by Maggi Petton
“Can you imagine,” she asked him, “returning to Perugia and finding the life gone from everything?”
“It is a shame,” he offered, “that the Church must resort to such extremes to save souls from hell.”
“Ambrose, do you really believe that such extremes are necessary?” She had been standing looking out the window behind her desk, but when he said this she turned to look at him.
“I am a Catholic,” he said a little defensively. “I have never been drawn to, or called, to any kind of religious life. I don’t pretend to know or understand the things our religious leaders claim to know and understand. I have never questioned the demands or requests of my Church.” He rose to pour himself a cup of water.
Catherine waited for him to finish filling his cup, then looked at him and said, “We have never discussed anything of any importance, Ambrose. I don’t really know you, and I suspect you don’t really know yourself.”
Ambrose put his cup down and glared at her, “You don’t know what you are talking about!” he began.
Catherine shook her head and put her hands up to stop him, “Ambrose, all I meant was that I believe you have never been given a chance to know yourself! I saw how it was with you and your father,” she said trying to assuage his hurt feelings and convince him that she was not attacking him. “I am only saying I believe you may not have given yourself leave to think about certain things because your thoughts never mattered. Please don’t be angry. I meant no harm.”
Ambrose sat down again. He took a large breath and slumped somewhat in his chair. “You are right, of course. As the third son of a king with two strapping, strong sons already, I was a clear disappointment to my father. I didn’t enjoy the martial arts, or any of the things that brought my father joy when he compared me to my brothers. The things that interested me became a wedge between us and I eventually gave them up at my mother’s urging.”
“What kinds of things?”
He got up again and strolled over to an oil painting of the flower fields. “Painting mostly. My father did not approve.”
“I am sorry, Ambrose. I didn’t know.”
He shrugged. “It’s of no consequence now. The king is happy…I am no longer the constant reminder of his failure in his own home. I have, by marrying you, made my father happy. You were right when you once said that I was an embarrassment to him.”
Catherine winced. “I do wish I had never uttered those words.”
He shrugged again. “If you had been wrong in what you said, I would have been less injured, I suppose. It does not matter any longer. The truth is that I am happier away from the Kingdom of Perugia as well. It was never easy to be the younger, gossiped-about prince.” He smiled at her.
Catherine turned back to gaze out the window and said, “Have you really never given thought to how the Church purges itself of heretics.”
Ambrose stood and went to join her at the window. He didn’t answer for some time and when he did he spoke quietly. “The torture and executions disturb me.” His voice was a whisper, as if he were afraid that someone would hear him. “I do hope we live to see the end of them.”
“Do you ever wonder how Christ would respond to the executions?” she asked softly.
Ambrose said nothing but shook his head sadly. Together they stood looking out over the castle courtyard. Finally, he turned to leave.
As he made his way toward the door Catherine said, “My secretary, Antonio, enjoys painting. I will ask him where he obtains his supplies if you like.”
Ambrose stopped dead with his hand on the doorknob. After a moment he said, “Don’t trouble yourself. I have not held a brush in so long I have likely forgotten.”
At the next day’s meeting of the Privy Council Catherine dispassionately told the Council of her visit to Pienza, telling only the numbers and facts of what she found there. She knew to be cautious of how she presented the information and opted to keep her feelings about the abuses out of her report.
Lord Giovanni had already heard the details from Robert. When Catherine was finished with her report, he urged the queen to make Ribolla her next visit. He was anxious to return home to see for himself that all was well, or not. He desperately wanted to accompany the queen, but Catherine was not willing to leave Ambrose in charge of the Privy Council for such an extended period of time without her strongest ally.
“I have already decided to visit Ribolla next, Lord Giovanni. But I must insist that as I visit each of your homes,” she looked around at all of her council, “that you remain here to attend to the running of the kingdom.”
Later, she confided in Lord Giovanni that she was not yet ready to leave Ambrose in charge without her most trusted advisor at hand. He understood, but begged the queen to return to Montalcino with all due haste. He would not rest until he was reassured that his home, his extended family and his village were spared the fate of Pienza. He hadn’t been able to make his usual fall trip home to Ribolla since last spring. He had been ill with a severe case of gout during the summer and fall and was unable to travel. Once winter set in, there was no way to make it out of Montalcino through the snow covered passes.
The queen’s trip to Ribolla would take considerably longer than the one to Pienza. Ribolla was on the far western border of Montalcino. The trip alone would to take four days.
Against Catherine’s insistence, Bella refused to leave James behind and Catherine finally gave in. Sofia was to remain behind with her father.
The day before the queen departed for Ribolla, the Privy Council met. Catherine opened the meeting with a report from Captain Moretti, who sent news from Perugia. King Christopher’s border regiment found and executed a rogue band of murderers masquerading as “Inquisition” enforcers on the eastern border of Montalcino.
“Apparently, the group went into Perugia thinking they could evade our troops. Captain Moretti had already advised Perugia’s border patrol to be alert. Our Captain knew he was close to capturing the leader of the group and feared the brigand might try to seek refuge across the border.”
“My father,” added Ambrose, “has offered to extend one hundred of his troops to guard the border and southeastern part of Montalcino.”
