The Queen's Companion

by Maggi Petton

  Father Tim was slight in build with soft, gentle features. His hair was long, but did not quite reach his shoulders. He had warm, brown eyes that seemed to understand just about everything. His voice was as gentle as his manner, and she found him to be intelligent and thoughtful in all that he said.

  The morning discussion revolved around concerns that the bishop had increased his hunt for witches.

  Robert had a list of three women who were accused of witchcraft.

  “On what grounds?” asked Father Tim.

  “They carried herbs in leather pouches.”

  While these women were nothing more than healers, the bishop used the accusations to create even more fear than usual. Many villagers were now refusing to seek help for simple illnesses for fear of appearing to support witchcraft.

  “The women are scheduled for interrogation by the bishop next week.” Robert informed them.

  “Then you will need to work quickly. Here are the names of two near the castle whom you can arrest on false charges. Can you get them into the same cells?” Tim asked.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I am always curious as to how you find these volunteers.” Catherine said, intrigued.

  “These particular women both came to me from elsewhere. Their lives were shattered by the murder of family members. Like most, Majesty, they feel they have little for which to live, so they have committed to this cause. Don’t worry, they know what to expect.”

  Father Tim told Robert where to find the women to be arrested. He had already spent a considerable amount of time teaching the women how to prepare the poor souls accused of heresy and witchcraft. Much of his training centered on how to respond to the bishop’s accusations and questions.

  Robert arrested Father Tim’s volunteers, who were imprisoned on minor false charges. During their imprisonment they coached the victims on how to respond during interrogations. Many of the accused were released with admonitions only. The others were mostly imprisoned for one year. The very unfortunate few who were executed lay heavy on the hearts of Queen Catherine, Father Tim and Captain Robert.

  “As soon as possible, then,” Catherine said, “have them brought before me so we can drop the charges against them.” She did not want the volunteers to suffer longer than necessary.

  Chapter Twelve

  In truth, Bishop Thomas Capshaw had not always been a violent man. At one time, he was part of the underground rebellion fighting the Inquisition. But that time seemed long ago, and for Bishop Capshaw there was no turning back.

  It was 1552, a scant two years earlier, when Thomas was called to Rome. King Edward had petitioned Rome to make Thomas Capshaw priest to the royal family. Rome granted the King’s request in 1551, and then largely ignored both the King and Thomas until Thomas’s Vatican visit.

  Rome was different from anything Thomas ever expected or experienced. St. Peter’s Basilica was more magnificent than he had imagined. The artwork and culture alone was enough to overwhelm a young priest from a small kingdom. He spent hours just wandering the art museums of the Vatican or sitting and staring at the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel. It was as if all of creation itself poured down from that ceiling and into his soul. He was filled with reverence and awe, and much to his dismay, found his sexual appetite stirred, as well.

  By the time Thomas was actually called to meet with Pope Julius, he was certain he was going to be admonished for his alliance with King Edward, for it was known that the King was resistive to the harsher punishments of the Inquisition. Although the Inquisition had not fully encompassed the northern Duchies and Kingdoms as yet, there were those who were known to make reports to Rome.

  With this in mind, Thomas entered the meeting with Pope Julius full of apprehension. And so he was surprised that Pope Julius did not even mention his King. Instead, the Pope chatted genially and invited Thomas to join him that evening at the Villa Giulia. He was even more surprised, at the end of their meeting, when the Pope invited him to stay as a guest at the Villa.

  Pope Julius spent a great deal of his time at the Villa, which he had built on the edge of Rome, when he became Pope. Villa Guilia was large, lush and well appointed. There were many rooms filled with frescoes, statues and paintings. One room displayed a ceiling fresco depicting cherub-like putti playing with one another’s genitals. The Villa was host to many in Rome, and was generally a bustling hive of activity.

