The Queen's Companion

by Maggi Petton

  As Isabella grew stronger she spent her days reading and resting. Catherine’s quarters were spacious and very comfortable. Just inside the large double entry doors was a long table against the wall. The room was fairly open beyond that, almost all the way to the balcony doors that looked out directly up the mountainside and down to the gardens outside Catherine’s office. To the left of the balcony doors was a window. Under the window was where Isabella’s pallet was placed. A screen was available to place in front of the pallet for Isabella’s privacy, but she seldom requested it.

  Bella availed herself of the many volumes of books. Sometimes, when she was too tired to read, Catherine read aloud from Dante. Sometimes they engaged in lively discussion over the readings. Some evenings, following the meal, they simply conversed.

  “How did you come to your understanding of politics, Bella? It is very unusual for a woman.” Catherine moved to one of the chairs near the fireplace. The stones surrounding the fireplace had grown warm from the fire and radiated heat. “Come, sit,” she motioned for Bella to move to the chair closest to the fire.

  Bella’s face did not mask her smile or her sadness as her eyes drifted into memories of her past. “My father often entertained politicians in our home in Acquapendente. He encouraged me to learn by listening, so often after meals I sat in a corner of the room and worked quietly on my needlepoint and listened to their conversations.”

  “You must have been privy to some very interesting discussions.” Catherine tucked a wrap around Bella’s lap and walked back to the table.

  “Quite. Invariably the discussions turned to the Inquisition.”

  “A dangerous subject. How did those conversations evolve?” Catherine poured them both cups of warmed wine and brought them over to where they had ensconced themselves by the fire.

  “My father was cautious,” Bella said. She smiled, “But there were times when I feared that his distaste for the way things were being handled in Rome might have been obvious. Do not misunderstand, my father was a devout and loyal Catholic,” Bella added hurriedly.

  “You need not fear any reprisal from me regarding Rome. And I do not mind sharing with you that I detest this whole Inquisition. If it were in my power I should dismantle the entire…” Catherine stopped short, knowing that she was heading into territory that she must avoid. “I am sorry. I must sound terribly heretical.”

  “You need not concern yourself with my thoughts either, my dear.”

  Catherine wanted to know more about Bella’s father and his political friends. “Did you know the men who spent time with your father?” Catherine stood and moved closer to the fire, as she waited for Bella’s response.

  “Well enough to know which ones I trusted and which ones made me uncomfortable, I suppose. Well enough to hear the fear or the lie in certain voices without ever looking up from my needlework.”

  “Well enough,” Catherine suggested, “to suspect any of them of betraying your family?”

  Bella got up from her seat and wandered over to the doors leading to the balcony. She opened them and stepped out. It was unusually warm for the end of September. The sun was only partially visible as it dropped beyond the mountains in the distance, bathing the balcony in a soft, watermelon glow. Catherine followed Bella onto the balcony, wrapping the throw around Bella’s shoulders. Her heart filled with tenderness for this woman who had been through so much.

  “I’ve spent many days alone here wondering about those men and their views,” Bella said. “It would be easy enough to blame any one of them for what happened. But I believe they were all cowards too afraid for their own lives to make trouble for anyone else. I suppose that if I suspect anyone, I suspect one of my husband’s servants. There were several who made me nervous and who seemed discontent with their lives in servitude. My husband was often harsh, and I do not think that he realized how his treatment of servants may have resulted in revenge.”

  Catherine placed her arm around Bella’s waist. Bella turned, resting her head on the queen’s shoulder. Catherine felt the woman’s body give in to fatigue, sadness and exhaustion. “Come, you are tired. Let’s prepare you for bed.”

  Later that evening after she had helped Bella settle into bed, Catherine sat near the fire contemplating their talk. Periodically, Bella whimpered in her sleep and Catherine waited, holding her breath, hoping the whimper did not escalate into a full blown nightmare. It passed.

  The closeness of the quarters and the intimacy of the care involved created an atmosphere of natural ease between the women. Their playfulness and affection, their ability to touch and laugh and talk increased. Catherine looked forward to returning in the evenings. On days when the kingdom did not require her presence, she was glad for the extra time to spend with Isabella.

  Most days, however, Catherine spent dealing with issues of the kingdom. The lives of her subjects, the management of her lands, and production of paper in their tiny mill, generally consumed her mornings, but as of late, there were fewer visits from her subjects. Catherine noted how the visits decreased as the Inquisition tortures and deaths increased. When people did not know who to trust, they chose to trust no one.

  Chapter Five

  The season was changing. Days were shorter. The air was becoming cooler. It was one of Catherine’s lighter duty days and she was enjoying the afternoon in her quarters with Isabella.

  Catherine had recently brought needlepoint materials and a small lap harp for Isabella to enjoy while she continued her recovery. Bella was strumming on the harp, humming softly as Catherine sat near the fireplace and read.

  On days when the cooler air combined with the dampness of the castle, Catherine noticed that Bella rubbed her shoulders more often.