Catherine smiled at Ambrose. “And we have accepted his generous offer.”
She thought to herself, “You are coming into your own…and liking it, I see.” Then aloud she said, “King Ambrose will have the details of the movements and reports from the troops by next Council meeting.”
“When do you leave for Ribolla, Majesty?” the Bishop asked.
Bishop Capshaw already knew she was leaving the next day, but Catherine heard in his query his desire to confirm that she would be gone soon.
Catherine shuffled through some papers and answered the bishop without looking up. “Nothing has changed, Your Grace. We depart tomorrow.”
“I am wondering, Bishop Capshaw,” Lord Giovanni said, “about your thoughts on the queen’s report from Pienza. Have you given any consideration to the drastic number of executions there? “
“I have not, Lord Giovanni. It is not my place to question my Pope or my Church. The Pope himself sent the Inquisitor to Pienza. He must have had reason to do so and I do not question my Pope,” answered Bishop Capshaw firmly.
“Forgive me, Bishop, I believe you may have misunderstood. I was not maligning the Pope or his Inquisitor. My concern was for the number of Pienzans who were found guilty of heresy and other crimes. The question was related more as to whether or not you thought the numbers unusually high for such a small community?” Lord Giovanni replied cautiously.
Catherine knew that every word relating to the Inquisition was carefully couched in the knowledge that Lord Carfaggi was related to the Pope. And Lord Carfaggi never let an opportunity pass to remind anyone that he was the Pope’s cousin.
“As the followers of Martin Luther spread their disease among us,” the Bishop retorted, “there will continue to be increases in the numbers of interrogations and e
xecutions. I have no doubt that the Pope is aware of how the disease is spreading and how to stop it. As you well know, Lord Giovanni, even in our own little Montalcino, I am besieged with new accusations daily.” At this he picked up a stack of papers and held them up. “These are new reports of heresy just this week, and just locally. All reports must be investigated. If the numbers are reflective of anything, let them reflect the quick cleansing of heresy.” He dropped the pile of papers back onto the table with a smack. “The sooner we stop the spread of the disease, the more souls we save for Christ.” The Bishop nodded curtly to Lord Giovanni, as if that should end the discussion.
“Perhaps,” suggested Lord Carfaggi as he directed an unsympathetic glare toward Lord Giovanni, “Lord Giovanni is concerned because the queen is now traveling to his own home.”
Catherine felt her heart quicken as Carfaggi attacked her favorite. Carfaggi knew that Giovanni was sympathetic to the queen. He, like his cousin the Pope, did not care for anyone who did not, wholeheartedly, support and encourage the elimination of heresy. She also knew that in spite of his kind hearted nature, Lord Giovanni could take care of himself. Catherine was glad to see that he was not about to cower in the face of Carfaggi’s threats. Giovanni leaned forward in his seat, directing an equally chilly glare at Carfaggi.
“Any man would be a fool to be unconcerned, Lord Carfaggi.” Lord Giovanni stared his opponent down. “Do you suggest that it is unreasonable for me to worry about my hometown; to be disturbed by the possibility that my family, my friends, my neighbors might succumb to the influence of heretical ideas and be executed?”
Lord Como stood abruptly. His chair scraped against the stone floor and caught, falling with a loud crash. “I am appalled at what is happening not only in Montalcino, but everywhere! We are all frightened for our loved ones, Lord Carfaggi. How can we look around us and not be afraid? Let’s not pretend that we have not, all of us,” at this he looked directly at Carfaggi, “at one time or another, been grateful for our ability to learn the names of the accused before their arrest. The information the Queen brought back from Pienza is alarming, no matter who should have reported it.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Romeo interrupted, “my Lords, it would do us well if the Bishop were to lead us in prayer for Montalcino…and our queen, before she leaves for Ribolla” His aversion to discord generally resulted in a direct attempt to calm things. It was difficult to say no to a prayer.
Following a brief prayer, the council moved on to other business and adjourned prior to the midday meal. Ambrose left hurriedly.
The queen’s party prepared for their departure early the next morning. Catherine was anxious about leaving Sofia, but as Ambrose held out his arms for their daughter after Catherine kissed her goodbye he said, “You have made a good decision to leave her. She will be fine.”
In another cloud of dust the group departed. Ambrose held Sofia, who waved and shouted “Bye…bye!” until she could see her mother no longer. Mary reached for Sofia, but the king said, “I will bring her to you in a bit, Mary, I should like some time with her this morning.” They made for the courtyard to wander and spend some time outdoors.
After spending the morning playing with Sofia, Ambrose arrived in his quarters to find gifts of an easel, several canvasses, a palette, brushes and powders for mixing paints. A note accompanied the gifts: “Ambrose, use them well and often. Perhaps someday you will paint a portrait of our daughter.”
He stared at the easel for some time before reaching out to run his hand along the canvass. It was a while before he realized that he hadn’t moved and his eyes were filled with tears. It was the most thoughtful gift he had ever received.
Robert and Catherine rode side by side on the first day to Ribolla.
“You should know, Majesty,” he said softly so that no one else might hear, “the King appears to have fallen in love.”
