The Queen's Companion

by Maggi Petton

  Catherine held her until she cried herself to sleep.

  In the morning, Catherine woke as she heard Marie enter the quarters. She was still on the pallet cradling Isabella. She gestured to Marie to come back later so that Bella might continue to sleep.

  Over the course of the next many days Bella was mostly quiet. Periodically, Catherine saw her close her eyes and shake her head. The nights that followed were much the same, filled with restless sleep and nightmares, but gradually, the story of that night was revealed.

  It was a sound that woke her. Shaking the sleep from her she wondered if it was a dream. Then there were shouts. She opened her eyes and saw the flicker of shadows on the wall of her bedroom.

  “Daniel,” she whispered, then shook him. “Daniel, wake up.”

  He was alert instantly. Light moved across the ceiling of their bedroom. Torchlight. Daniel was up in an instant and ran to the window. She was right beside him.

  The servants were all in the courtyard surrounded by strangers, some on horseback, and some on foot. Nearly all of them held torches. There were at least twenty men ordering the servants against the courtyard wall.

  “Wait here,” Daniel commanded. As he was grabbing his robe, the door of the bedroom burst open. Three men, two with swords drawn, and one with a torch, entered.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Daniel demanded.

  “Shut up!” One of the swordsmen shoved Daniel onto the floor and while he held his sword on her husband’s neck, the other tied his hands behind him.

  Isabella’s hands were tied behind her, as well, and they were both pushed down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

  “Here they are, Captain.” Both Isabella and her husband were forced down onto their knees next to Isabella’s parents.

  Every time Daniel, or Isabella’s father, James, attempted to ask a question, or protest, they were kicked, hard.

  The man referred to as “Captain” by the others strolled over to where the servants remained lined up against the wall. Most of them were crying and clearly terrified.

  As he sauntered back and forth in front of the staff, he said in a loud voice, “We have evidence proving that these nobles,” he indicated Isabella and her husband and parents, “are heretics. You are about to bear witness to what happens to heretics!”

  “Lies!” Daniel shouted. “We are not heretics. Who says such a thing?”

  At a motion from their leader, one of the sword wielders walked over in front of Daniel and slapped him across the face. With his hands tied behind his back he was unable to keep his balance on his knees and fell against Isabella. They both collapsed onto the ground.

  “We are defenders of the faith,” the leader continued. “As such, we have the authority to review the evidence presented and act accordingly.”

  “Please,” Bella pleaded from her position on the ground, “please, you must believe my husband, we are not heretics. Let us prove ourselves. There is some mistake!”

  He walked to where she lay and stood over her. She looked up into a thin, stern face, an apparition of hate and evil. He glared at her with cold eyes, then threw his head back and began to laugh.

  His laugh chilled her. Her anger turned to fear.

  “We,” he waved his arm to indicate his compatriots, “do not make mistakes. God has shown us everything we need to know. We act on God’s word.” He turned and nodded to a man who was standing and holding something in the flames of a fire.

  “Bring him,” He ordered a fellow standing near her husband.

  Daniel was forced to his feet and dragged next to the fire. His nightshirt was ripped from him. Although he struggled to escape, he was held firmly with his arms behind his back. Another came to aid in holding him. Again, he was forced to his knees, his head held back by his hair.

  As Isabella watched, a red hot branding iron with the letter “H” was pressed into her husband’s chest. He howled in agony. When the iron was removed, he collapsed onto the ground.

  Isabella’s mother was crying. She and her husband were bound together next to Isabella. As her father was cut loose from her mother, Isabella tried to move closer to her. Someone, she could not see who, pulled her by her hair to prevent her moving.

  There was a large tree in the courtyard. With sickening realization, Isabella saw two ropes dangling from it. Her father was led to the tree. His hands were still bound behind his back. One of the ropes was looped through her father’s bound wrists and tightened. The other end of it was tied to the pommel of a horse. When the ropes were deemed secure, the horse was led away from the tree. Her father was lifted, arms behind him, into the air. Bella and her mother wept and looked away as they heard his shoulders pop from their sockets while he screamed.

