Catherine: One Love is Enough (Catherine Series Book 1) (24 page)

Assuming that this evening would be a repetition of the other, she made her way across the room to bid them good evening. When they saw her coming, however, they both stopped talking and rose to their feet. Catherine’s lowered eyes prevented her seeing the look of wondering surprise that spread across their faces and that Garin gave poetic expression:

‘A summer dawn is not more beautiful. You are a wonderful sight, my dear.’

As he spoke, his tall figure bent in a low bow, one hand on his heart, in answer to the girl’s curtsey. Champdivers bowed too, a smile of satisfaction on his ferret-like face. A girl of such exceptional beauty should be able to attach Philippe le Bon’s fickle heart to herself for a long time, and Champdivers foresaw a long succession of honours and profits in recognition of the services rendered. He all but rubbed his hands …

Garin, with an abrupt gesture, summoned the valet who had accompanied him and who now stood waiting in a corner, holding a little purple velvet casket. The Treasurer opened it. All the light blazing from the tall iron torch-bearers seemed to be concentrated on its contents. With his long, dexterous fingers, Garin drew out a heavy, magnificent gold necklace, as massive and as long as an order of chivalry. The links in the shape of flowers and leaves were studded with immense purple amethysts, of rare brilliance and purity, and with flawless orient pearls. There was a general cry of admiration as this marvel appeared, followed a second later by a matching pair of earrings.

‘I dote on this violet colour, which is that of your eyes, Catherine,’ he remarked in his slow, ponderous way. ‘It suits your golden hair and clear skin. So I had this necklace made for you in Anvers. The stones come from a faraway chain of mountains, the Ural mountains on the borders of Asia. The successful completion of this necklace represents an enormous amount of courage and dedication on the part of men who have never known what it is to be afraid, and I would like to see you wear it with pleasure … because the amethyst is the stone of virtue … and chastity.’

As he laid the necklace across Catherine’s trembling hands, she flushed deeply.

‘I will wear it with pleasure since it is a gift from you, messire,’ she said in so faint a voice that not everyone heard her clearly. ‘Would you like to fasten it round my neck?’

There was something comic about the Treasurer’s horrified gesture of refusal, but it proved salutary to Catherine, who was on the point of swooning away.

‘With that pink dress? What an idea, my dear! I shall see that you have a dress made that will set off these amethysts as well as possible. Now, give me your hand.’

From the bottom of the casket Garin took a simple ring of twisted gold, which he slipped over the girl’s third finger.

‘This,’ he said gravely, ‘is the token of our betrothal. The orders of Monseigneur the Duke are that we should marry at Christmas, as soon as the period of Court mourning is ended. He hopes to be present in person at the ceremony, which is indeed a great honour. He may even be a witness. Now take my arm and let us go to the table.’

Catherine obediently let herself be escorted. She still felt bewildered, but the sickness of a short while back seemed to be lifting. Garin had a way of organising things and events that made them a little less frighteningly mysterious. One sensed that everything was easy for this rich and powerful man. All the easier because there was not a jot of feeling in either his words or his actions. Whether he was bestowing a King’s ransom’s worth of jewels or slipping onto her finger the ring that would bind them together for life, the tone of his voice remained exactly the same. His hand was steady. His eye stayed cold and lucid. As she took her place beside him at the table where they were to share the same silver plate, Catherine caught herself wondering involuntarily what the life of such a man could be like.

He was an intimidating man, but his character seemed calm and even, and his generosity without limit. The girl reflected that there might even have been some agreeable aspects in such a marriage if, as there must be in any marriage, there were not the irritating, depressing question of conjugal intimacy – especially since she still nursed deep within herself the painful memory of the Inn of the Great Charlemagne, a recollection so wounding that only to think of it brought tears to her eyes.

‘You seem distressed?’ Garin’s voice murmured beside her. ‘I can imagine that a young woman does not take a step like this without a little apprehension. But there is no need to get things out of proportion. Married life can be quite a simple matter, and even a pleasant one if one is only prepared to take a little trouble over it.’

