The Gauntlet Pt. 05 - Finale

This is the final part of this story. There was so much more to tell, but this is not the right forum for it all. Maybe one day I'll flesh it out more. I hope you enjoy the end of The Gauntlet. Warning. This is violent and the timeline jumps around a lot.

KB

*****

Priory of Saint-Martin-des-Champs

Paris, France

December 29, 1386

Sir Jean de Carrouges stood inside his tent as his squires bolted his armored breastplate in place, securing it to the matching backplate. He had risen before dawn when the constables had taken Marguerite to prepare her to stand trial. He first went to the chapel to pray, then stripped and bathed ritually, purging his flesh and his soul. He first donned an undergarment of white linen; then, his squires began the time-consuming process of preparation.

They dressed him in layers. First came a thick, heavy, padded cloth, covered with layers of leather and leather shoes. Over this, he put on a hauberk of chainmail that covered his upper body. They also wrapped his legs in chainmail. Over this, came the heavy, articulated plate mail, beginning with his feet, then his lower legs and thighs, with thicker caps covering his knees. A steel codpiece protected his groin.

Then they moved to his upper body, with the back and breastplates. Armor was locked in place, not with buckles and straps, but bolted together so that his opponent could not easily breach the protective shell.

Then, he covered his head with a cloth cap, which served as padding, but also kept the chainmail coif from entangling his hair. The coif left his face uncovered and hung down to overlap the top of the body armor. Then, to protect his throat, a heavy steel gorget was bolted in place.

He slid soft leather gloves on each hand, followed by steel, lobster-tail styled gauntlets. Finally, they lowered his bascinet helmet, with a conical top, made to deflect blows onto his head and bolted it to his armor. The second to last piece to be attached was his perforated visor which allowed him to breathe but had no opening large enough to allow a blade to penetrate. Once bolted closed, just before combat, the only vulnerable point was the narrow eye slits.

Over everything, his squire lastly placed a long, flowing surcoat of crimson, covered in a sea of silver fleur-de-lys. Around his hips, squire Robert fastened his knight's belt, with his sheathed longsword and dagger.

The squires then escorted their commander out to climb up onto the saddle of his waiting warhorse. While Sir Jean had been armored, attendants and done a similar thing with his horse covering it in plate armor and covering it with a crimson cloth, covered in the same silver flowers as Sir Jean's surcoat.

Hanging from harnesses attached to the horse's saddle were two more vicious weapons: a long, two-handed sword and a large-bladed horseman's ax. As Sir Jean settled into the seat, Robert attached his curved jousting shield, which also bore his red and silver family crest.

Thus far, Sir Jean had remained silent, keeping his mind focused on what was about to happen, mentally preparing himself to kill or be killed. Robert handled his master a long war lance, from which a red and silver pennant fluttered. Jean rose the tip high in the air and spurred his horse forward. He waited for his entourage to mount up, then lead the procession forward and out onto the streets of Paris.

They made the short walk to the Abbey of Saint Martin des Champs solemnly, riding past the crowd of people that filled the streets, all looking on in somber silence. They passed through the gates into the courtyard. Sir Jean was surprised by the number of people filling the stands and lining the walled area of the list. No one was cheering or making cat-calls. They were as silent as a funeral, having been warned by the Marshal that anyone who yelled out would be killed. This was not a celebration.

The first thing he noticed was his wife, Marguerite. She was seated, alone, dressed in a long black gown. Her beautiful hair had been shorn to stubble, and she was shackled and chained, hand and foot. He had already known the severity of the situation, but seeing his wife prepared for execution caused it to hit home. If he lost today, his wife would die with him, but her death would be much worse. He could think of no more horrendous way to die than to be burned alive at the stake. Their eyes met briefly, but he forced himself to look away. He could not afford to be distracted.

He rode to the center of the sand-filled square and turned to face the King and Queen, bowing low with respect. Just then, his opponent entered the courtyard through a gate on the opposite side. Jacques le Gris rode in at the front of his own entourage. He too was fully armored and on a barded warhorse. The two men were nearly identical save for the colors and patterns of their family crests, which ironically were opposites. Where Jean's was a red field with silver-white flowers, Jacques was a blood-red line that cut across a field of pure white.

Jacques stared at Marguerite on her perch, then turned to face the King, ignoring Jean completely. He bowed and raised his head, defiantly.

