by Maggi Petton
The queen swallowed her concern for Bella and turned back to the Magistrate. “How long was the Inquisitor here?”
“Two and one half months, Your Majesty.”
“How many imprisoned?” she asked.
“Thirty four, Majesty.”
“How many interrogations?”
“Approximately two per day for the seventy eight days the Inquisitor was here. Some days more, some days less, Majesty.”
The sadness in the Magistrate’s voice seeped into Catherine’s soul. She looked around the table at the men who sat there, and she could see that each of them had been broken. She knew she took a risk in asking her next question, but she needed to ask.
“Were any of you interrogated?”
All of the men at the table shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Almost in unison, they turned to look at one of the Council members. He was a short, unwell looking soul with a look of such sadness that Catherine was not surprised to hear it come through in his voice. He looked up at her.
“Majesty,” he said, “I was interrogated by the Inquisitor. My wife and daughter were accused of witchcraft…” the man stopped speaking. Although Catherine was afraid to hear what happened to his wife and daughter, she asked, “And what became of the investigation?”
The councilman opened his mouth to answer, but no words came.
“Majesty,” the sheriff offered, “Councilman Bruggia’s wife and daughter were convicted of witchcraft and burned at the stake.”
Catherine expected to be enraged by the things that she heard, but instead, she was overwhelmed with sorrow. She sat back in her seat and looked around her again at this broken town council.
“Father,” she finally turned to the town priest, “were you present at the interrogations?”
“I was during some of the questioning, Majesty, but I was not active in the interrogation process,” he answered.
“Did you know the Inquisitor prior to his arrival in Pienza?”
“No, Majesty. He was sent from Rome and not someone with whom I was acquainted.”
“Were you asked for your opinion during the interrogations, or after?” asked the Queen.
“I tried, on several occasions, to offer my opinion of the accused, Majesty.” Here the priest paused and looked around. I…when…” the priest seemed fearful of continuing.
“Father,” said the queen, “I am not here to judge or condemn either the Inquisitor or the good leaders of Pienza. I am here to seek information about what is happening in my kingdom. While I understand your reluctance to speak, I beg you to be truthful. There will be no reprisal from me.” She hoped that this would give him the courage to speak openly about what happened. If he believed her and was not afraid of her condemnation, then the only reason for him to hold back would be fear of one of the other members seated at the table. Since she would be meeting with him privately after the meal, his openness now would give her information regarding the rest of the Council. If he spoke openly in front of them, then she would know that she was in reasonably safe company.
“Majesty,” the priest ventured, “I tried, initially, to defend many of the accused, offering my knowledge of them as good Catholics. The Inquisitor accused me of interfering with the interrogation process. It was made clear to me that my opinions were irrelevant.” The priest looked down. Quietly, he said, “I was not brave enough to offer my opinion after that.”
Catherine looked at the young priest, then around at the rest of the men at the table. “You are all brave in ways that have yet to be defined,” she said, “and we have all become cowards in the face of this new Inquisition.”
The meeting lasted a very short time. After that a meal, light refreshments only, was brought into the council room. Everyone picked at the foods. No one was hungry. Following the meal Catherine, Robert and Bella met privately with Father Guiseppi. They followed the priest to his small chapel. He was as broken as the rest of Pienza, yet responsible to continue to serve both the population and the church. It was clearly a role that demanded much from him. In his eyes, Catherine saw that he was haunted by all that happened.
“Father, tell me about Councilman Bruggia’s ordeal,” Catherine said as they sat in pews at the back of the chapel.
The priest shook his head, his eyes closed. He took a deep breath and looked up at her. “As a member of the Council, Bruggia has made enemies. Who does not in a position of authority?” He shrugged his shoulders. “He angered several local residents when he sided with a friend over land rights. My suspicion is that the angered residents found their revenge when the Inquisitor arrived, although the accusers were never identified.”
As Father Guiseppi paused briefly, Bella wandered up to the altar out of hearing range.
“Lady Bruggia and her daughter were no more witches than you and I,” he continued. “There was no defense because no one knew what the exact charges were, or who the accusers were. The women were tortured until they confessed that they were witches. They even claimed to drink the blood of animals in secret ceremonies. Their screams could be heard throughout the town.” He began speaking softly so that only the queen might hear him. “Their torturers were not from here. They came with the Inquisitor. Councilman Bruggia was forced to watch.”
Robert moved closer to where the priest and Catherine were sitting so he could hear what was being said.
“After the women confessed, they were burned. Poor Bruggia has not left his home since. Today is the first time anyone has seen him in public since the executions. He only came out of respect for you, Majesty. He will, in all likelihood, return to his home and die a slow death. He is, even now, only a shadow of his former self.”
Catherine dropped her head and sighed deeply. “I am ashamed of what my Church has become,” although shame is not the feeling that flooded her body. She was terrified by the story she had just heard. “I wish I could find some way to restore peace to the people of Pienza,” Catherine sighed.
“Majesty, you may not feel like it is much, but I tell you that just being able to share their stories with you may give your people more comfort than you imagine. Just knowing how you feel has given me solace. It is important to know that we are not alone.”
