by Maggi Petton
Chapter Thirty Two
Ambrose’s involvement on the Privy Council, failed to establish his loyalties. If he had any, they were not apparent to Catherine. He seemed, more often than she was comfortable, to side with the Bishop when the Council was divided on issues, but these seemed largely to be regarding matters of land disputes. At times, he opposed the Bishop, and his opposition appeared to center around using additional kingdom monies to fund Inquisition expenses. The Church, including the bishop and priests, were supported by the kingdom through taxes. Catherine was hopeful. Ambrose voted against an increase in taxes for the bishop to hire additional assistance for Inquisition interrogations. “Perhaps Ambrose might be his own man, after all,” she thought.
Catherine wanted to give Ambrose a trial run at leading the Privy Council, so she arranged a pilgrimage to nearby Bolsena to visit the Grotto of Santa Cristina.
The descendants of Monaldeschi della Cervara still ruled Bolsena, and Catherine and Bella were guests of the family in the fortress that had been built in stages from the 11 through the 14 centuries.
Their rooms in the castle were comfortable and offered them spectacular views of the Lago di Bolsena, an enormous lake born of an ancient volcano.
“I am not certain why,” she told Bella shortly after they arrived, “but the story of Cristina of Bolsena intrigues me.”
“What do you know about her?” Bella asked as they wandered the castle.
“Only that she was a child martyr subjected to years of torture in the third century.”
“Who tortured her, and why?” Bella was aghast.
“Her father did. He was a wealthy pagan magistrate, who was furious at her conversion to the Christian. She was submitted to many horrors. I remember they put her in a pit of snakes, and even threw her in a furnace once. After her father’s death, his successors continued to torment Cristina, hoping to get her to give up her faith.”
“Why, on earth, do you want to know more about such a cruel, horrible story?” Bella wanted to know.
Catherine smiled at Bella as she answered, “I suppose because the legend holds that Cristina came through all of her tortures unharmed. I am fascinated by the possibility that a child’s faith could be that strong, that unwavering. I wonder what gives a saint that kind of faith.”
“What you wonder,” laughed Bella, “is how you can get some of that faith for yourself!” They walked to one of the walls near the top of the Borgo and stood looking out at the lake. Bella asked, “How did she eventually die?”
“By an arrow through her heart.”
“Ah, so she met her end anyway? Too bad. I would have liked to have met her, although she would be quite old by now,” Bella teased.
“I am ignoring you.” Catherine said.
Catherine and Bella joined a few other pilgrims as the basilica bells chimed. An old priest, along with a nun, led the pilgrims to the altar in the center of the Grotto where the tomb of Saint Cristina was located. There, a basalt stone revealed impressions of two small feet said to be made by Cristina as she stood on the stone. A new, recently built, architectural Ciborium with great, pink, marble columns, housed the stone with the saint’s footprints along with a Reliquary containing another stone. The additional stone was the result of yet another miracle that took place in the Grotto of Santa Cristina. In 1263, a Bohemian priest, plagued with doubts as to the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, was on his way to Rome. He stopped in Bolsena and was saying Mass on the tomb of Cristina. At the moment of consecration blood began to drip from the host, staining the altar cloth and some of the stones in the floor. The corporal and stone, both blood-stained, were housed beneath the new Ciborium.
After Mass Catherine and Bella walked the well-worn stone path to the shore of Lake Bolsena. Catherine looked out at the Isola Bisentina. It was all that remained of the volcanic cone. The island, though small, had a long history and was home to many chapels and a prison known as the della Malta.
“Do you want to go to the island?” Bella asked as they wandered the empty shoreline.
“No.” Catherine was firm. “Although I am certain it’s beautiful, the history is not one that draws me.”
“What do you know, my love?”
Catherine stopped and turned to look at the little island. Her face clouded as she recalled stories her father told her about the many people who had been imprisoned there.
“There is a prison on the island at the very bottom of a tower, many meters down. Many accused of heresy were lowered from the tower to the prison below and left to rot there, including an abbot and even a group of monks.
“The island was also home, for many summers, of Alessandro Farnese,” Catherine said with some disgust.
“Pope Paul?”
“The third, yes.”
Bella linked her arm through Catherine’s and propelled her back up the hill to the bustling town of Bolsena. As they made their way back up the hill, Bella said, “It is amazing to me that such a sweet, beautiful place could be home to such a violent history.”
“It does cause one to wonder,” Catherine shook her head, “when a Pope like Paul the fourth actually creates an institution to revive the violent annihilation of those considered heretics. How can they justify such brutality? How do they reconcile it with the teachings of Christ? I am baffled.”
Bella led Catherine back to the Rocca, to the glacis of the Fortress. There they sat, enjoying the afternoon sun as they sipped wine and nibbled on fresh bread drizzled with olive oil. As they looked out over the lake and the town of Bolsena, Catherine said, “I often wonder why Christ has not intervened to stop all of the ghastly things done in His name.”
The remainder of their time in Bolsena was spent relaxing, walking along the lake, and making love without the worry of the kingdom intruding. It was the first time since inheriting the throne that Catherine fully allowed herself to shed her royal duties.
