We were agreed; in ten days Niccolò, Tyler and I would attend the pilgrim’s day to get a better idea of the layout of Vatican City. I would petition the Pope to hear my confession as a noble, so as to gain access to the palace itself. Niccolò would accompany me as a ladies page — a necessary addition, as ladies of the nobility did not appear in public unaccompanied, while Nina and Seamus would work to acquire two Poor Clare's habits, and Marie and Henri would create a new set of the sleeping bees.
Jacqueline
"Yes Niccolò, you will come with me to the dressmakers, so we are properly dressed for our audience. Yes, you must bathe first. I cannot have an outfit made for you unless you are there and clean."
"I do not need a bath. I bathed less than six months ago. Besides, bathing is unhealthy." Niccolò glared at me.
"You will bathe, or you will be bathed, or you will no longer be employed," I said with steel in my voice.
"I will not." He replied at the top of his lungs. "Bathing was not in our contract."
Tyler came up behind Niccolò soundlessly, followed by Seamus.
I nodded to Tyler and watched with amusement and pity as he grabbed Niccolò around the waist, pinning his arms and lifting him off his feet. Tyler was very strong, having worked airships most of his life. One small boy posed no difficulty. Seamus carried soap and a scrub brush. They dumped Niccolò into a half cask filled with water on the upper deck and held him there, squirming and yelling while they lathered him up.
Twenty minutes later, naked but for a towel wrapped around him, Niccolò stood glaring at me in my cabin.
"Next time you will bathe yourself. Is that clear?" I locked eyes with him and stared coolly back.
After a short contest of wills he grudgingly said, "Sí signora."
"Good. Now, here is a dry set of clothing. Put it on, and we will be about our business." I tossed a set of trews and a clean shirt at him. "I need you to look like a respectable messenger boy so you can deliver my missive to the Pope's secretary. Once you have delivered the message, meet me at the dressmaker's shop so we can get outfitted. Oui?"
I sanded the letter, folded it, and pressed my seldom-used de Valois family seal into the wax dripped on the back.
"Sí signora, it will be as you say." He still looked dejected, dripping from his bath.
"Cheer up my young friend. A bath is a small price to pay for all the food you can eat."
Mollified, he nodded and took my letter.
When Niccolò had gone, I turned to my wardrobe. I had one dress that might be suitable for an audience with the Pope, and it was several years out of date. The sable crushed velvet was entirely unsuited to the hot climate of southern Italy, though it was perfect for Paris in winter. With a sigh, I donned it. Perhaps the dressmaker can do something with it.
The material was still sound, and it fit well. I twined my beautiful, curly, sable hair up into something resembling fashionable and pinned it there with my mother’s jeweled hairpins. Two more hairpins, a gift from David, could be twisted to expose a long needle coated in a fast-acting poison.
A woman should never go entirely unarmed, he had said. I smiled at the memory. David understood me better than most.
Looking at myself in the glass I was suddenly a noble again, and not an airship captain with smudges of grease on her knuckles. Well, only for a short time. Think of it as a disguise Jacqueline. No one will recognize you as the Captain of The Indiana in this getup.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out on deck with a resolute look. The crew knew a smattering of my history, but there were details I preferred not to share. Like the fact that the King of France was my uncle, and I was eighth in line to the throne. The likelihood of that ever coming to pass was - extremely -small.
When I emerged Tyler and Henri gave appreciative whistles. “Captain, you clean up nice.”
I reminded myself to use my Contessa voice. Slightly higher pitched, breathier and more feminine, “Thank you, Henri. Now help me get to the ground in this outfit.” I grimaced, holding out a hand. The higher pitched voice was not comfortable, but I had found that men responded to it more naturally than to the tone I used when directing my crew.
“Yes ma'am," he said handing me over the side onto a swing like a platform. When I was secure, he pulled a lever and the swing lowered me slowly the forty feet to the ground.
Holding my skirts up out of the dust I made my way to the Airfield Master’s office. His eyes widened when he saw me.
“I require a carriage, sir. Please see to it,” I said breathlessly. I smiled, hearing echoes of my sister’s voice reminding me to stand up straight and stop fidgeting.
“Yes madam. Please wait here.” He did not recognize me as he hurried outside and spoke to someone in the yard.
Moments later a set of mismatched greys clattered up to the open space before the door. The carriage had seen some wear, but the brass works were well polished, and the cab driver friendly. It was not a full clockwork carriage, those were very expensive, but parts of it had been upgraded for a more comfortable ride.
I nodded politely to the master of the airfield and gave the coachman the address of the dressmaker. As we rattled over the cobbled streets of Rome, I had reason to be grateful for the upgrades. Even with them, I was bounced and jostled as we hit every pothole and loose cobble between the airfield and fabric row.
The dressmakers shop stood along a street of other cloth merchants. There were two attendants busily stitching hems on made-to-order dresses when I entered.
The dressmaker had received my earlier note and was waiting for me. “Madame Jacqueline, I am Mme. Beaufort. Let us see if we can find a dress for your audience. Did you bring your page?”
I nodded at the formidable woman. She was six feet tall and looked like she would be quite comfortable wielding a battle-ax.