“I would be happy to meet with some of the families that have suffered. Please make the arrangements.”
“I would be honored, Majesty. Although I cannot speak to who might be willing to share their story with you, I am glad to arrange the meetings.”
Over the next four days Catherine met with many families. Only she and Robert ever returned to the village after the first day. When they returned to camp that first evening, Bella told Catherine that she would prefer to stay in camp with the children for the remainder of their time in Pienza.
“I don’t think I will be much help as you meet with people. Perhaps it would be better for both of us if I stayed here.” Catherine readily agreed, anxious to spare Bella the pain of reliving her own ordeal.
One story was much like the others. Grief and sorrow stacked upon more grief and more sorrow. Catherine returned each evening to the campsite wondering how the kingdom could survive.
As the villagers spoke to her, she felt, more than heard, the underlying anguish and fear that had replaced joy and life in the Pienzans. She noticed that those who were spared torture, imprisonment and execution did not appear any happier than those who endured, or watched their families suffer the torments. But what surprised Catherine most was that those who admitted to being the accusers, whether they accused of their own accord or out of fear that they would be the next victim, had the same vacant, lifeless expressions as those who suffered the unspeakable.
The Turano family, or what was left of them, had owned the now vacant shop where Catherine’s father purchased the painting of Pienza for her.
Peter Turano arrived at the chapel with three of his five remaining children; a boy of thirteen and ten year old twin girls. The children stepped forward and bowed to the queen. Their father knelt,
“Majesty.” Catherine greeted them and invited everyone to sit. Father Guiseppi sat protectively near the children, who seemed comfortable in his presence.
Father Guiseppi had given Catherine some of the details of the family’s ordeal before they arrived. She knew that there had been two older siblings, boys, who were executed by beheading. Their mother was burned at the stake.
“Signore Turano,” Catherine began, “Father Guiseppi has told me some of what has befallen your family. I am interested to know a bit more, if you are willing to share with me.”
“I will do my best, Majesty.”
“Do you know how your family came to be accused of heresy? Do you know the exact charges?”
He leaned over, his shoulders drooping, and rested his elbows on his knees. “My two oldest sons often travelled the countryside in search of new artwork for our shop. Mostly, we carried unknown, local artisans, but the boys enjoyed venturing farther and farther from home. They both became enamored of the larger cities. Two years ago they pressed me to go to Venice. I saw no reason ….”
As their father paused in his story, one of the twins went over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Papa.”
He looked at her with the most tender affection, placed his hand on her cheek and said, “I am fine, Cara Mia. You can go back and sit.”
The child shook her head and stayed at her father’s side.
He continued. “Venice captured the hearts of my sons. When they returned home they were excited about some books they found at a small shop on the outskirts of the city. One of the books was authored by Martin Luther.”
“His books have been prohibited.” Catherine shook her head sadly.
“It was as if the Inquisitor knew about the visit to Venice, and the purchase of the books. Our home was searched and the books found. My sons were arrested. We were all interrogated…even my little ones.”
Catherine looked over at the two children still sitting with Father Guiseppi. She smiled and held her hands out for them to come to her. They hesitated and Father Guiseppi said, “It’s fine, go ahead.”
The children took her hands and sat next to the queen as their father looked on and smiled.
“The little ones, fortunately, had no knowledge of the meaning of the books. We, my wife and I, did not know what happened to the boys after they were interrogated. When we found out that the boys were to be executed, my wife insisted on speaking with the Inquisitor. I fear she defended them in a way that angered the Inquisitor. Though I cannot say for certain, I believe she was executed as an example.” Signore Turano stopped and closed his eyes momentarily. “She was a devout Catholic, Majesty. There was not a soul who knew her who did not know that. She was no heretic, but she loved her sons. Her sin was that she tried to protect them.” He swallowed hard, holding back his tears, though a few leaked from his eyes and splashed onto the floor.
“She was burned…and the books with her. Then my sons were executed.”
“Were you forced to watch?” Catherine asked.
“I would have been there anyway. I could not protect them any longer, but I did not want their last moments of life spent only in the company of their tormentors. But the little ones were forced.”
Catherine looked down at the two children sitting on either side of her. She pulled them close to her and kissed the tops of their heads.
“Is there anything I can do for you and your family, Signore Turano?”
“Thank you, Majesty. We are fine. We have one another.”
Robert accompanied Catherine to Pienza for the visits, but he did not remain present with the families as they met with her. Sometimes, Father Guiseppi stayed, when the families requested his presence, at other times Catherine met alone with the families. Robert was always near, guarding the premises.
At first, Catherine shared some of what she heard during the day on the short trip back to the campsite. After two days, however, she offered nothing of her visits. They rode the two miles back to the camp in silence. Each evening she was more tired, more sad and withdrawn. She began collapsing in on herself.
The atmosphere in the camp took on a heavier mood. The lightness and excitement of the adventure was replaced by the solemn reality of the queen’s burden. As Catherine entered the camp each evening it was as if a dark cloud of despair moved in with her. Even James and Sofia felt the oppressive weight.
