The Gilded Crown Read online

  ‘Catherine received a missive some weeks ago, the first from her mother.’

  ‘So they are not close, mother and daughter?’

  ‘If you hoped to obtain gossip on an English widow and her bed partner then you are sadly mistaken, M’lord.’ Simon was unable to keep the exasperation from his voice.

  ‘I would advise you to bide your temper, Wexford. After all, you are a guest of the Scottish king.’

  ‘I do not believe guests are kept under lock and key!’

  ‘You are not a prisoner.’

  ‘Then we will depart for Craigmillar today.’ Simon turned to go.

  ‘Of course.’ Robert smirked. ‘You and your brother can leave whenever you want.’

  ‘And my family?’

  Robert drank down his ale then turned to refill the goblet. ‘I believe the King has instructed Lady Dunbar to entertain Lady Wexford. I think he would be somewhat disappointed if Catherine were to suddenly leave.’

  Simon could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and he clenched his fists.

  ‘Walk with me.’ The Scotsman shot a piercing stare at Roderick. ‘You will not need your brother’s protection.’

  They walked over a slight incline and into a nearby grove of trees. ‘We cannot be seen from here,’ Robert explained, indicating in the direction of the castle bastion.

  ‘You don’t want to be spotted speaking with me?’

  ‘My reputation is far more important than yours, Wexford.’

  Simon cast his gaze over the dense woodland. The Scottish Earl was taking a risk. ‘Are you suggesting the David is holding Catherine in order to manipulate me?’

  Robert raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Your silence speaks volumes.’

  ‘Your sister’s snivelling husband spends a great deal of time whispering in the King’s ear. It seems your arrival took them by surprise.’

  Simon placed his back against a large yew in order to keep the surrounding forest in view.

  ‘I suspect, as they do, that you have more than one reason to grace Edinburgh with your presence.’

  ‘Do you? And what would they be?’ Simon resisted the urge to shift his grip on the hilt of his sword. He had The Lady completely concealed beneath his cloak.

  ‘Your recent travels have seen you pass through London, yes? Perhaps you had time to visit the White Tower whilst you were there?’

  Simon smiled. Robert’s motivations were becoming clear. ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘I see. There comes a time, does there not, when one must decide which side one is on?’

  ‘Declaring one’s interest though can be fraught with danger,’ said Simon.

  ‘Very true, my friend, but I believe, in this instance, that you and I share a common goal.’ Robert hesitated. ‘I am told that Odistoun is collecting rent and taxes on property held by your family.’

  ‘I am not sure what that—’

  ‘He is doing so at the request of his King,’ continued Robert, ‘under the proviso that it is to be used to pay the ransom yet I know that not one coin has made its way to London.’

  It was as Simon had himself suspected, but he had no intention of revealing that to Robert. ‘What do you imagine David is doing with the money?’

  ‘This I have yet to determine, but there is a far greater issue at hand. If David is not paying the ransom, why then has Edward not moved against him?’

  ‘So you thought I had been sent by Edward? To spy?’

  ‘You have another excuse to be here?’ Robert asked.

  ‘And that is David’s reason for holding Catherine and Gabby?’

  ‘I can only presume so.’

  Simon scratched his chin in thought. He needed time to consider what Robert had told him. He didn’t trust the Scotsman.

  ‘Perhaps if you were able discover something from Walter?’ Robert suggested.

  ‘Then you would be willing to help me? Is that your meaning, M’lord?’

  ‘As I said, there comes a time when you must decide where your loyalties lie.’

  Simon closed his eyes. He had no need to choose. His loyalty lay with the woman now held against her will within the walls of Edinburgh Castle. ‘I will seek the information you require, but I must have your word. You will assist me to remove my family from Edinburgh Castle should the need arise?’

  ‘Aye. However, I will deny this conversation to anyone who may ask. You have more than one enemy here, Wexford. Best you think carefully before you make your next move.’ Robert turned and strode back towards the tourney field.