  Thomas entered the doors of Villa Guilia feeling slightly intimidated. He was unaccustomed to such decadence. The ceilings were high and marble everywhere shined. There was a gathering in the main hall when he arrived. As he was escorted up a stairway he looked down to see a host of young men surrounding a slovenly, bearded, older man. His escort stopped and whispered, “That is the famous painter and sculptor, Michelangelo. He’s the one who painted the ceiling in the Chapel, you know.”

  Thomas stared in disbelief. How could this old, uncouth, ill-clothed being have created such overwhelming works of beauty? As Thomas stood looking down at the scene before him, Michelangelo shook himself loose from the gathering, threw his hand up in dismissal and walked away without a word, disappearing down a long corridor.

  Thomas wasn’t aware of the Pope’s reputation prior to his arrival in Rome. At the villa, however, there was no doubt that the Pope was inclined to indulge himself at any expense. Thomas’ first evening at the Villa found him guest at one of the Pope’s luxurious dinner parties. Food and wine flowed, and following the dinner the Pope led everyone into the great hall for entertainment.

  Once Thomas recovered from his initial discomfort, he began to relax. Musicians were the first to perform for the guests. The sounds of each instrument reverberated off the walls and high ceilings, and sent undulating waves of musical bliss up through the floor into Thomas’ feet, up and up, until his entire body quivered with each note. He never felt music in such a profoundly intimate way.

  The villa was full of young men, all of whom were clearly at ease in each others’ company.

  Several young men approached Thomas following the performances and engaged him in conversation. The music, the conversation, the wine relaxed Thomas and he began to enjoy himself.

  As the evening wore on, he found himself in the company of two men. They were both younger. One was a local priest, the other one of the musicians whom Thomas noticed earlier in the evening. The priest flitted from group to group, and eventually left Thomas alone with the musician.

  Thomas asked him about his violino piccolo and the young man lit up with delight.

  “Let me show you how to play it!” the young man said enthusiastically. “Hold it here,” the musician gave Thomas the neck of the instrument and showed him how to hold it. “Now place this part on your shoulder, just here.”

  Thomas did as he was instructed, but the young man stopped him and said, “Let me show you.” He stepped behind Thomas and reached around him placing his hand over Thomas’s on the neck of the violin. “Now, hold the other part here, under your chin.” The young man put his face next to Thomas’. Thomas felt the roughness of stubble against his cheek as the musician held his cheek directly against Thomas’. “That’s it. Now, take the bow in your other hand,” the artist brought his right hand and arm around Thomas’ other side and lifted it to draw across the strings. As he held Thomas’s hand with the bow, he pressed himself into Thomas.

  Thomas was highly aroused. Never before had he been so erotically charged.

  “Is this alright?” whispered the violinist in his ear.

  Thomas swallowed, hard. He could feel his face beginning to flush. “Yes…”

  “I am glad. Here, try this,” he said. He moved more to Thomas’s side. As he moved around Thomas felt the unmistakable brush of the musician’s erect penis draw across his buttocks.

  Thomas felt himself going weak. He closed his eyes and locked his knees in order to remain upright.

  The musician moved around to look at Thomas. He smiled as he locked eyes with the pri
est and said, “Come with me.” He grabbed Thomas by the hand and led him to a small room down the corridor through which Michelangelo had disappeared earlier that day.

  When they entered the room the violinist shut the door, put down his violin, turned and reached for Thomas. He clutched the robes at Thomas’s chest, pulling him close.

  “I am glad that you have such an appreciation for my talent. Allow me to demonstrate some of my other talents…”

  He pressed his mouth against Thomas’s. Thomas felt their mutual erections pressing against one another. They were both breathing heavily, almost frantically. As the musician began to grope him, he pushed Thomas back against the door they had just entered. The musician’s mouth continued to explore him, pressing, biting, probing, while hands, the same hands that had just serenaded Thomas with such musical beauty, groped under his robes, introducing pleasures Thomas had only ever denied himself.

