

  ‘Of that there is no doubt,’ came the gruff reply. ‘Let us go below quickly. We must get out of sight.’

  Armand stepped aside and the larger frame descended the stairs. A woman draped in a black cloak followed. ‘By all the saints of heaven,’ hissed Armand as she passed.

  Below deck, Cécile felt her breast pounding. The appearance of Simon would surely bring news of her sister and hopefully mean aid for Gillet. There was new hope! Her heart leaped as she laid eyes on the man of whom she had only heard in letters. In reply, his grey ones widened.

  ‘Mother of God!’

  Armand slipped behind the couple and dropped the door into position. His face was white and he could feel the goose-flesh crawling up his spine like a hairy spider. He exchanged looks with Simon, who felt his own pelt rising in a prickle along his arms.

  The girl behind him pressed her hand to her nose at the strong odour of horseflesh. Her guardian stepped aside and her gaze fell upon a woman. She felt as though she had gulped icy water too readily and her mind had numbed. Her arm slowly lowered.

  For Cécile the feeling was akin to drinking mulled wine too fast and standing aloft. Her head reeled and her stomach rushed to greet it. Her fingers slid up her throat and curled around her medals as she whispered. ‘For the love of God … why did no one ever say?’

  It was as though each was a mirror, reflecting the same image.

  ‘By God’s Holy Rood,’ breathed Armand in reverence. ‘Identical.’

  ‘In every aspect,’ replied Simon.

  Catherine smiled poignantly at her sibling. ‘All this time I have wondered what you looked like.’

  Shyly, Cécile returned the gesture. ‘And you had but to seek your reflection to know.’

  Catherine, the older sister by mere minutes, spread her arms and the younger fell into them, their tears and laughter mingling.

  ‘I hate to be the one to break up a family reunion,’ announced Simon, ‘but we are not out of the woods yet.’ He quickly outlined the situation for Armand, Cécile groaning as Simon spoke of Gillet’s injuries. ‘Salisbury could be bluffing but there is no doubt that the Prince will be displeased with Gillet.’

  ‘He is severely wounded,’ warned Catherine, squeezing her twin’s hand for reassurance.

  Simon looked up and was caught again by the girls’ likeness. ‘We ran on ahead to catch you before you drew anchor. Gillet follows at a slower pace but we must set sail as soon the others arrive. A fog is rising and aids our escape. Gillet suggested we take refuge at his family estate in Kent.’

  A comm
otion was heard above and Armand sprang for the steps. He threw back the hatch and assisted Roderick who carried an unconscious Gillet in his arms.

  ‘Mouse, Guiraud and Gabriel are assisting the crew,’ explained Roderick as he gently laid Gillet upon the straw. His shirt was soaked anew with fresh blood. ‘They had overpowered their guards by the time I caught up with them.’

  ‘And Anais?’ questioned Simon.

  Roderick smirked. ‘I took the liberty of securing her to the bedpost. A gift for the prince.’

  Cécile fell to her knees beside Gillet but Catherine gently drew her back. The boat lurched. ‘Come, let Simon tend his wounds.’ Cécile relinquished the limp hand and succumbed to the embrace of her sister. Her sobs tore at Catherine’s heart.

  ‘Hush dear, just a little more courage. Do you know how your strength, your letters, your presence, have sustained me all these months?’ whispered Catherine. ‘I never could have foreseen myself outside the convent walls, nor imagined that my life would be so complete, had it not been for you.’ She took a deep breath, fighting to keep her own tears at bay. ‘I have prayed for many things but never have I made a pact with our heavenly God. I did so today.’ She squeezed her sister’s fingers as the dam of pent up emotions broke their banks. ‘I had thought my life meaningless and wasted. It is no longer, for I have you.’

  The sisters fell into each other’s arms, neither willing to let the other go.

  Cécile raised her tear-streaked face. ‘Catherine, can you ever forgive me? When my papa told me of you, I did not want to know. But my world turned upside down and all this time, it was the hope of meeting you that kept me going.’ Her voice cracked into a whisper. ‘So much has happened but, Catherine, tonight I learned Gillet was Albret.’

  ‘I know. Simon told me.’

  ‘No … no. You don’t understand. My reaction was such that … he believes that he has lost me forever, and the nature of the man will know the truth only from my own lips. I also know that I love him.’ She glanced across to where Simon bent over the slumped form, threading his needle. ‘But what if I am never to have the chance to tell him?’

  ‘You will,’ replied Catherine, brushing back her sister’s curl. ‘Hush now. Together we shall nurse him back to health. We shall see him well again.’

  The boat lurched again and Roderick and Armand glanced at one another. ‘Feels like we are in full sail, God be praised!’

  At length, Simon stood and placed his hand upon Cécile’s shoulder. ‘I have stitched the wound and by God’s good grace, he will recover, milady. You may go to him now.’

  Cécile went to sit at Gillet’s side and Armand joined her.

  ‘So we head for Kent?’ confirmed Roderick.

  ‘What about the Prince, when he learns of our escape?’ asked Armand.

  Cécile swallowed and looked up at Simon. ‘You do know that Edward will not let us go this easily? He will come for me.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Yes, but I know that man lying there. Were he to be assured of your love, nothing would make him give you up. Put aside your fears, Cécile. We shall be safe enough in Kent.’

  Catherine gazed at each loyal face, one by one, Simon, Roderick, Armand, her sister and Gillet, and her heart began to fill. Simon arrived at her side and he raised her hand to his lips. Gently he kissed it. ‘Catherine, look around. I believe you have your wish. You have found your family.’

  Continued in Lions and Lilies – ‘The Order of the Lily’.