  The men watching her and her mother forced them to stand. “You will watch,” he instructed, “or you will suffer a fate worse than that.” He held up the branding iron and waved it in front of their faces. “I will burn your eyes from your heads unless you watch.”

  They forced themselves to watch as Daniel was led to the tree. Another horse was brought and Daniel forced upon it, hands still bound behind his back. As the noose was placed around his neck, Isabella realized that this was no show of punishment for heresy. This was an execution. She knew, in that moment, that none of them would survive.

  The flat blade of a sword slapped against the hindquarters of the horse, which jumped and jolted forward. Isabella watched her husband writhe on the end of the rope. When he was finally still, her father’s unconscious body was lowered to the ground.

  As her father was dragged back to her and her mother, Isabella tried, again, to plead for mercy.

  “I beg of you, let us go,” she sobbed. “We are not heretics, but good, God-fearing Catholics.”

  Again, that hateful laugh filled her ears. “Bring her parents!”

  A single pole, driven into the ground, stood in the center of the courtyard. James and Elizabeth of Aquapendente were tied to it. As the kindling was placed around them, Isabella screamed, “No! No! It is I,” she cried, “I alone am the heretic! Please spare my parents, they are innocent.”

  Her cries were ignored. The kindling lit. As the flames caught and grew, the men in the courtyard seemed to feed off the fire and the fear. It was as if they were intoxicated by their own power and the pain they were able to inflict on others.

  Suddenly, as the attention in the courtyard was focused on the fire beginning to consume her parents, Isabella felt herself pulled by the hair into the shadow of one of the outer buildings. At first, thinking that someone might be attempting to rescue her, she was silent. It was only after she found herself being rushed through the fields of her husband’s land that she realized she was being kidnapped.

  With the sounds of her parents’ screams fading in the distance, Isabella was dragged barefoot through the forest for the remainder of the night. At dawn, her captor stopped in a small clearing and tied her arms to a tree and her ankles to makeshift stakes. Then he ripped her nightgown from her body and shredded it with his dagger.

  The evening after the full story of Bella’s ordeal was revealed, following a light supper and a bit of reading, Bella drifted off into sleep. Catherine went out onto the balcony where she paced. The sun was just setting on the western horizon. Catherine watched it glide slowly past the tree line as the clouds overhead transformed from a brilliant oranges to pinks in a sky of deep purple. She leaned on the wall of her balcony and sighed. Isabella’s story was one that disturbed Catherine to her very core. The days of this kind of punishment for “heresy” were supposed to have been long passed and replaced by a more fair and objective process. But stories like this had begun to surface in the past year. The Bishop, Thomas Capshaw, claimed no knowledge of the rogue group instituting this “immediate justice.” Worse than that, he did not seem to care.

  Before finding Isabella, the queen had gone to Rome with a small detachment at the end of July. She went to see Pope Julius III to request that he solic
it a small army to patrol the rural areas. Her subjects were more frightened now than they had been during the early years of the Inquisition.

  The Pope agreed to an audience with Queen Catherine, but claimed, like her own Bishop, no knowledge of the rogue groups that were attacking many parts of Europe.

  “We have had very few reports of this nature,” the Pope looked to his advisors as he said this. “Cardinal, this is unusual, is it not?”

  “Unusual, Holiness, but not unheard of. There have been a few such attacks in the Republic of Genoa. We have a report of one like this in the Republic of Lucca, just north of Montalcino. No others.”

  “The problem seems very isolated, then, Your Highness,” the Pope said without much concern. “I would guess that this type of activity will not be able to sustain itself. Be patient.”

  He told the queen that he did not approve of fanaticism and asked to be apprised of any further incidents. The Pope assured the queen that he would make a formal request of her Bishop Capshaw to investigate the attacks, but it was unlikely that there was anything that could help. Catherine discovered, while in Rome, that Pope Julius was not inclined toward politics or ecclesiastical duties. His interests ran more to his untoward relationship with the young beggar boy he called his adoptive “nephew” who, it was said, shared his bedroom and his bed.