He was obviously trying to reassure her, and she thanked him with a pale ghost of a smile, embarrassed by his attentiveness. Her thoughts suddenly flew toward Barnaby and what he might have meant by ‘Everything is ready’. What had he planned? What trap was he going to spring for this man before her, whose death would be followed by such grave consequences to herself? Catherine imagined him hidden in the shadow of a doorway, invisible in the darkness like Dimanche-l’Assommeur and Jehan des Écus had been the other night. In the crystal ball of her imagination she saw him suddenly materialise out of the shadow, a flash of steel in one hand, and fling himself on the horseman, forcing him out of his saddle. Then she saw him strike an inert body over and over again.

To free herself of this unpleasantly vivid picture, Catherine tried to interest herself in the conversation of the two men. They were talking politics, and the women were neither expected nor invited to join in. Marie de Champdivers ate, or rather pecked away in silence, with her eyes on her plate.

‘There are some serious loopholes in the Burgundian nobility,’ her husband was saying. ‘Several of the great families refuse to recognise the treaty of Troyes and think ill of Monseigneur for having signed it. Among others, the Prince of Orange, the Sire de Saint-Georges, and the powerful Châteauvillain family refuse to acknowledge the English heir and the other clauses in the treaty that are deleterious to France. I myself must admit to feeling a certain repugnance.’

‘Who does not?’ Garin replied. ‘It seems that his grief over his father’s death affected the Duke so deeply that he forgot that he is primarily, despite all that has happened, a prince of the French blood. He is aware of my feelings on this matter and I have not concealed from him what I think about the treaty: a scrap of paper that disinherits the Dauphin Charles in favour of the English son-in-law, the conqueror who has been devastating the country and covering us with shame and dishonour ever since the battle of Agincourt. Only a woman as far gone in debauchery as this dreadful Isabeau, rotten to the core with vice and greed, could have sunk so low and demeaned herself to the extent of proclaiming her own son a bastard.’

‘There are moments,’ said Champdivers, nodding, ‘when I find Monseigneur’s actions hard to understand. How can one reconcile this great regret he expresses at not having been able to fight at Agincourt along with the rest of the French nobility with his subsequent action, which almost invites the English to enter the country? Could King Henry V’s marriage to Catherine de Valois, his late wife’s sister, have been sufficient to make him change his mind? I don’t think so …’

Garin turned aside for a moment to dip his greasy fingers into the bowl of scented water that a valet held out to him.

‘Nor do I! The Duke hates the English and fears the military genius of Henry V. He is too good a knight not to genuinely regret his absence from Agincourt and a disastrous, bloody but heroic day of fighting. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately from the point of view of this part of the country, he thinks in terms of Burgundy rather than in terms of France, and if ever he thinks of the fleur-de-lys, it is to reflect that the French crown would have been far better placed on his own head than on that of the unfortunate Charles VI. In the gamble of war and politics he hopes to come off the winner in the long rim because he is rich, whereas the English are always short of money. He is making use of Henry V instead of the other way round. As for the Dauphin Charles, the Duke has never doubted his legitimacy at heart, but his hatred of him and his own ambitions find expression in this rejection.’

Guillaume de Champdivers took a deep draught of wine, gave a comfortable sigh and settled back comfortably into his cushions.

‘They say that the Dauphin is doing everything in his power to win Burgundy over to his side again and that he recently sent a secret envoy here. Did some misfortune befall the envoy?’

‘So it seems. Near Tournai, Captain de Montsalvy was set upon and left for dead by a band of robbers who were as likely as not in the pay of Jean de Luxembourg, our military leader who is on the side of the English. He managed to escape, thanks to the timely assistance of an infidel – an Arab doctor who happened to be there, God knows why, and who took excellent care of him, according to reports.’