“My page will join us shortly, he had some notes to deliver,” I said, looking around the shop.
“Very well, we will begin with you. Let’s see… that dress will never do,” she clucked, shaking her head. “You will roast in it before you even arrive.”
I sighed inwardly and readied myself to be poked, prodded, and pinned for the next hour. Mme. Beaufort was quite thorough and within half an hour had measurements, drawings, and sketches of several possible options. Within an hour we had chosen fabric and I was scheduled for a fitting in five days’ time. Soon after we were done Niccolò arrived. He gaped when he saw me, and I gave him a stern look. It wouldn't do for him to blow our cover.
Mme. Beaufort sniffed when she saw the ragged state of his hair and hands, and the fresh smudge of dirt along his nose.
I sighed audibly, playing the role of long-suffering noble for Mme. Beaufort’s benefit. “He is a new page, and as you can see still needs some polish.”
A thin smile fleeted across her lips. As she turned back to her desk to retrieve more sketch paper I winked conspiratorially at Niccolò, holding up a finger to my lips. His scowl at the snub vanished as he caught on to the game.
“Yes, good help is hard to come by. Well, we will work up something sturdy for your young page. Two sets perhaps.” She measured him quickly and gave me a basic design for approval. Glancing at it I nodded. “The page’s outfit will be ready when you come for your fitting.”
“Thank you, madam, for taking on this commission with such short notice.”
“Oh, do not concern yourself. It will be reflected in our fee.” She smiled pleasantly and we began to haggle. When we had come to an agreement on price, Niccolò and I took our leave.
He fetched a cab and we made our way back to the airship. As we rattled along the cobbles, I looked him over, smiling. “You, my young friend, are doing well, but need some lessons on the appropriate conduct of pages. You did well to follow my lead back there. Not to worry, Tyler and I can teach you everything you need to know. We can't have you giving away our game because of dirty hands.” I said the last teasingly, ruffling his hair.
He looked chagrined,
then smiled tentatively. “Sí signora.”
“Good. We will begin your lessons when we get back to the ship.”
The days passed quickly, and Niccolò's lessons progressed apace. Deportment, elocution, duties, he was a quick learner, and deft in his movements. By the time we returned to the dressmakers shop he was a passable page. I had received a response to my petition for audience, and the Pope would hear my confession in three days’ time.
Our return to the dressmaker's shop was a flurry of fabric, attendants, and more pins. The dress would be ready on Thursday and I could pick it up then. Niccolò received his page's uniform with a mixture of glee and dread. "I'm really going to meet the Holy Father?"
I stood on the dressmaker’s table waiting patiently for her to return with more pins. "Oui. But we must not forget why we are going.” I tried not to fidget, I did not enjoy court dresses, and I was certain I looked ridiculous. “We must keep our eyes and ears open and discover all that we may. You must be inconspicuous as we go about our business. As a page you have an opportunity to see and hear much." I smoothed the front of the dress as pins prickled around my ankles and waist.
By the time I picked it up the dress was beautiful. A full skirted summer dress in rose velvet. The modest, fitted top with tiny princess sleeves fell into a full skirt with golden roses embroidered into the fabric. Mme. Beaufort had outdone herself, but I shuddered at the thought of putting it on. Court dresses were part of the life I had left behind, and I preferred to keep it that way.
Tyler and Nina had acquired the nun's habits, and Marie’s new batch of bees was almost complete.
Charles
Steel rang as two men, shirtless and sweating with exertion battled in the center of the training salle. Light filtered through high windows lining the top of the wall making the well-oiled floorboards glow. Small groups of men watched as the two in the center battled for dominance. Slowly the smaller man prevailed, using his speed and agility to get inside the guard of the larger man, scoring a light gash on the larger man’s torso. The training master called a halt. “Charles, Fergio, well done.” Turning to the larger man the training master continued. “Fergio, your footwork is improving, but we still need to work on your defense in tight quarters. Charles, thank you for your assistance in training. I know your new duties take up much of your time.”
Charles bowed to the training master. “Indeed they do, sir. But I always welcome the opportunity to train. I must, however, be going. His Holiness has a number of delegations today and I must go over the lists again.”
“Good luck Captain.” The training master smiled with genuine warmth as Charles took his leave.
Charles sluiced himself off in the bathing chamber, washing away the sweat of training before pulling on his new Captain’s uniform. Captain of His Holiness the Pope’s personal guard. His reflection still caught him by surprise. It was a great honor to be chosen. Such positions frequently went to noble sons who were sponsored by their wealthy parents, and Charles’s promotion had caused a great deal of resentment. Neither wealthy nor noble, Charles had been a member of the Swiss Guard for a half dozen years, rising swiftly through the ranks and serving with distinction on campaigns throughout Italy.
He did not know who had recommended him for the position, and that troubled him. As Captain of his Holiness’s guard, he now had to learn an entirely new skillset – court intrigue. Nothing in his previous existence had prepared him for the swirls and eddies and plots laid down by the nobles of the court. He shook his head remembering his interview with the Holy Father just a few days before where he had expressed his concerns.