  The hands drove Thomas to unimaginable heights of frenzy. He was new to this, but his body responded with a knowledge he did not know he possessed. Then the musician turned him, so that his face and chest pressed against the door. The hand resumed stroking his cock, slow, perfect strokes, and Thomas was certain he would die if it stopped. The musician’s other hand raised the robes behind him. He felt the musician’s hardness against him, pressing against him. Then his free hand moved to separate Thomas’s buttocks. The tip of the musician’s cock entered him and pressed urgently inward and up. A magnificent, exquisite pain tore into him and Thomas welcomed it with all of his being. The hand on his throbbing member continued its rhythmic stroking, blending with the thrusting of male to male joining that Thomas craved all of his life, but never knew existed in such splendor.

  When Thomas cried out in ecstasy and pain as he climaxed, he would have collapsed onto the floor but for the musician holding him up, continuing his delicious pleasure from behind. When, at last, Thomas felt the violinist explode inside he cried out again and they slid down the door together, gasping for breath.

  He never even knew the musician’s name. It seemed there was a new face, a new pleasure open to him nearly every evening. As the faces changed, the sexual acts varied. Ultimately, the nameless, changing faces did not matter. Thomas both lost and found himself in his earthly pleasure. The sexual acts became his religion, his life, his obsession. He lived for every evening when the young men came calling at the Villa. He forgot about Montalcino. He forgot about his calling to God. He forgot about everything except experiencing different ways to satisfy his newfound, insatiable thirst for sexual pleasure.

  Thomas stayed in Rome for two months. While there, the Villa Giulia was his home. The Pope saw to his comfort in the evenings. His days were sometimes spent meeting with different Cardinals, who were interested in knowing about his King and the Kingdom of Montalcino.

  “How does your King support the church in the interrogation of heretics?” asked Cardinal Giovanni Carafa. They were meeting in one of the rooms of the Papal Apartments. Two other Cardinals were present, but neither of them spoke.

  Thomas, still loyal to the King, and not yet under the control of anyone, protected Edward. “He is a good Catholic, and encourages me to follow the instructions of the Church in every way, Cardinal.”

  Thomas did not like Cardinal Carafa. Carafa was just the type of Catholic that he and Edward railed against. Carafa’s push to cleanse Europe of heretics was just the thing that he and Edward worked against. He was glad that Carafa was only a Cardinal, and not the Pope.

  Carafa stood and placed his fingertips together as he walked slowly around the room. “You seem quite comfortable at the Villa Giulia,” Carafa said slyly. “How do you spend your time there?”

  Thomas shot a questioning look at the two seated Cardinals, hoping to glean a hint of where this might be going. They sat stone faced. Finally, Thomas answered, “I am a guest. As such, I am invited to partake in meals and entertainment when there is entertainment. Otherwise, I roam the gardens, or read and pray in my room.”

  “Have you had opportunity to meet with the artist?”

  “I have seen him there on several occasions, but have not spoken with him. No. We have not been introduced.”

  “There are rumors of lewd and lascivious conduct at the Villa. Have you heard of or partaken in any such conduct?” asked Carafa as he turned and looked directly at Thomas.

  Thomas broke out in a sweat. He hoped it was concealed by his robes and hair. His legs were shaking. He was not accustomed to lying. Although he tried to maintain eye contact, his gaze drifted. He felt himself begin to cower under the interrogation.

  “I have heard or seen no such behavior, Cardinal,” his voice trembled a bit as he answered.

  “Really,” Carafa continued as one eyebrow rose, “so in spite of the fact that many young men are seen entering the Villa almost nightly and do not leave until morning, you are not aware of such activity?”

  Thomas swallowed hard, “No, Cardinal. As I have said, I spend much of my time in my private room. The Villa is quite large, so perhaps there are activities in parts of the Villa that are unknown to me. The Pope may be better able to answer your concerns.”

  “Father Capshaw,” the Cardinal addressed him sternly, glaring at him through narrowed eyelids, “you may mistake my questions as a test of your loyalty to your King, the Pope, or both. I am not interested in your loyalty to people, but to your Church and your faith. Your very presence in the Villa for these past months has not gone unnoticed by me or the House of Cardinals, nor has your activity within those walls. I have enough evidence against you to burn you at the stake without hesitation. You are an abomination and a disgrace. If it were in my power I would see you, and that heathen artist burn. For now I must content myself with trying to cover the vulgar images he has painted in the Chapel…and send you back to your heathen King.”