The King's Marshal stepped forward and spoke loudly, for all to hear, "Sir Jean de Carrouges, you have made charged that on the morning of January 18, in the year of our Lord One Thousand Three Hundred and Eighty-Six, that Squire Jacques le Gris did with force and malice, force your wife, the Lady Marguerite de Carrouges, to have carnal relations against her will. Do you still press this claim?"

Sir Jean looked to the King as he shouted, "By God, I do!"

The Marshal turned to Jacques and asked, "Squire Jacques le Gris, you have sworn before God and King that the charges against you are false and that you are innocent. Do you stand by this assertion?"

Jacques turned to stare at Jean then shouted, "In the name of our Savior Jesus Christ and his mother Mary, I swear that I am innocent!"

The Marshal turned to the King, who nodded slowly. The King rose to his feet and addressed the men.

"Testimony has been given and evidence reviewed by my Parlement and myself. We have been unable to determine truth from lie, fact from fiction. One of you is lying, and one of you is telling the truth. Therefore, Jacques le Gris, you are charged with rape, and if you are found guilty, you will die for your crimes. Sir Jean de Carrouges, you have raised a charge of rape against Jacques le Gris, and if you lose, you will be found guilty of perjury in a capital case, the punishment of which is death. Furthermore, as your wife, Lady Marguerite de Carrouges, has brought this accusation if you lose, she too will be found guilty of perjury and will be taken immediately to Montfaucon, put to the stake, and burned alive.

"God will decide the truth. Therefore, I order you to enter unto this arena and fight to the death. The winner will be found truthful and the loser false. May God have mercy on your souls!"

The Marshal stepped forward again and addressed the men, "In this trial by combat, God is the judge who will decide your fate. For there to be no bias, you must be equal before God, so that he can judge you fairly for your crimes. But you are not equal."

He ordered one of Le Gris' squires to fetch a mounting platform. Moments later two men came scurrying out from the Le Gris pavilion carrying a set of wooden steps with a small platform, used for the heavily armored knight to get on and off his horse. The Marshal directed them to place it next to Jacques le Gris horse, then he mounted the steps and stood next to le Gris.

"In order for you to be equal before God," he shouted, as he drew his sword, "in the name of God, Saint Michael and Saint George, I dub thee, Jacques le Gris, a Knight." With that, he tapped the blade to each of Jacques' shoulders. "Now you are equal before God!"

He stepped down and had the platform quickly removed. "Get you both to your appointed positions and prepare yourselves for combat!"

Sir Jean spun his horse and rode across the sand to stop below his wife. He looked up at her tear-stained face. Timidly she met his gaze.

"I ask you now," Jean said, speaking softly so that only she could hear him, "are you mine?"

Tears welled in her eyes, and she lowered her gaze, uttering "God will decide the truth."

Sir Jean snarled and turned his horse, spurring it hard and charging to the end of the list, where his squires awaited him. Robert closed his visor and bolted it shut. Then patted his friend and lord on the shoulder, saying, "May God give you strength, Sir Jean."

Jean replied angrily, "God be damned! I have all the strength I need!"

The squires withdrew behind the barricade. On the far end of the field, Le Gris was ready. Now the courtyard was empty save for the two combatants. Sir Jean de Carrouges, accuser, and Sir Jacque le Gris, defendant, sat their horses, lances raised to the sky, awaiting the signal from the Marshal.

The Marshal climbed the steps up to his viewing stand in the center of the square. He pulled off a gauntlet and held it high in the air for all to see. The knights tensed. Their horses pawed at the sand.

The Marshal tossed the gauntlet into the air.

*****

Château de Carrouges

February 1386

"Jean, I beg you," Marguerie pleaded with her husband. "do not take this to the Count. Nothing good will come from pursuing vengeance. Le Gris is the Count's man."

Jean stared at his wife, with his rage barely under control. "How can you ask me to not seek vengeance? He raped you, and he will pay. I swear to God, I shall have justice!"

"There will be no justice for us in Argentan!" Marguerite argued. "If you go there and accuse Le Gris, they will destroy you. What Le Gris did to me was horrible, but losing you would make it far worse. I cannot live without you."

Jean paced the room nervously. He was filled with a need to do damage to Le Gris and anyone else who stood in his way. He had suffered too many humiliations at the hands of Jacques le Gris to just accept what he has done.