  It was on their way back from Rome that Catherine and Robert found Isabella.

  That the band of rebels that attacked Isabella’s family had the audacity to strike so close to the castle only proved their arrogance. She would find them. She must find them. The Inquisition itself was already to blame for the torture and murder of thousands upon thousands of innocent lives. To think that the Church gave itself permission for such vile acts tormented Catherine. This had been going on for over two hundred years and she often despaired that it would never end. There were times when she became so angry that she shook her fist and screamed for God to intervene. Other times, when she learned of children being forced to watch the execution of their own parents, she fell to her knees and sobbed. And now, as if the Inquisition itself were not horrible enough, the sickest of sadists used the church for their own devious amusements.

  As the sky darkened and Catherine paced, she determined to find out who directed this group and what they gained from the murders. Historically, the church gained the lands and properties of those convicted of heresy. If that was the intention of those behind the murder of Isabella’s family, it should be easy enough to discover the culprits. She would address this matter with her Council. And given her Papal visit, and the assurances of the Pope himself, her Bishop would be required to support her investigation.

  Chapter Four

  Within a few weeks, Isabella was able to stand without assistance. Her strength began to return as she was able to take solid foods. Though bathing was suspected of washing away one’s soul, and generally limited to once weekly, the warm water relieved the aching around her shoulders. The awkward angle in which her arms had been tied over her head for many days had left them painful. It was still difficult for her to lift her arms, but it always seemed easier following a hot soak. Bella had been delighted to find that behind the five paneled screen in the quarters was a large brass tub. The tub was embossed with reeds, cattails and heron. It flared up and out at the narrow ends, allowing the bather to lean back and rest her head.

  The baths generally tired her and she often fell into a deep, more relaxed sleep following a bath. The water also seemed to soften the tissues around the crusted wounds, and this helped to make her more comfortable, as well. And so, an early evening bath became a ritual of healing and relaxation. Catherine assisted Isabella into the tub and steadied her as she emerged. While she was soaking, Catherine read to her. After, Catherine applied a variety of ointments to the healing sores, gently applying the salves to the worst of them. There were several deep sores, primarily around her wrists and ankles, from the bindings that held Isabella for so many days.

  One evening while Isabella and Catherine were dining, Robert came to the queen’s quarters and asked to have a word in private. Catherine excused herself and followed Robert.

  “How is she healing?” he asked as they moved down the hall

  “Well enough, given what she has been through,” responded Catherine, “but you have not come just to inquire as to the health of our guest.”

  “No, Majesty,” he paused and was clearly distressed by something. His forehead between his eyebrows pulled together in deep creases. He hesitated, and took a large breath.

  “What is it?” Catherine indicated a stone bench in an alcove next to a window.

  As they sat Robert said, “The prisoner escaped, Majesty,” he said. “We have men and dogs out hunting, but I fear he may have had help and will not be found. I, alone, bear the responsibility and will accept any punishment you order.”

  Catherine felt her stomach clench. “Are we speaking of the prisoner brought in with Isabella?” she asked, “the one who did this to her?”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Robert bowed his head, his shoulders slumped momentarily, then he sat up straight.

  “What are the circumstances surrounding the escape? Why do you suspect that he had help?” she asked.

  “He remained chained in the lowest cells of the keep. He was fed only once daily at midday and was allowed contact with no one. The only person to see him was the guard who shoved his meal through an opening in the door. The guard claims there was nothing unusual when he was fed yesterday. This afternoon when the day guard arrived to give the prisoner his meal he found the cell empty, but the padlock was in place and remained locked. Majesty, the only way in or out of that cell is through the one door.”

  Catherine stood and walked away from Robert. Thoughts of what all this might mean tumbled through her head. Any hope of interrogating this man further was lost. That meant finding any connection to the murder of Isabella’s family was going to be more difficult. But what angered her more than anything was the fact that he had help. Who was the traitor in their midst? She took a deep breath to focus her thoughts and keep her anger in check. When she turned and walked back to him, her face did not hide her concern. She sat back down next to him.