  Catherine sat in the alcove, drawing what little warmth she could from the evening twilight. The ladies had been permitted to dine within Lady Logie’s private bower, the gentlemen of the court settling to a night of gaming. She smiled as she recalled Roderick’s enthusiastic holler; her brother-by-marriage certainly liked to entertain his gambling habits. Lady Dunbar appeared to have the ear of Lady Stewart, whilst her niece, Agnes, sought the company of the younger girls, the group consisting mostly of Euphemia’s daughters and friends.

  Catherine leaned back against the stone wall, closed her eyes and concentrated on the raucous laughter of the men on the floor below. Even though their merriment was great she could not pick out her husband’s voice among them. Resting her palm protectively upon her abdomen, Catherine’s thoughts turned to her unborn child. Only that morning English Mary had asked about her upcoming confinement. Catherine had not considered that her first babe would be born anywhere other than in England. Now it seemed likely she and Simon may still be residing in Scotland and she was not sure if this pleased or terrified her.

  ‘Is everything all right, my dear?’ Lady Dunbar sat down beside Catherine and took her hand.

  ‘Yes, of course … I was just listening to the mayhem below.’

  The older lady frowned. ‘If you are tired you should take your rest. I fear our husbands will play through the night.’

  ‘Yes, you may be right.’ Catherine rose slowly to her feet. ‘I have been feeling a little dizzy today. I think perhaps an early night would benefit me.’

  ‘That being the case, I will walk with you.’

  ‘No need, Lady Dunbar, I am happy to escort my wife.’ Simon appeared at the doorway and excused his presence to the ladies.

  Catherine beamed with delight. ‘You do not wish to dice?’

  ‘Not this evening,’ he stated, nodding to Lady Logie as they departed. Grasping Catherine’s arm he drew her closer. ‘I wanted to speak with you. Did you enjoy your day with Black Agnes?’

  ‘She is a most interesting woman, Simon. In fact, I learned so much, I fear I will not be able to convey it all to you in one evening!’

  ‘Of gowns and headdresses?’ Simon teased.

  Catherine laughed. ‘You think me interested in court fashion?

  ‘Of course; are not all ladies?’ Simon scoffed.

  Once they reached the privacy of their own apartment, Simon closed and latched the door. ‘It is as we imagined. You and Gabby are not free to depart the castle.’

  They sat in front of the fire and locked hands.

  ‘What did Lord Stewart say?’

  ‘He confirmed my fear. The Scottish King is collecting the ransom but not paying it,’ Simon explained. ‘He wanted me to believe that David thinks me an English spy. Of course I neither confirmed nor denied it, but I certainly had the impression that Robert was hoping for more information than I could supply.’ Simon stood and crossed to the loophole. ‘I agreed to question Walter in return for Robert’s assistance.’

  ‘Can we trust him?’

  ‘No more than we can David or Walter.’

  ‘But what do you hope to learn from Walter?’

  Simon opened and closed his fist several times. ‘Robert hinted at something that has long bothered me. If David has broken the agreement, why hasn’t Edward acted against him?’

  Catherine considered the question. ‘Are you sure that is what David has done? Perhaps the nature of his promise changed as
he left England?’

  Simon stared at her for several minutes before a wry smile gathered at his lips. ‘Of course. We are assuming that David and Edward are telling the truth. How can we know, for sure, what matter of payment was agreed upon, or whether a ransom was even sought? Perhaps it was simply a ruse?’

  ‘Would David confide in Walter?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘There is only one way to find out.’ Simon returned to his wife’s side and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I promise you, as soon as we are able, you and I, Gabby and Roderick will be away from Edinburgh.’

  ‘’Tis not all bad here, Simon.’

  ‘A prison is a prison, no matter its form!’

  Catherine reached up and placed her hand on Simon’s cheek. ‘Yes, of course, you are right.’ Catherine could see the concern in his face and her throat constricted tightly. ‘I do not like King David.’

  ‘Why so?’ Simon enquired.

  ‘I heard much about him today and his preoccupation with the women in his inner circle. Lady Dunbar is terribly worried for her niece.’

  ‘As she well should be. David’s last favourite died in his arms. Robert’s supporters do not want the King to sire an heir – even a bastard child could lay claim to the throne.’

  ‘I met her today, the younger Agnes. During our conversation she suggested that I visit Dunbar Castle.’ Catherine paused, watching her husband’s reaction. ‘I declined the invitation by saying that we had already planned to see Dumbarton. I am sorry, Simon. I did not mean to let that slip.’