"I cannot live with the shame of what he did to you, without confronting him and seeing him punished," Jean explained to his wife. "What kind of man would I be if I did nothing?"

"A living one!" Marguerite answered.

"I would rather die than lose my honor," Jean replied.

"Would you have your son grow up without his father?" Marguerite asked, her hand rubbing on her abdomen. Jean hesitated, the import of his wife's words sinking in.

"You are with child?" Jean asked, sounding shocked.

Marguerite nodded. "I am, and I know it is a boy."

"I see. How do you know it is mine?" Jean asked bitterly. "How do you know it is not Le Gris' bastard in your belly?"

"I am too far along for it to be his," Marguerite explained. "You don't remember? The night before you left for Paris, you had me. You were exhausted and sick, but I used my mouth on you until you were ready, then I sat on your cock, and you spilled your seed inside me. That night you made your heir."

"How fortunate," Jean said rather snidely. He was growing angry again. "Tell me again, my wife, why is it that you told no one of this rape until I returned?"

She busied her hands with idle work, "I told you," she began, "why must I keep telling you again and again?"

"You will tell it many times again! Now answer the question!"

Marguerite cringed then explained, "I was afraid that they would not believe me and that they would blame me. I tried to put it far from my mind and just forget that it happened. But, when you returned, I could not lie to you. I could not hide it from you."

"My mother remembers well the day of the attack," Jean said, "and that you were cheerful upon her return, almost giddy. How can this be?"

The fear was palpable and showed on Marguerite's face. She tried to answer, but for several seconds, no words would come out. Finally, she said, "I was terrified that she would know what had happened. You were not here. I couldn't face her knowing. I needed to put on a facade until you returned home. It was the hardest thing I have ever done."

Jean felt doubt creeping in, and he began to wonder if Marguerite were telling him the truth. He had a lot of questions and needed answers.

"So, you have not told me how it happened. Tell me everything, leave nothing out."

Marguerite drew a slow, shuddering breath, then nodded acquiescence as she began her tale.

*****

Marguerite's Story

*****

That morning I was ill. I could not hold down any food. I suspect I was with child from our lovemaking the night before your departure for Paris. When Lady Nicole made ready to leave, I had to bed of her to let me remain behind. She was reluctant but could see by how sick I was that I could not make a long trip. She agreed that I could remain at home, but she insisted that Penny stays by my side to care for me in my illness.

Shortly after Lady Nicole left, Penny left to try to find dittany, to ease my stomach. Alone, I bolted the door behind her. Within a few minutes, there was a rapping at the door. I assumed Penny had returned and I opened the door to find Le Gris' man Adam Louvel standing there.

"Monsieur Louvel," I said in surprise, "what do you want? Why are you here?" I looked around behind him for Penny, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Lady De Carrouges," he began, nervously, "I would like to speak with your husband regarding a loan that I owe him. Is he at home?"

I closed the door partially, uncomfortable with the man standing on our doorstep. I recognized him from the party at Jean Crispen's home, and I have met him since at the shop of his wife, the seamstress at Campomesnils.

"I am sorry, Monsieur," I told him. "My husband is away on business and is due back in a few days. I will give him word of your visit, and he will seek you out once he has returned."

"Is the Lady Nicole present?" he asked, ignoring my entreaty to leave. "I could discuss it with her."

"No, good sir, she is not here either," I explained. Suddenly, he pushed his way through the door.

"Monsieur Louvel!" I shouted, "You are not welcome! You must leave at once!"

"I am sorry, my Lady," he said, trying to quiet me. "I am here under false pretenses. My master, Jacques le Gris, has sent me to find out if you are alone."

"What?" I asked in shock. "Why would Squire Le Gris concern himself with such a thing? Please, leave at once."

"My master is outside," Louvel explained, "he wishes to see you."

Just then Jacque le Gris stepped through the doorway and closed our door behind him. I was confused and more than a little frightened.

"Squire le Gris!" I shouted, protesting his presence in our home. "What is the meaning of this?"

He walked across the room and grabbed my hand, pulling it to his breast. "My Lady," Le Gris said, as he kissed my hand, "I am sorry to intrude, but I desperately needed to see you. I cannot get you out of my mind and fear you have stolen my heart."