  “I am more concerned with finding whoever it is that aided the prisoner’s escape. I want the prisoner found, but he is the type who will eventually get himself killed, or caught again. Spend no more than a few days searching for him. If he is not found by then, do not waste more time. We have a larger problem. Find the culprit who helped him escape. Until we find the traitor, an enemy lives with us and we are not safe.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Robert stood, gently crossed his right fist over his chest, and walked Catherine back to the doors of her quarters.

  “Who was that?” Bella asked.

  “My cousin,” replied Catherine honestly enough. “His name is Robert. We were raised together. My mother and his were sisters.

  “He seems very fond of you,” Isabella observed.

  “And I of him. He is like a brother to me,” Catherine smiled. “When we were young we were inseparable. We were born only a few months apart.”

  Catherine got up from the table and wandered over to the fireplace. After staring into the flames for a few moments, she turned back to Bella and laughed.

  “Robert has always felt very protective of me. Once I remember, we could not have been more than seven or eight years old, we were playing ‘queen of the castle’ in the courtyard with other children. In the course of our game, I was the queen and a dragon attacked the castle. We were attempting to slay the dragon with wooden swords. I remember leaping onto a rock to join the fight and wielded my wooden sword dramatically. Suddenly Robert was on me yelling, ‘Stop!’ He was furious with me. ‘You are the queen; you are supposed to let me save you!’ I pushed him off me and shouted back, ‘I can take care of myself! Queens are not such helpless creatures as you imagine!’”

  Bella stood and carefully made her way over to the warm
th of the fire. “What did he do?”

  “He was so mad at me. He gritted his teeth and said, ‘You don’t know how to play!’ Then he threw down his sword and left the courtyard.”

  Bella sat near the fire and Catherine covered her with a lap throw. Bella smiled, “I can tell by how he treated you today that he is still a wonderful protector, almost as if he were born to the role.”

  Catherine laughed. “Yes, indeed,” she said. More than Bella would ever know.

  As they grew into their true roles of queen and Captain of the Guard, Catherine often thought back on this day. One day last spring, as they walked the gardens, she reminded him of that afternoon.

  “Do you remember,” Catherine asked as they strolled, “the time we played queen of the castle?”

  He stopped and turned red, “I remember being infuriated with you for not letting me slay the dragon.”

  “Why are you blushing?” she laughed.

  “I threw a temper tantrum! Not a very soldierly thing to do!” He laughed.

  She slipped her arm through his as they continued walking. “You know, cousin, I have often thought about your little tantrum,” she teased. “I wonder how you perceive that episode now that you are a man.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “Actually, I have thought a lot about that day, too. When I stalked off I went and had a good pout about things. I believe I must have already felt my destiny tied with yours. I was born to my role of protecting you, just as you were born to be queen.”

  And she knew that she would be a lesser queen without him. Robert’s loyalty and devotion allowed her the freedom to trust that he guarded her without susceptibility to enemy influences. As a rule, monarchs did not always have the luxury of such a certainty.

  Isabella’s voice brought her back, “There is a strong familial resemblance, especially around the eyes. He has very kind eyes.”

  Catherine smiled at this but said no more. Isabella did not pursue the conversation further and indicated the game table where a backgammon board awaited them. As with other times, questions about Catherine’s family and her role in the castle were deflected or outright ignored, no matter how innocently Bella might ask. Catherine wanted desperately to tell Bella everything, to confess and be done with the matter, but fear held the queen’s identity in check. Catherine hoped that Bella was content with the deflections about her life. The queen tried to be honest when she could, but she was grateful when Bella’s questions seemed to fade. She hoped that Bella, as a guest, was content with limited information. Catherine knew that she could not hide her identity forever from this woman whose life had now become so much a part of her own, and she needed to think about how to broach the subject…but not now. Soon perhaps.