Catherine stopped her horse and looked at Robert with surprise, but said nothing. He held up his horse to stop with her and waited until she urged her horse on again.
“Tell me,” she said with a smile.
“His nightly exploits started to decrease significantly when you were in Pienza,” Robert said. “Apparently, at that time he also started to see a young woman who is a new resident of the castle.”
“Who is she?”
Robert described the woman Catherine noticed looking at Ambrose in the Great Hall. She was young, but had a sweet look about her. Catherine remembered that Ambrose could barely contain his glow when their eyes met.
“She is the niece of Lord Como. She was here visiting with her family.”
“Is her family still with us?”
Robert cleared his throat, “No. She is now staying to assist her uncle.”
“Does Como know?” she asked as she turned to see if the rest of the party were catching up to them.
“I don’t think so, not yet, anyway. Ambrose is actually making an effort to be discreet.”
“Do you think she has anything untoward in mind? Does she want something from him, or me?”
“I actually believe she is in love with him, as well.”
“In that case, allow them whatever you can. Ambrose deserves some happiness, do you agree?”
“I do. As long as his relationship poses no threat to you or the kingdom, I will let it be, then.”
Catherine thought of Ambrose as she continued along on her ride. She was glad he found someone to love, and who loved him.
The journey to Ribolla was uneventful. The soldiers hunted for game along the way and there was plenty to eat. It took four days to get to Ribolla.
The outriders alerted the officials in Ribolla that the queen’s arrival was imminent. As in the case of Pienza, word had been sent ahead, but journeys being what they were, unexpected hardships along the way could lengthen or shorten the arrival time.
The streets were lined with people, all of whom cheered for the Queen. Many subjects approached her to offer gifts. The reception was so different from the one in Pienza that the queen was hopeful the devastation would be limited. Her hope was short-lived.
The meeting with city officials was much the same as in Pienza. While none of the officials had suffered the same fate as Lord Bruggia, the numbers were just as startling. Because the population was greater, the interrogations, tortures and executions were proportionately higher. The local priest, Father Mario, was willing to arrange for meetings with villagers, but made it clear that he did not wish to be present.
Father Mario had the appearance of someone who should be dead, but continued to live. He was old and thin, his pallor had a yellow tinge. He had an odor about him that was sharp and unpleasant. Perhaps once, Father Mario had a full head of hair, but now his head sprouted sparse clumps of long, dingy grey string. For all intents and purposes, he had the look of someone who had given up…on people, on faith, on God and on life. He looked like he hated to be there, or anywhere, but lacked the motivation to do anything about it. Queen Catherine was just as glad he would not participate in her meetings. His very presence filled the room with a ghastly air.
Meetings with the townspeople were much the same as the meetings in Pienza. Although, here in Ribolla, there seemed a bit more hope. Catherine was concerned that the hope seemed to stem from her presence. She had no hope to offer. She had no help to give.
“Tell me what happened when your wife and daughter were first accused of witchcraft?” Catherine sat before yet a third devastated man, and it was only her second day in Ribolla.
“The men who came to arrest them gave us little information, except that, Majesty. We did not know where the accusations came from, or what to expect.” This husband and father of two more of the Church’s victims fell apart before her very eyes. His face showed his attempt to maintain a stoic mask, but the harder he tried the more the mask dissolved and his pain crept through until, finally, he broke, burying his face in his hands, weeping uncontrollably.
Catherine reached out, placed he
r hands on either side of his head and simply held them there. After a while he was able to regain control of his emotions. “I apologize, Majesty. They were all I had. I am so lost without them.”
Her words of comfort seemed so meaningless that she stopped dispensing them. What could she say to people who had lost everything? All she could do was listen.
She returned to camp exhausted.
“Love,” Bella said when Catherine lay back on her down pad in the tent, “We must find a way to help you in your task. You can’t do this day after day…it will destroy you! Have you armed yourself as Father Tim suggested?”
“I suppose not. But I do not even have the strength to try right now. Please just let me nap a bit before supper.”
“For a short while only then. I have something I think might help.” Bella left Catherine already dozing and went to pack a light supper for two.
“Time to wake up, my queen,” whispered Bella in Catherine’s ear as she kissed it gently. “I have a surprise for you. Come.” Bella took Catherine by the hand and led her out of the camp. A horse carried a small basket hanging from one side of the saddle. Robert followed at a distance.
After they walked a short distance through the mountainous terrain, Catherine heard the sound of rushing water.
Bella tied the horse to a branch. “Do you remember when I was still carrying James and you surprised me at the flower fields?”
Catherine nodded and smiled.
“Now I must ask you to trust me. Close your eyes and let me lead you. Don’t open them until I tell you.”
Catherine closed her eyes. They walked, Bella leading, for about twenty yards.
“Open your eyes, my love.”
The sight that greeted Catherine was magnificent. They were next to a wide river, rocky, coursing over boulders. Pine trees and aspen surrounded them, all whispering as a gentle breeze whistled through branches and needles. Catherine inhaled deeply of the pine scent, and looked up through the branches to a sky so blue she could not describe it. But what filled Catherine with awe was the waterfall spilling from high above.