  “I think I might like an early bath.” Bella said as she moved closer to the fire. “Would you mind terribly asking Marie to draw it for me now?”

  Catherine saw the dark circles under Bella’s eyes, a certain sign of increased pain as the weather changed.

  “Is it your shoulders again?”

  “Hmm,” Bella nodded.

  A bath was drawn and Marie dismissed. Catherine assisted Bella with her bath, carefully inspecting her back to ensure her sores were healing. The deeper cuts were taking longer, but most of the smaller wounds were nearly healed. She gently sponged Bella’s back and then sat nearby while Bella soaked.

  As Catherine helped Bella from the tub, she had a thought. “Your wounds seem to be healing. Do you think that you might be up to an outing soon?”

  Isabella spun around and threw her arms around Catherine.

  “Yes, oh, yes! I have been longing to go outdoors before it gets too cold!”

  Catherine dropped the towel and wrapped her arms around Isabella, at first laughing and hugging Bella back, but then she became aware of Isabella’s skin under her fingertips, her breasts pressing against her body, the scent of Isabella’s hair in her nostrils. Then, more, a tightening and pulling at the very center of her being, and the realization that she did not want to let go. The innocence and pureness of what had been a simple gesture of happiness and affection was instantly replaced by a longing that Catherine had never felt before.

  Catherine was on fire, suddenly consumed with desire to pull Bella into her very body, to run her hands along the course of her back, her hips, to bury her face in Bella’s neck and kiss that mouth, those perfect lips. She wanted…she wanted…oh, dear God, what did she want?

  Isabella’s body continued to press into Catherine’s. Catherine could feel her breasts pressing against her own, as her heart pounded fast, and faster. She wanted to take Bella’s face in her hands and kiss her, kiss her without end, kiss and inhale and taste and touch and love.

  The queen swallowed hard and slid her hands up to Bella’s shoulders. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts. It took all of her will power, but she pushed Bella away and would not meet her eyes. Isabella reached out for her, but the queen bent to pick up the toweling, handed it to her and said, “I don’t fe
el well. I need to go lie down.”

  “Catherine, what is it? Catherine!”

  Catherine didn’t respond and rushed from the room.

  “Please, don’t go, Catherine, please.”

  But Catherine quickly shut the doors to her private bedroom.

  Catherine was terrified. She paced. She prayed. She tried, but could not sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes the memory of how Bella’s body felt against hers threatened to overwhelm her. She felt her own body betraying her. It vibrated of its own accord. She was reminded of how it felt the first time her sword struck a boulder, how the force of the vibration worked up her arm and sped through her body, but this feeling emanated from her loins and spread its tremor outward. It was not tolerable. She must control this. She cracked open the door to her bedroom. Bella was asleep. While the moon was still in charge of the sky, she left her quarters and sought solace in the church.

  Catherine relished the solitude of the church at night. She inhaled the lingering smell of the incense, allowed the soft glow of the candlelight to surround her, and watched the moonlight filter through the stained glass windows. There were times, in the stillness of night, she felt her parents with her as she sat to pray. And it was especially at times when she sat quietly that she was filled with the presence of God.

  She needed that presence now. She would rather face a thousand foes with drawn swords than this unknown and unbidden feeling that flooded her.

  She sat. The only candle glowing was the perpetual near the tabernacle. Her mind would not still. She waited for the comfort that usually sifted and settled around her within a few minutes of arriving. Never before had she felt so unsettled in this place. Her usual ability to slip into spiritual communion with God did not materialize. She thought that perhaps, because this struggle was more personal in nature that her approach may need to be different. She rose and approached the altar where she knelt. No matter how she tried to extinguish them, her thoughts returned again and again to Bella. Her face, her eyes, that exquisite mouth.

  “Stop, stop!” she commanded the feelings. But visions of Bella persisted whenever she closed her eyes.

  She rose and began to pace in front of the altar. The more she tried to shake her feelings loose, the more intense they became and the more she was afraid. Not only was she convinced that her feelings were sinful, she was certain that the feelings alone doomed her. She tried desperately to push them back down, but each time she remembered how Bella felt and smelled and looked, her body and soul rose up lighting fire to her senses and she felt as if she would die if she did not fulfill this desire. Never had she felt so alive and so doomed to death simultaneously.

  “Remove this unholy desire from me, Lord,” she begged. “I cannot bear this temptation. I do not want this,” she prayed. As Bella’s embrace flooded her thoughts again, she pulled out her rosary and attempted to focus on her prayers. It was no use. She could not banish thoughts of Isabella from her mind. Her thoughts took her back across the past weeks and her simple enjoyment of Bella’s company. She tried to take herself back to those feelings. But even as she tried she knew that she might as well attempt to put an egg back into its shell. The feelings had escaped and there was no putting them back.

  After hours of pacing and praying, Catherine prostrated herself on the marble floor before the altar. “Please, speak to me. I do not understand what is happening. My heart is open to you, oh, God. Help me,” she pleaded. She wept and prayed until she fell asleep.