  ‘I see,’ Simon replied. ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘Nothing; it was more her aunt, Lady Dunbar. She gasped with surprise and wanted to know why we would want to go there? I lied, very badly I’m afraid, and said it was a family matter.’

  Simon laughed. ‘I think you have inadvertently helped our cause.’

  ‘I did?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘What better way to raise suspicion than to offer such information to Lady Dunbar?’

  ‘Are you suggesting that Lady Dunbar will share our conversation with others?

  ‘My sweet wife, never, ever trust a Scot.’ Simon squeezed her hand, then sat back down beside her. ‘I want you to promise me something.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘You are not to go anywhere within the precinct of this castle or Edinburgh without an escort. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Simon.’ Catherine frowned. ‘Of course. And Gabby?’

  ‘I have already assigned Girda an armed guard.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’

  Simon leaned forward and kissed Catherine. ‘I should never have brought you with me.’

  ‘I wanted to be here.’

  ‘I will not lie to you,’ Simon admitted. ‘I worry for your safety. You must take heed of those around you and never allow yourself to be alone. If I am required to depart Edinburgh for any reason, I will leave Roderick with you.’

  ‘But how will we return the sword?’

  ‘The fate of that Lady is, at present, the very least of my concerns. I need to discover what David is up to and then get you and Gabby as far as possible from this place.’

  There was so much blood! Far more than Cécile thought possible. It was pooling at her feet and she shifted smartly, the weapon responsible for such brutality still clutched in her hand. She glanced at the gaping hole where she’d slashed his throat. She’d been mercifully quick and as a result the suffering had been kept to a minimum. He was at peace now and she murmured a prayer of thanks, her weariness set to overcome her but she had to be strong. She’d give him a decent burial later. It was the least she could do.

  Cécile put down the cleaver and left the hapless rooster, who’d become something of a pet in the last couple of days, to bleed out before she gutted it. She collapsed onto the garden bench and like one of the border daisies, turned her face toward the sun, letting the morning rays warm her. She spied her red-crusted fingers and grimaced. The poor creature had wandered into their courtyard and with food becoming scarce, Cécile knew his stay would be cut short – literally. It was unlikely that anyone would come looking for the bird. Stray animals foraging were a regular sight now, their owners too sick to care for them. She paused for a moment to recall her last attempt at killing a chicken and the memory brought a faint smile to her lips. She’d been in Kent with Gillet and his intervention and consequent, untimely ripping of feathers on the drugged bird had seen him knocked flat on his back, soaked with egg batter and two cats licking his face. He had not been amused. Cécile chuckled, the brief moment of levity bringing much needed relief to her flagging spirits. This time she fared better in the killing of the poultry, learning from the last occasion that to hang the bird upside-down rendered it compliant. This one had even obligingly stuck out its neck as she’d lowered it to the chopping block. One swift stroke saw the deed done; her courage and tenacity borne out of necessity. They had to eat. And this would make a fine broth to spoon down Armand’s inflamed throat. She walked back inside to the coolness of the cottage. Plus Reynaud was to visit tonight.

  Cécile looked over at Armand and frowned. He was worse, his temperature rising by the hour. She’d sponged him relentlessly and fed him cabbage soup, his protestations at her presence gradually weakening as he slid further into darkness. The smithy had warned her Armand would deteriorate yet more before his body would expend the last of his energy in a thrashing fit of delirium brought on by fever and pain. Cécile lifted his sweat-soaked shirt to look at the plague boil. It was a hideous colour, pus-filled, swollen and angry.

  Armand groaned and opened his eyes. ‘Were I not already a marked man, I would be when Gillet hears.’

  ‘Hush,’ snapped Cécile. She lowered his shirt and fetched the bowl, wringing out the cloth to lie upon her cousin’s forehead. ‘Think he will lay blame on you if you die?’

  Armand gave what passed for a smile. ‘Yes, if you die as well. Or when he hears the Duc dared to lay his hands upon you.’

  Cécile’s head jerked up. ‘What?’