They returned to Montalcino after two weeks in Bolsena. According to Lord Giovanni, Ambrose did well managing the Privy Council. They met just once while Catherine was gone, but nothing notable arose in her absence.
Catherine made plans to begin to tour the kingdom. Her first visit was to be Pienza, which was little more than fifteen miles from Montalcino. Traveling with a large group, it might take two days, but a single rider on a fast horse could reach Catherine in a few hours. Lord Giovanni would be able to reach her if necessary.
Her entourage consisted of herself and Bella with the two children, Mary, the children’s caretaker, Marie and two additional servants, two cooks, Robert, and a complement of ten soldiers.
As the soldiers and servants prepared for the trip, a general atmosphere of excitement filled the air. Most in the party had not accompanied the monarchy on such a venture. The cook’s wagon was filled to the brim with food, flour, grains, cheeses and olives. Several barrels of wine were packed. A supply wagon carried everything they might need.
The morning of departure brought the castle residents to the courtyard to see them off. There was much hugging and kissing. They finally left in a cloud of dust at midmorning.
Nestled in the foothills of the Apennines, Montalcino was rough terrain. But the mountains were beautiful in spring, and spirits were high. It had been a long time since the Monarchy traveled the kingdom.
Even at their young ages, James and Sofia sensed that they were on an adventure.
Catherine hadn’t been convinced they should take the children, but Bella had insisted.
“I have no intention of leaving James anywhere near that bishop of yours when I am not here. And you should be wary of him regarding your own daughter.”
And so the children accompanied them.
Bella opted to ride a horse beside Catherine. Sometimes, James rode on the horse with his mother. Mostly, the children stayed in the carriage with Mary and Marie. But for the carriage and the wagons with their supplies, the journey would have been much quicker. No one minded. The pace was relaxed.
> Camp life was surprisingly enjoyable. The first night, Bella and Catherine were set up in a fairly large tent with two down-filled pads for sleeping. The children and Mary had their own tent. The rest of the party shared tents as they wished, although the soldiers slept on the ground surrounding the party in a wide perimeter around the group. Robert slept in a small tent set directly near the Queen and Bella.
The campfire provided warmth and a good spot to sit and tell stories. Following the first evening meal, Catherine encouraged storytelling and enjoyed listening to the laughter and conversations that hummed around the campsite. Once conversations and stories began to fade, Bella brought out her harp to play. She had begun to make up melodies to the Psalms. Her music was a perfect end to a long day of traveling. James and Sofia fell asleep listening to her. The rest of the camp was close to follow their lead, save the soldiers on watch.
The night before they reached Pienza, the activity around the campfire was a bit more subdued. The second day of traveling was more difficult as one of the wagons broke a wheel and needed to be repaired before they moved on. Most everyone was tired by the time they made camp. As the meal drew to a close Remy, one of Robert’s soldiers, asked, “Your Majesty, have you ever been to Pienza?”
“Once,” she smiled. “I came with the King when I was twelve years old. Things were different then. It will be interesting to see if Pienza has changed much.”
“What was it like, Majesty?” Mary was eager to know as much as she could about the world.
Catherine leaned back into her chair. Her head lolled back. Her eyes closed. When she opened them again she said, “I thought Pienza the most charming place I had ever seen. Perhaps that was because it was the very first time I had traveled outside of Montalcino, but I remember everything about that visit.”
Everyone settled around the campfire as Catherine began her reminiscence of Pienza.
“My most vivid memory was of the flowers. The homes were nestled together much like the Borgo in Montalcino, but every single windowsill had a window box overflowing with colorful flowers. You could smell them as you passed by. And the streets were lined with vendors all selling different types of flowers. There was color everywhere I looked. I remember thinking that someone should paint a picture of all that beauty. And like an answer to a prayer, as we moved along the main street, there it was; an oil painting of Pienza, hanging in a shop. I made the king buy it for me. It hangs in the entrance to the Great Hall.”
“That is Pienza?” Mary asked. “I love that painting. I always stop to admire it on my way to meals.”
“That is Pienza as I remember her. One of the other things I remember is the people, full of joy and love. Of course people always greeted the King well, but there it felt as if they were really glad of his visit. Almost like children excited for the return of their father from a long journey. So much laughter. Such happiness…”
The queen’s voice drifted off.
“Are you implying that we need to be more exuberant in our greetings to you, Majesty?” someone joked.
The queen laughed, too. “I would never compare the company here to anyplace else. But I do hope you get the opportunity to experience the Pienza of my memories. You won’t forget it, I assure you!”
Pienza had a town hall, surrounded by a Borgo containing smaller homes and shops. Cobblestone streets wove out and around the town hall. There were slightly larger, individual houses on the outskirts of the moderately sized town. Like most of the towns and villages in the kingdom, farms spread out past those. Because of its location, still in the foothills, farms were sparse, as growing conditions were difficult. Most farms made their earnings from raising animals for food.
