Belle Catherine by Juliette Benzoni

Author:Juliette Benzoni
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Telos Publishing Ltd

9

‘I, Arnaud!’

On the night of 28 December 1431, a little group of people left the house in the Rue d’Auron long after the curfew had sounded, on their way to the nearby church of St Pierre-le-Guillard. The night was as black as the snow was white, but the bitter cold that had gripped the town for some three weeks showed signs of relenting a little. Ever since Christmas, Bourges had been shrouded in white and silence, so hushed it might have been listening to its own heartbeats. The joyful festivities that annually celebrated the Christ Child’s birth had brought an end temporarily to La Trémoille’s extortions and the house-to-house raids of his soldiery. But the city had been too deeply wounded to do more than savour the great feast of Christmas in an unaccustomed silence and tranquillity.

It was the first time Catherine had left the Coeurs’ house since her arrival there some two months earlier, and she plunged her fur-lined boots into the crisp snow with an exclamation of delight. She squeezed Arnaud’s arm a little tighter.

‘The town looks more bridal than I do,’ she murmured, smiling.

In reply, he pressed her slender fingers, which were ungloved despite the cold so that they might be clasped the more readily.

‘She has attired herself in our honour,’ he said tenderly. ‘I have never seen her look lovelier. And I have never loved you so deeply, my beloved.’

They were still intoxicated by the simple joy of being together at last, and they clung to each other in the street like any loving couple. For Arnaud, the joy was redoubled by the fact that he had at long last regained his health.

Ever since the morning his raging fever had subsided, his convalescence had been swift. The young man’s robust constitution, which had saved him from death so many times before, had once again accomplished a miracle. He was still thin, but he could walk steadily now and lead a normal life again, although the lack of exercise and cloistered existence were a sore trial to him.

‘I’m really not made for life between four walls,’ he told Catherine with a comical grimace as he strode up and down his room trying to strengthen his wasted muscles.

‘You know you will soon be out on the great highways again,’ she said, with a touch of regret. ‘We shall leave the moment Maître Coeur thinks we can do so without too much risk.’

‘Risk? That’s a funny way for a soldier to look at things! Risk has always been a part of my life, fair lady, and …’

‘… And you miss it now, I know!’ Catherine said with some resentment. Both she and Jacques Coeur had had the greatest difficulty in the world in restraining the impulsive young man from rushing to the Royal Palace the moment his strength returned. He spoke of nothing but flinging himself at the King’s feet and demanding a hearing, of challenging La Trémoille to a duel, of slapping his face in full view of

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