  Excerpt from Lions and Lilies – ‘The Order of the Lily’:

  Lions and Lilies – ‘The Order of the Lily’

  Cécile d’Armagnac closed her eyes and waited for death to take her.

  She lunged at the wooden bucket and buried her head in its depths. Every muscle in her body ached and in between retching, her stomach undulated without mercy to the rise and fall of the boat. She hoped God would forgive her blasphemy but never, in all her life, had she felt so ill.

  Catherine held back her sister’s hair and waited, damp cloth at the ready. ‘She is turning green, Simon. Can you not do something?’

  Simon Marshall was poring over his medicinal box. ‘She did not want to take the mandrake but I fear we have no choice. The strain put upon her body is becoming dangerous and these conditions,’ he paused to survey the hull, ‘are hardly suited to a birthing chamber.’

  ‘It is far too early for the baby to come! Do it, Simon,’ ordered the older twin with newfound authority. ‘She only wishes to remain awake for Gillet’s sake.’

  Simon glanced over at his other patient, Gillet de Bellegarde, still unconscious from battle wounds, and his own stomach rolled. It was not from the motion of the cog upon the Channel waters, but the recent news from above deck, where Gillet’s cousin, Armand, kept watch. A royal vessel had been sighted but Simon had not told the girls. Cécile had been correct when she said the Prince of Wales would waste no time in finding them. It would seem their escape from France was in vain. His immediate concern, though, was for his patients and resolutely he took up the little bottle of mandrake. Far better the Prince find her lifeless than one life less.

  On deck Armand and his younger brother, Guiraud, struggled to secure the rigging on the square sail as Gabriel, with the agility of youth, scaled the ropes to the crow’s nest.

  ‘What do you see?’ yelled Mouse, his feet planted squarely on the deck.

  ‘Water!’ Gabriel shouted back. ‘Lots of water!’ He pointed to the horizon. ‘And the royal cog gains upon us.’ They all turned to watch the growing speck, the Prince’s vessel. The fore and stern castles could now be identified.

  ‘It will overtake us long before we reach England’s coast,’ noted Armand with dismay. Gabriel shimmied down the single mast. ‘Do we fight? We’ve only a handful of men plus the crew but one of them has a bow.’

  ‘It will take more than one archer and a smattering of swords to stop them boarding,’ replied Armand. ‘We shall be ready but do not draw first blood.’

  Catherine pulled a cloak over her sister, who was now in a drug-induced sleep. Cécile had managed to keep down the mandrake and though her face was still alabaster white, at least the green tinges had faded. Catherine lay beside her, their straw bed hidden from view behind barrels of Gascon wine. She did not know what to do, so she resorted to the only thing she knew, the one constant in her life – she prayed to God. Even though they returned to England, she knew she would not resume her life as a novice, nor take her final vows. She gazed upon her twin and her heart filled with joy. She had a new path now. She closed her eyes and prayed for God to understand as she vowed to protect her sister, at any cost. After all, was that not why God sent her?

  She was startled awake by Simon’s voice. He sounded agitated.

  ‘Catherine, listen to me. Whatever you hear, stay put and remain out of sight. We are to have company.’ The boat suddenly jerked sideways, followed by the metallic clank of grappling hooks. ‘God damn,’ cursed Simon as he raced for the hatch.

  A voice rang out from above. ‘This vessel has been commandeered. By order of the Prince of Wales.’Excerpt

  In 1360, Edward of Woodstock would have been thought of as the next king, Edward IV, but since he did not outlive his father, Edward III (and history later saw an Edward IV take the crown), he became known as ‘the Black Prince’ – a title we loved and chose to use anachronistically.

  There seems to be a difference of opinion between well-known academics as to whether or not women could read and write in the middle to late Middle Ages. Also whether the availability of parchment for letters was plentiful or could be afforded. It is best summed up by another researcher who declared, ‘It may be taken as axiomatic that any statement of fact about the Middle Ages may (and probably will) be met by a statement of the opposite or a different version.’ Certainly this has been our experience.

  We simply wish to say that this is not an historic account but a romance novel using history as its background. We have tried at all times to remain
faithful and accurate but it is a fictional story.

  It is what could have happened.

  Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, did marry Thomas Holland when she was very young. It has been suggested she may have been carrying his child and that is why they married in secret, without permission. We gave our women education and the wherewithal to procure parchment for their letters so they could tell their story. Couriers did run private services if you had the coin and both families to whom we refer, did not lack fortune. Edward of Woodstock did have bastard sons. We draw from references and weave our story with fact and interpretation.

  The rest is imagination.

  Bliaut: An over garment featuring a voluminous skirt and horizontal puckering or pleating across a snugly fitted abdomen. The sleeves are long and loose. It was worn with a belt or stomacher.

  Braies: An undergarment tied about the waist, a form of men’s underwear to which the chausses were tied.

  Chausses: Individual leggings (not joined with a gusset) usually made of wool and tied at the top to the braies. Some knights did wear gamboised (padded) chausses for protection in battle.

  Chemise: Linen undergarment for women. The shift beneath the gown, sometimes visible at the neck and sleeves.

  Compline: The last of seven canonical bells that indicated mid-evening prayer.

  Cotehardie: A 14th to 16th-century unisex garment tailored to fit the torso and arms, usually with a row of buttons down the front as well as down each fitted sleeve, from the elbow to the wrist.

  Cuisses: A piece of armour made to fit the thigh.

  Demesne: The central part of a manorial estate set apart for the lord’s own use that provided for the needs of his household.

  Ducat: A gold coin used in medieval Europe.

  Ephedra: Shrubby, almost leafless plant found in dry regions

  Hastilude: A medieval term that refers to many kinds of martial or lance games.