  Thomas was terrified. His trembling was so bad he didn’t know how the table remained still. He needed to get out of the room before he vomited. How had he let this happen to him, he who had always tried to be a good priest and a decent man? Carafa could destroy him and all because he gave in to temptation without even attempting to resist. His pallor gave him away. He thought he was about to faint when Carafa continued.

  “Pope Julius will not always be in power. You would do well to remember that. Meanwhile, I think it wise for you to return to your little Kingdom of Montalcino. It has come to my attention that the Pope intends to make a Bishop of you. Very well, then Bishop Capshaw, I believe that we may have use for you there. Montalcino, like Venice and many other places, is succumbing to the teachings of that bastard Martin Luther. I will not have it. You are spared your life, but only so long as you ruthlessly work to cleanse the church of heretics. Just as I have my eyes in the Villa, they will be watching Montalcino…and you. I expect nothing less than your most rigorous efforts as an interrogator.” Carafa paused, placed his hands on the table and leaned menacingly into Thomas’s face. “It is time for you to return home.”

  Thomas stood, but nearly fell back into his seat on quivering legs. He managed to make it to the door. He did not look back. He was certain he would vomit, but he managed to get outside before he did so. He leaned against one of the large, stone pillars at the edge of St. Peter’s square and heaved until he was empty. When he arrived back at the Villa, he could not remember how he got there.

  Thomas sent word to Pope Julius that his presence was requested back in Montalcino. He wanted to leave immediately, but Pope Julius would not hear of it and pressed Thomas to stay another month.

  “You are one of seven priests,” Pope Julius informed him with a smile, “selected for a Bishopric.”

  Thomas bowed his head to conceal any possibility that he already knew. He hoped the Pope saw it as a gesture of humility.

  “Holiness,” Thomas said as he looked up, “I am deeply honored.”

  “We are planning the ceremony for one month from tomorrow. It would be a tragedy for you to miss such an occasi
on in your own honor.”

  “I agree, Holiness. It would pain me to miss such an event. But my King and my Church need me in Montalcino. I have already been gone too long. Please, forgive me.”

  “Well, then,” the Pope relented, “we will have to make you Bishop in a private ceremony before you leave. When do you plan to return to Montalcino?”

  “I had planned to do so this morning, Holiness.”

  “You will need to postpone your plan for a day or two while the arrangements are made for a private ceremony.” The Pope turned to his assistant and said, “Please make arrangements tomorrow for Father Thomas’ consecration in a private ceremony. Invite as many of the Cardinals from the College as are able to attend. If none are available, so be it, it is my presence only that is required.” Pope Julius turned back to Thomas. “Your departure is untimely, Thomas, but I respect your desire to return to your duties. You will return to your Kingdom a Bishop.”

  “An unexpected and unworthy honor from the Holy See. I will work to serve Christ and the Church to the best of my abilities.”

  Thomas hid in his room at the Villa. At a time in his life when he should be celebrating his good fortune, he cowered alone, fearing to be seen in the company of anyone at the Villa.

  Thomas was made Bishop in a small, private ceremony. Only one other bishop from the College of Bishops was in attendance. A small dinner was held that evening in Thomas’s honor. Several other Bishops and a few Cardinals were present, but Thomas was so tense, so utterly unnerved by the presence of Cardinal Carafa, that he could not wait until the evening was over. He barely touched his food. As soon as he could, he left the party for his room, packed and tried to sleep. He left for Montalcino before dawn.

  When Thomas first returned from Rome, the king attempted to find out what had happened to change him, to help him find his true vision again. As young men they spent hours in righteous indignation discussing how to fight the Inquisition. But once he returned from Rome, Thomas played his new part very well. In fact, he tried to convince the King that their beliefs as young men were childish and that they “should put away childish things” and act as responsible stewards of their Church and their faith.