Catherine’s attention, which had been wandering a little during this exchange between the two men, was suddenly riveted. She drank in what Garin was saying. But just then he stopped talking to select some Damascus plums from the large platter in front of him. She could not resist asking him:

‘And … what happened to this envoy? Did he succeed in seeing the Duke?’

Garin de Brazey turned toward her, half surprised, half amused. ‘Your interest in my discourse, which some might think a little austere for a lady, comes as an agreeable surprise to me, Catherine. No, Arnaud de Montsalvy did not manage to see the Duke. His wounds delayed him, and by the time he was able to resume his journey once more, the Duke had long since left Flanders. Furthermore, Monseigneur has sent word that he has nothing to say to him. From the latest report it would seem that the captain has returned to the Château of Mehun-sur-Yèvre, where the Dauphin’s Court is assembled, to complete his recovery.’

The Lord Treasurer seemed to be thoroughly well informed about the actions and deeds of the Dauphin’s entourage, and Catherine longed to ask him further questions. But she felt that it would be a mistake to show too much interest in an Armagnac captain, so she merely said, ‘Let us hope he has more success next time.’

The rest of the meal seemed to her to drag on tediously. The two men were now discussing financial questions, and Catherine understood nothing of them. Marie de Champdivers dozed in her chair, still erect as ever. Catherine, for her part, took refuge in her thoughts and did not come back to earth till Garin rose to his feet and announced that he was about to leave.

The girl glanced at the window. It was not quite dark yet. It was too early to let Garin depart. Barnaby had been insistent that it should not be until after the curfew had sounded. She cried hastily, ‘What, messire, would you leave us so soon?’

Garin began to laugh, and, leaning toward her, looked at her with amused interest. ‘This really is a night of surprises, my dear! I had not supposed that my company was so agreeable to you.’

Was he really pleased, or was his remark intended to be mainly ironical? Catherine decided that this was not the moment to worry about that, and she got out of the situation with a clever evasion.

‘I like to hear you talking,’ she said, modestly lowering her eyes. ‘We still scarcely know each other. Unless you have some business elsewhere or are finding this evening tediously long, why don’t you stay a little? There are so many things I want to know about! After all, I know nothing at all about the Court, or the people there, or the way one should behave …’

She had gone too far, and she cursed herself for being so clumsy; she was aware of the astonished looks directed at her and did not dare glance at her hostess for fear of the disapproving expression that must have appeared on her face. To solicit a man’s company in this way must have struck the good lady as the height of immodesty. But the master of the house unexpectedly came to her assistance. He was delighted to see a marriage in which he had such interest getting off to such a good start.

‘Stay awhile, my dear friend, since you have been requested to do so so prettily! Your home is not far from here. And I do not suppose you are afraid of thieves!’

With a smile in his fiancée’s direction, Garin sat down again. Catherine gave a sigh of relief, but she did not dare look at the man whom she was betraying in this way. She despised herself for this part she was being forced to play, but the love that sustained her was stronger than the pricks of conscience. Anything was better than belonging to a man other than Arnaud!

When Garin finally took leave of Catherine and his hosts an hour later, the curfew had sounded three-quarters of an hour before and it was pitch dark. Catherine watched stony-eyed as Garin rode off into the night, to a sudden and violent death. But, since it is not so easy to quiet a troubled conscience, she did not close her eyes once that night.

‘Garin de Brazey is only slightly wounded and Barnaby has been arrested.’

Sara’s voice woke Catherine from the half-sleep into which she had fallen since dawn. She saw the gypsy stood beside her ashen-faced, with dull eyes and trembling hands. She did not quite catch her meaning at first. She seemed to have said something absurd and incredible … But then Sara repeated the terrible words, and Catherine gazed at her appalled. Garin de Brazey alive? Somehow that did not seem quite so serious now, and Catherine even felt a little relief on his account. But Barnaby arrested?

‘Who told you this?’ she asked in a faint voice.

‘Jehan des Écus! He came round here to beg this morning with his bag and staff. He couldn’t tell me anymore, because just then the cook came over to listen to what we were saying. That’s all I know.’