  ‘I saw your neck, Céci. You did well to hide it.’ He coughed, the air sucking back into his lungs with a long wheeze. ‘But you can’t fool me.’ Armand closed his watering eyes, then reopened them, forcing the strength he’d mustered into a wobbly grin. ‘Since when do you wear a wimple? And those stables …’ He hacked again, his face pinching white. ‘… to be built at Bellegarde. Blood money?’

  ‘Saints alive, yes! And if you live long enough to breathe one word of it, I shall run you through myself!’ She busied herself mopping his brow but his hand crept up to stay her. His feverishly bright eyes bore into hers until she gave way. ‘Oh, Goddamn you, Armand Amanieu-d’Albret!’

  Armand grimaced. ‘I believe He already has, sweetheart.’

  Cécile’s face crumpled and Armand quickly relented.

  ‘Don’t Céc,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me what happened. I shall be your confessor and the secret will die with me.’

  Cécile swiped her tears and exhaled. With Armand’s hand captive in hers, she related the evening days after Gillet’s departure, how her cat had saved her from Jean de Berri’s attack and, in the telling of it, she felt a tight inner coil unwind.

  Armand let his lids drop again as he listened. ‘And this,’ he croaked,’ after the disastrous dinner of the previous week?’

  Cécile nodded. ‘Yes, but Gillet must never know. It was a mistake, Armand, a bad error in judgement on behalf of Jean de Berri. I’m sure he regrets his actions. He has been absolved by his priest and by me, and there lies an end to it. No need for Gillet ever to know.’

  ‘I agree.’ Armand’s lids flickered open. ‘He would only do something foolhardy like challenge the Duc and ruin every chance for a royal pardon. Best it is left behind though it’s a pity Gillet won’t hear of the cat’s intervention. I wish I could have seen his face at learning that.’ He drifted into sleep again, and Cécile tiptoed from his bedside, mollified by his humour.

  By late aft
ernoon, Armand took a turn for the worst. His arms roved over the blankets, his fingers plucking at the wool as he uttered gibberish. Gillet and Cécile’s names were repeated several times but Armand did not see his cousin sitting there, nor the tears she wept.

  ‘The time has come.’ Reynaud stepped into the cottage carrying a fistful of linen ties which Cécile observed suspiciously. ‘We must bleed him but first some poppy syrup.’

  ‘What are you going to do with those?’

  ‘Tie him down. He will have the strength of Hercules when the blade touches his skin.’

  ‘You do not mean to use leeches?’ She wiped her eyes upon her sleeve.

  Reynaud pulled out a stool and sat. ‘Do you remember what I told you in the cellar before Gabriel and the others left?’

  Cécile nodded. ‘When the time comes, I must be strong.’

  ‘He will scream as though I am disembowelling him and you will beg for me to stop but needs must. It has to be done. Now, be brave and help me tie down his limbs.’

  Reynaud tied Armand’s good arm to the pallet at his side, secured his legs and ankles and wound a length around his middle. He stretched out the infected limb and strapped it to a board, in turn, anchoring it to the bed head. Then he unrolled a set of chirurgeon’s instruments. There were several types of pincers, two of which had rounded tong-ends covered with miniscule teeth, some hooked scalpels, one in the shape of a fleur-de-lis, knives with sharp, curved blades at both ends in varied sizes and one misericord.

  Cécile shuddered at the sight of the tiny dagger. It was the implement used when there was no hope left. One swift blow to the heart and the patient would be released forever. Many knights took them onto the battlefield, trusting their enemy’s chivalry would free them from a lingering death.

  ‘Do all blacksmiths attire themselves so?’ she asked, picking up the innocent-looking dagger. A childish whim to hide the misericord seized her. If it could not be found, it could not be used. But then would Madame Fate take up the challenge? Quickly she returned it to its pouch.

  ‘My father believed that chirurgery went hand-in-glove with being a smithy but never more so until he met a man in Avignon, called Guy de Chauliac, whose great talents serve the Pope still. He went to my father’s shop to have special instruments made and, in turn, my father, God rest his soul, became interested in surgery.’ While he spoke Reynaud cut away Armand’s shirt, exposing the purplish-black bubo. The crusted top was a creamy-yellow and as the rank, rotting odour reached Cécile’s nose, she gagged.