  It was in this position that the Bishop discovered her in the church when he arrived for his own devotionals at dawn.

  “Majesty,” he whispered.

  It took Catherine a moment to realize that she was in church. But the cold stone against her cheek helped bring it all back to her. She pushed herself to a kneeling position and looked to see who addressed her.

  “Good morning, your Grace,” she greeted him.

  “Is all well?” he inquired.

  “All is well,” she responded as she stood.

  “It is the tendency of those who are deeply troubled to spend the night in prayer,” he continued solicitously. “Perhaps I can be of assistance in your search for spiritual enlightenment. Would you like me to hear your confession?”

  “Thank you, your Grace. I simply became tired while I prayed, nothing more.” She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her and she turned. He stepped to the altar and looked down his nose at her. His face, though not unpleasant, held the expression of someone who always has an ulterior motive. His eyes, deep brown, continually darted, as if he were always looking for someone, or something. His hair, brown with a touch of grey at the temples, fell just below his ears and was very straight. A goatee, that just a few short years ago had been brown, was now completely grey. It did give him the kind of distinguished look that she knew appealed to most people, but she thought it gave him a sharper, more evil appearance. She detested the man and found herself bracing for whatever he was about to say.

  “How fares the woman who now lives in your chambers, Majesty?” His tone seemed to indicate that he was interested in far more than Isabella’s spiritual well being.

  “She continues to improve, albeit slowly,” replied the queen. She offered nothing further.

  “I will continue to keep your guest in my prayers,” he went on. “I am sure you will be happy for her complete recovery so that you may have your own bed to yourself again.”This time his tone left no doubt about his opinion in the matter.

  Catherine did not rise to his bait, but feared that her feelings for Bella were somehow visible to the bishop. What did he see? How could he know? Her fear threatened to overwhelm her. Quickly, she expressed her thanks on behalf of Isabella. She crossed herself and left the church.

  When she returned to her quarters Catherine found Isabella sitting on her pallet and staring out the window. A fire was burning and the table was set for breakfast. As Catherine entered, Bella rose and went to her. Catherine fought the urge to put her hands up to stop Bella from approaching her. She was briefly overcome by a wave of dizziness, and felt herself break out in a sweat. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to smile warmly as Bella approached.

  “When I woke this morning and you were not here I was concerned. You left in such a rush last night. Are you better?” Bella asked.

  “I was unable to sleep so I went to the church to pray,” Catherine responded. “I am well. I simply have much on my mind.”

  She had hoped to avoid Bella, afraid to be in her presence, afraid that all she felt might be revealed in her eyes.

  As she spoke she had difficulty looking Bella in the eyes…eyes that for some weeks now delighted her with their deep, changing moods and colors. Isabella reached out and took Catherine’s arm, “I was hoping you would return and waited to breakfast with you. Come eat.” Bella led Catherine by the hand to the table that was set with fruits, nuts and cheeses. Warm ale still steamed in a pitcher. They sat and Bella poured the ale and handed the cup to Catherine. As Catherine took the cup Bella reached up and lightly caressed her cheek, “Catherine, tell me what is wrong. You look tired and you seem worried. It is in your face.”

  The light touch on her cheek ignited her. Catherine looked up into Bella’s eyes. She needed to know whether or not Bella felt any of this confusion, this desire. Her instincts, usually so attuned to danger, failed her. Bella’s eyes revealed concern…but was there something else? Catherine was not sure.

  “Perhaps I am just hungry,” suggested Catherine.

  “Let me serve you, dear heart, you have spent these past weeks caring for me, and I am gaining more and more strength daily.” Isabella stood and filled a plate for Catherine. As she set it down in front of her, Bella let her free hand fall onto Catherine’s shoulder. Catherine stiffened.

  “What is it?” demanded Bella. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”

  Catherine ignored the question, “Please, let’s eat. I’m just hungry.”

  Catherine ate little, however, a
nd spoke little as well. The nearness of Bella, that yesterday had so delighted her, now confused her. How could such a thing be possible and so impossible at the same time?

  Bella made several attempts to engage Catherine in conversation. Mostly, she made references to the outing that Catherine suggested.

  “I am certain I’ll be able to wear regular clothing in a few more days,” Bella said excitedly. “Do you have anything that might be suitable for public wear? I will need to rely further on your generosity as I arrived here with no clothing.”

  “Finding clothes will not be a problem,” said Catherine, who worked to block the image of assisting Bella into them…and out of them again.

  “What kind of outing might we have?” Bella persisted.

  “What would you like?” Catherine decided that perhaps the best approach was to try to pretend that nothing had changed. Isabella was still Isabella. She was still Catherine. Had anything truly changed or was it all in her imagination?

  “I miss riding,” Bella responded.

  Catherine looked concerned. “I am not certain that your first excursion out of doors should be on a horse!”

  “Please don’t make me beg,” Bella’s face fell. “Riding is my favorite activity.”

  “Then riding is what we shall do,” smiled Catherine, “and I have riding clothes that you may choose from. Come, let’s search my wardrobe room.”