As they moved closer to the town the countryside rolled with green hills and wildflowers. Here and there they passed a farmhouse. Goats seemed the primary livestock.
Robert sent a small band of his soldiers ahead to prepare the inhabitants for the arrival of their queen, while the group set up camp on the outskirts of the town. Catherine did not wish to rely on the hospitality of the town’s people. Her plan was to visit with the local officials, the town priest and as many villagers as possible. Beyond that, because she didn’t know what to expect, she left her plan vague. She knew an Inquisitor had been here for months in the past year, but she had only information from the bishop about the results of that visit, and his reports were suspect. Information from other sources was limited during the winter months, so Catherine was glad she decided to find out for herself how the village fared.
Catherine, Robert, Bella and several soldiers rode into Pienza late morning. They were to meet with the local government officials and then enjoy a midday meal with them prior to meeting with the local priest. While she did not know what to expect, she wasn’t prepared for what greeted her…or rather what did not greet her.
As they entered the main street of Pienza, the first thing Catherine noticed was the absence of people. There were few villagers lined up to greet her, and they were reserved in their greeting. They bowed and welcomed her, but with reserve and suspicion. The smiling, open, friendly people she remembered had been replaced by stiff, frightened citizens.
The second thing Catherine noticed was the total absence of flowers. It was spring, yet not a single flower adorned a windowsill. Pienza was grey and lifeless.
She almost cried.
The party continued through the main street on horseback.
“If Pienza could change this much in such a short time, I fear for what is happening in the rest of the kingdom,” Catherine whispered to Robert.
“It does not bode well, Majesty,” Robert said sadly.
“I would never believe this was the place you described so beautifully,” Bella said with fear in her eyes. “I am afraid for what you will discover here.”
Just outside the town center they came upon a gallows and a heavy charred beam jutting up from the ground. The company halted as the queen held up her hand. Catherine stared at the charred remains of the beam, and closed her eyes. At first, she was overcome by visions of the burning she had been forced to witness with her father. She banished the memory quickly replacing it with prayers for those who were executed there. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed silently, “give peace to every man, woman and child murdered here in your name. Help me to fight this wickedness with the strength and spirit of these innocents. Lead the way, I beg You. I cannot do this alone.”
The local government was comprised of the Chief Magistrate, the town sheriff, the town council and, directly related to the size of the town, any number of under sheriffs. In this case, the only people present were the Magistrate, sheriff and three men from the town council. The local priest was also invited to join the gathering. They met in a moderately sized room in the offices of the Chief Magistrate. The room was sparsely furnished with a wooden table and ten mismatched chairs. There was a table with a pitcher of water and several cups to one side.
Once everyone settled, Catherine addressed the group.
“Gentlemen, my father, King Edward, taught me the importance of visiting the villages of Montalcino. Pienza is the first of the kingdom I am visiting. I remember well my visit here with the king a few short years ago.” She paused and looked around at the men seated around the table, then she walked to a window that overlooked the village square. “I am disheartened to see the changes that have taken place in Pienza since then. Please share with me your opinions and what you perceive as the reasons for such changes.”
There followed an uncomfortable silence. None of the men present looked her in the eye. Finally, the Magistrate, because he was the leading member of the town, offered, “Majesty, you must forgive our poor reception. It is no reflection upon our affection for you, or our memory of your dear father. Pienza has fallen on hard times.”
Catherine, knowing that the hard times did not relate to financial struggles, realized that they were concerned that she was disappointed in her reception.
“Please don’t
misunderstand. My concern is not due to lack of fanfare celebrating my arrival. Nothing could be further from the truth. I only want to know how the good people of Pienza fare, given the changes in Rome, and the recent visit of the Inquisition officials.” Catherine waited patiently, knowing that it might take courage to speak up, if they did at all. She did not know these people and did not know who might be a spy for the Inquisition. She knew to be cautious in how she presented herself. The danger was in appearing to be opposed to the Inquisition.
“Majesty,” the sheriff said, “you will be hard pressed to find anyone in Pienza who has not been directly affected by the interrogations, imprisonments or executions this past year. The Church has done its job well.”
It was a safe enough statement to make without implicating himself, but Catherine heard the distress in his voice. She decided to change her tact.
“What is the current population of Pienza?” asked Catherine.
“Prior to the arrival of the Inquisitor, the population was approximately two thousand, Majesty,” answered the Magistrate.
“And now, good Magistrate?” Catherine looked at him.
“Unclear, Majesty. Quite apart from the executions, many fled to hide in the mountains. Some hide within their own homes. Because it is the duty of the government to administer the punishments of the Inquisitor, our own people live in fear of us. We haven’t been able to determine an accurate count of our citizens since the Inquisitor left us.”
“How many citizens of Pienza were executed for heresy?” asked Catherine.
“Seventeen for heresy, fourteen for witchcraft and twelve for sexual aberrations, Majesty.”
Bella attempted to stifle a small cry. She failed. Every eye in the room turned to her as she covered her mouth with a shaking hand. She blinked away her horror, took a deep breath and apologized for the interruption. Bella, closed her eyes and lowered her head.