Kneeling before the Holy Father in one of his smaller receiving rooms he said, “Holy Father, I am not suited for this position, I do not have the qualifications to deal with your court. I am a soldier, not a courtier.”
The Holy Father raised his hand, interrupting Charles. “My son. You were chosen precisely because you are not of the court. Your job is to see to the safety of my person, not to please courtiers. Given your background, I did anticipate that you would need some assistance with a few of the more administrative aspects of your new position.” He gestured, and a slight, aging man with a kind face stepped forward from the shadows. “You have met seneschal Valero?”
Charles nodded, a spark of relief appearing in his eyes. “Valero keeps the palace running smoothly, he will educate you on the different family houses, some of the intrigues that you must be aware of, and the tone and nature of the different courtiers.” The Holy Father paused, deciding how much to share. “I know in the guard it is traditional to trust all of your brothers implicitly – in fact necessary given the situations that you find yourself in. Such is not the case at court. Trust no one beyond myself and Valero.”
“I… thank you for your instruction Holy Father. And thank you for your forbearance as I learn the way of the court.” Charles said, still kneeling.
“I expect that you will be up to speed on all matters within the course of the next three weeks. Do not disappoint. You may go,” was the only response Charles received.
The intervening days had been spent in endless rounds of lessons on court protocols, family histories, memorizing the sigils of the different houses, learning who was feuding with whom, and meeting with the individual members of the bodyguard to learn their strengths and weaknesses. There were twenty members of His Holiness’s personal guard, and as Charles met them individually two things came to light; each member had been chosen for their special skill, and not a single one of them liked him.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he walked briskly down the corridor to his office. An orderly had breakfast waiting on his desk, and the list of the visiting nobles stacked neatly beside it.
Charles took a sip of the strong coffee, mentally preparing himself. These were the nobles that had audiences today. He checked the list daily to make sure that none of the nobles were currently feuding with another on the list, or if they were, that they were not scheduled in proximity to one another. As he scanned down the list, his stomach clenched. Someone had re-ordered the schedule for today, putting an embassy from the Medici’s, one of the most powerful families in Italy, directly before that of the Duke of Modena. The two families had been at war all summer, with the Duke of Modena claiming the Medici’s had assassinated his heir.
The remainder of the list contained similar pairings, all scheduled in such a way as to create the most havoc. There were a few names and houses he did not recognize, a Contessa from France, a second son from a Dutchy in Germany, a Spanish ambassador. Leaving his breakfast, he went to see the Secretary of Audience.
“No... this is the list you sent over to me last night. I did think it a bit strange, but after all, I assumed you had your reasons,” the Secretary of Audience said, shaking his head.
“This is not the list I sent over last night. Someone has clearly changed the list,” Charles replied, trying to keep his temper.
“Well, it cannot be helped now. The Medici’s arrived last night, and the Duke as well. Some of the others are staying in town but are certain to arrive shortly.” The Secretary of Audience shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the matter. “It will be a lively day, by the looks of it”
“Is the Spanish ambassador in residence?” Charles asked.
“Yes. His holiness has kept him cooling his heels for some weeks now. I was surprised to see him on the list at all.”
“Can we move him up in the schedule between the Medici’s and the Duke?” Charles stared at the list in his hands, thinking.
“Oh, no Captain, that would be a great breach of protocol, changing the schedule after the notices had gone out.”
Charles growled in annoyance. “Fine. We will double the guard in the audience chamber to deal with any unpleasantness. And then I will find out who changed the schedule.”
The Medici’s behaved themselves, much to Charles’s surprise. The Duke however had not. The man was distraught at the loss of his heir. Upon seeing
the Medici delegation – which had included the younger Medici, about the same age as the Duke’s son, he had gone wild, drawing his sword and lashing out. It had taken three guardsmen to restrain him, and he was currently locked in one of the cells reserved for nobles.
During the altercation Charles had glanced over at the Holy Father and was shocked to see that he looked amused. When the Duke had been removed, the audiences continued. The guards, Charles was pleased to note, had reacted swiftly with no hesitation. The Spanish Ambassador’s audience was brief – the man wanted only to present himself and greetings from his monarch, Charles V, with a request to access the papal library for research. It was granted with a wave of one hand, and then everyone was dismissed for a short break. His holiness had exited without a word to Charles, and he didn’t know if he should be relieved or terrified. His anger at the changes to the schedule simmered in the back of his mind, as he thought about who would want to undermine him.
Jacqueline
The day of the audience came. With my hair pinned up, wearing the new dress, and followed smartly by Niccolò in his role as lady’s page, I almost felt genuine. The confining nature of the dress however served to remind me of why I had left this life.
The Airfield Master hired a coach, and we were on our way to Vatican City. The line of petitioners at the main gate was long, but the coachman took us around to the Noble’s gate. There was one other carriage in the courtyard. Two members of the Swiss Guard admitted us with a bow. Nobility has its privileges.
Designed to humble petitioners and make them feel small, a marble staircase descended from the massive edifice in front of us to end in the courtyard. On two sides covered walkways with arches allowed priests and red robed Cardinals to walk in quiet contemplation. Niccolò and I started up the imposing staircase.
The First Sin Page 5