I reeled and tried to pull away. "What are you talking about?" I asked. "You hardly know me. We spoke only briefly at Jean Crespin's home. How could you possibly have any thoughts about me?"

"You are beautiful and beguiling, Marguerite," he explained. "I am smitten and want no woman but you. You have taken my heart, and I am here to give myself to you."

He pulled me into his arms and tried to kiss me, but I pushed him away. "Know your manners, sir!" I shouted, "I am a married woman, as you well know. My husband will be furious that you dare to touch me!"

"I am not worried about your husband," he told me. "He is away in Paris and will not be back for many days. Do not deny me, Marguerite. Kiss me and ease the pain in my heart."

"I will not kiss you!" I declared. Then, I asked him to leave. He became angry.

"I love you, Marguerite," he said. "My wife has died, and I would have you as my future bride!"

"I am already married!" I argued.

"That can be undone," he said. "I can get the Bishop to annul your wedding. You have yet to conceive a child, they can easily nullify your union. I would have you as mine. Tell me, you don't love me!"

"I do not love you!" I shouted angrily. "I do not even know you! I love my husband."

He stared at me with a look on his face that made me feel he didn't understand what I was telling him. It was like he was a madman, believing I loved him. I grew defiant.

"You must leave, both of you, at once," I insisted.

"Do not send me away," he said, as he pulled me to the chair by the hearth. "I need to feel you in my arms, to take you, and to love you." He tried to force me onto his lap. I struggled to free myself, but he pulled me into a kiss, forcing his way with me.

I pulled away and slapped him. I tried to run away, but his man blocked my path.

"Your husband is a broken man," Le Gris said with a sarcastic sneer. "His adventure in Scotland was a debacle, leaving him financially ruined. I only regret he survived the trip. He pulled out a large pouch of coins and waved it at me.

"Here is enough money to pay your husband's debt to my lord the Count," he said. "It is my gift to you."

"Gift?" I scoffed. "That which is given with expectations is not a gift, but a payment. Are you attempting to buy what you cannot have? Unlike the courtesans you frequent, Sir, I do not take money to lay with you!"

"This is more money than any courtesan ever received," he explained. "I give it to you freely. All I ask is you accept my love and lay with me once. One time and I will go and leave you in peace."

"You will leave me in peace regardless!" I snapped at him. "Take your purse and your man and leave!"

With that, Le Gris became angry. "I have offered you my heart, and you have refused it! I have offered you my purse, and you reject it! I will have you, Marguerite. You are mine!"

He stood and advanced toward me. I turned and ran into our bedchamber and moved to close the door, but his man Louvel slammed his weight against it, knocking me backward and further into the room.

I cried out, but Louvel only laughed. Le Gris stepped into our bedchamber and turned to his henchman. "Fetch the rope, and be quick about it." Lovel snickered and ran from the room.

"You don't have to do this," I said, desperately. "I beg you, please leave, and I won't tell my husband you were here."

"Oh," he said as he stepped closer. "I want you to tell him. I want him to know every detail of what I do to you."

He seized me, and I slapped him across the face, again. Le Gris laughed and grabbed my hands so I could not strike him again. He forced them behind my back, holding them in his powerful grip as he kissed me. I turned my face back and forth, trying to prevent him from finding my lips.

Just then, Louvel reappeared. "Hold her!" Le Gris shouted, and Louvel ran behind me, taking my arms and holding them behind my back. Le Gris ripped the bodice of my dress and exposed my breasts. I was crying, screaming, pleading for them to stop, but they didn't.

Le Gris stripped me nude and forced me onto the bed, face down. Louvel bound my arms and feet with rope, securing them to the posts of our bed. He stood next to the bed, watching as his master disrobed and climbed on top of me.

Le Gris then had his way with me, spilling his seed into my womb. I was crying the entire time. When he finished, he stood, and his man Louvel moved to take his place.

"What are you doing?" Le Gris demanded of his servant.

"I'm going to have me a go with this whore," Louvel said sneering. Le Gris struck the man and beat him repeatedly.

"She is mine!" he yelled at him as he hit and kicked him, like a dog. "You will never touch her! Get out before I kill you!"

Louvel fled the room and his master's wrath, leaving me alone with my violator. He quietly untied me and covered me with a blanket. He tried to brush my cheek with his fingers, but I turned my face.