Catherine forced smiles and greeted the servants and soldiers, but she could not disguise the heaviness enveloped her. She sat at the campfire as before, but her gaze disappeared into the fire. Nightly stories lost their animation and conversations were quieter. There was no laughter.
Catherine’s comforts were the children and Bella’s harp. She was able to unlock her gaze from the fire when Sofia and James climbed into her lap. Sofia nuzzled her face into Catherine’s neck and played with her mother’s hair. Sometimes she fell asleep with her little fist wrapped around a long lock of Catherine’s hair. James laid on her other arm, curling up to listen to his mother play the harp. Somehow, the weight and warmth of the two children brought Catherine back from where she had gone. She felt grounded by the babies, and a little less adrift in her melancholy.
When they finally left Pienza it was with a different queen. Catherine spoke when spoken to, but otherwise disappeared beneath a mantle of pain. She began to look like the very people she had visited. Bella knew that look. Bella had lived within the walls of that same place and knew Catherine needed help to find a way out, or she might be lost forever.
When the group set up camp the first evening after leaving Pienza, Catherine wandered off to be alone. Bella followed a short time later. She found Robert some distance from Catherine. He was watching, but did not intrude on her. Catherine sat on a boulder near a stream and, as had become her habit these past days, stared at nothing in particular.
Bella stood next to Robert. “Have you ever seen her like this?”
“No, Lady. She has gone somewhere I do not know.”
Bella heard the worry in his voice. “I know the place. And when she returns we will need to be ready.”
Robert looked at her gratefully and whispered, “Please help her.”
Bella went to Catherine. “Where have you gone, my love?”
“I am here,” Catherine sighed but did not look up.
“In body perhaps, but you left the essence of your spirit with the people of Pienza.”
Catherine didn’t respond. Bella continued, “Catherine, tell me what you are thinking. Tell me what you are feeling!”
Catherine turned her gaze to Bella. “Nothing.” The look in her eyes was dead.
Bella knelt in front of her. “Talk to me. Tell me what is going on, please. I cannot stand to have you so far away from me.”
Without looking at her Catherine said, “There is nothing to tell. There is nothing to do.”
“What do you mean?” Bella pressed. “You just spent four days listening to people pour out their sorrows to you. That is something!”
“No, it isn’t,” Catherine said almost absently. “I could do nothing but listen, helplessly.”
Bella reached out and grasped Catherine’s hands. “You gave them your heart, my love. Heart is what has been missing for them. Don’t underestimate how much that must have meant to them.”
“They have lost everything, and I don’t have the ability or the power to replace what they lost.”
Bella stood. “So, will you be lost with them? Do you need to join them in such a way as to lose yourself, as well? Catherine! Look at me. Come back to me!”
“I have nothing to say…nothing to give.” And she lowered her gaze even further to the ground in front of her feet.
“You must…you will! I will not lose you. Have I not suffered enough? Have I not been where you are now?”
Catherine’s gaze returned to the stream. Bella watched her retreat and her heart sank. They stayed like that for a time, Bella standing and Catherine sitting. Finally, Bella sat next to
Catherine and said softly, “When I was lost in the place where you are now, it was you who found your way in and led me out. I have tried these past nights to give you time to feel the grief and heartache of your subjects. And I have tried to comfort you, bring you back to yourself, our children, me. But, you’ve locked yourself into that place and will let no one in. Is there nothing I can do or say to help?”
Catherine said nothing, but shook her head as she continued to stare into the stream.
“Very well.” Bella stood to leave. “I shall leave you there if that is what you wish.”
Bella waited to see if her words had any impact on Catherine, but she continued to stare into the water. Bella was scared, but decided to confront Catherine.
“But know this, my queen, it’s a coward’s place.” Her voice was steady, tinged with anger as she dropped the challenge at Catherine’s feet. “And you are a coward to stay there. I will not stand by and watch you cower behind the walls of despair you have built around yourself. I thought you were stronger than that. You, Queen Catherine, have abandoned us all. Perhaps your bishop is right, women do not have the strength to lead in times of crisis. It’s too bad. I thought to be part of proving him wrong.” Bella turned to leave, but Catherine leapt to her feet, grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.
Catherine’s face was full of fury. Her nostrils flared. Her jaw clenched. The rage in her eyes startled Bella, but even in her brief response of fear, Bella was glad to see anything but the dead look she had become accustomed to these past days. Catherine’s chest heaved, her breath burst in waves of anger. Bella waited, staring her down. Catherine’s grip on her arm was painful, but not nearly as painful as the loss of her beloved this past week. She held Catherine’s glare and finally said, “What will you do, continue to hide behind your hopelessness, or stand and fight for your people?”
Catherine released Bella with a cry of outrage. Her scream echoed throughout the valley as she fell to her knees. She picked up a small boulder with both hands and slammed it into the ground before her as she released another scream. As Bella and Robert both watched, Catherine lifted and pounded the boulder into the ground again and again. Her cries accompanied the pounding until she was spent and could lift the boulder no longer. Too exhausted to continue, Catherine collapsed onto the boulder and sobbed as though she might never stop. Bella knelt and pulled Catherine into her arms, letting her weep until she could cry no more. Robert stood watch, his own tears blurring his vision. His queen was back.
