’Twas with great haste that I made my way to the rear of Lady Pembroke’s rooms, by way of the kitchens, through a passageway in the lower cloister. ‘Please, I need you to go.’ I stood watching until he disappeared into the darkness of the corridor. ‘If that is what you wish.’ He peered from beneath lowered lashes to ensure we were alone and then extended his hand, his fingers lightly brushing the burgeoning bruise on my cheek. ‘No, you must go to Lady Mary,’ I said as he assisted me to my feet. Then come to my rooms, where I will be discussing this matter with our visitor.’Īs they retired to Lady Pembroke’s private residence, I slid the forgotten parchment into my sleeve just as Gillet reached me. ‘Gillet, help the good Sister from the floor and take her to the infirmary. He was standing over the Lady Mary in a most demonic manner yet her courage held fast as she looked across at me. ‘That,’ he replied, indicating in my direction, ‘is the filth which comes from the womb of a bitch in heat, the offspring of lust and the creature for whom I have long searched and now found, and as such I demand compensation for that which I am duly owed.’ ‘Lord William Montagu of Salisbury, explain yourself.’ ‘Gillet, stand aside!’ The steward reluctantly lowered his weapon.
‘My Lord Salisbury, what are you doing?’ Lady Mary of Pembroke stepped into a shaft of light, her aura commanding a holy righteousness. Rising to his feet, Gillet retrieved the dagger from the shadows and pointed it menacingly. The man’s head flew back from the force of the blow and a trail of blood oozed from his lip. The attacker grunted several times before hitting out. The knife and discarded parchment skimmed across the floor towards me. Snatching the intruder’s wrist, the able steward slammed the rogue’s knuckles into the ground, loosening his grip on the weapon. Timing his attack, Gillet lunged and the two rolled over, a cloud of dust exploding as they thrashed their way across the flagstones. Gillet’s eyes followed the blade as the shorter man waved it madly from side to side. I slid to my knees and watched in horror as the villain drew a knife. ‘Shut your filthy …’īefore he could finish, my attacker tumbled to the floor and it was some moments before I recognised Gillet, m’lady’s steward, as my saviour. Wiping away his spittle, he released his hold. I choked, my throat constricting with disgust. He placed it on my chin, lingering for a moment before sliding it up and across to my nose and onto my temple, its trail chilling in the dark, cool air. He smiled as his tongue, thick with mucus and the remnants of his last meal, flicked out between his coarse lips. The stench of his breath was overpowering, but his hold prevented me from turning away. ‘Yes, how like her you are,’ he mused wryly. My hair fell from its clasp and tumbled down onto my shoulders. He threw back his head and laughed, then with one quick, decisive movement, wrenched the veil from my head. My eyes widened with shock and confusion. ‘Your mother’s foul actions have brought untold misery to my family, but the time has come for retribution.’ ‘I know who you are, you and your sister,’ he grinned as he waved an opened parchment before me, the very same letter I now know you so recently penned.
Lily and the lion free#
My attempts to break free were pitiful and I fought to scream my alarm. ‘I had foreseen a long and difficult search, but here you are. His face was but inches from mine, the yellow hue of his teeth visible in the candlelight. ‘There is nobody to help you.’ He drew me in and covered my mouth with his hand. I tried to flee but he grasped a large section of robe hanging from my elbow and pulled me back.
‘I have you at last.’ His countenance displayed evil intent. No, the messenger was an evil man, a demon, his scarred face hidden beneath a cowl. But it was not delivered by an angel from heaven. Two days ago, returning from vespers, I received your letter. Though I have dedicated my soul to the Lord, I could not fill the void within. And yet all the while I have suffered as though my heart had been cleaved. Left at the mercy of my benefactress, Lady Mary St Pol, Countess of Pembroke, and the Poor Sisters of Clare when I was only a babe, I had been led to believe that I was a waif with no family, poverty and piety my hand fast friends. I had been, in God’s good grace, a novice at Denny Abbey, awaiting my time to take Holy Orders, having not yet been able to prove my worthiness. How do I convey the emotion conjured by just one word? How can I confer the change this has wrought upon me? Like yours, my life will never be the same. To Lady Cécile d’Armagnac, with faithful heart and loving consideration, Written by Cécile d’Armagnac at Palais du Rois, Paris, 3 March 10 Jean II.