The Queen's Companion

by Maggi Petton

  Whips and branding irons lay on one of the tables. Their uses were evident.

  “What is this?” the queen asked as she stood before an odd metal A-frame rack.

  “It is a cicogna, in some places known as a ‘scavenger’s daughter’, Majesty.” The sheriff was reluctant to go on.

  “Sheriff, I am determined to know the use of every item here, so don’t waste my time by making me ask for details.”

  “Yes, Majesty. The cicogna is used to compress the body. The head is strapped to the top point, here.” He pointed to the rounded top of the A. It was easy to see that a head would nestle inside of the circle and could be fixed, unmovable. “The arms are tied here in the middle and the legs to these bottom portions. Once the prisoner is tied the head is swung down and the legs forced up. The knees are bent and the body is pressed together until blood is squeezed from the nose and ears.”

  With grim resolve Catherine moved to the next item, what appeared to be a giant iron shoe. She said nothing, but looked expectantly at the sheriff..

  “An iron boot, Majesty. The feet are placed inside and the boot locked. Wedges of wood are then forced between the knees until the pressure breaks the leg bones.”

  Some items the queen encountered needed no explanation. An iron maiden was in one corner. It was a large sarcophagus shaped iron body the inside of which contained hundreds of spikes. Catherine reached to touch one of the points. It was covered in dried blood. “What kind of mind thinks to create such things?” she thought to herself.

  She spotted what could only have been ‘the pear’. “Tell me about this device,” she ordered.

  Even in the dim light, the sheriff turned crimson. She saw his jaw clench.

  “It is called the La Pera.” He picked it up and turned the handle which acted as a crank to open the metal sections of the pear shape. “It is inserted into the victim and opened.”

  “How,” Catherine insisted, “where is it inserted?”

  He looked at her with eyes that did not hide his fury at being forced to tell her. “In the mouth, the anus, and for women, between their legs.” His tone had become almost defiant.

  Catherine expected to be enveloped within her dark cloud of despair upon entering this room of evil. But as the sheriff explained each item, as she absorbed the intent of each torture, as she imagined how the pear would tear and rupture the tender insides of its victim, she felt a fire start to burn within her.

  Robert had not left the open doorway. He watched and waited as Catherine explored the room and the devices. His eyes never left his queen. He saw the tears in her eyes when she left the women’s cell. Now, as he watched, her face transformed. Her eyes narrowed and enlarged. Her jaw clenched, her nostrils flared, her lips pressed together and disappeared. He saw the veins on her forehead become pronounced. Her shoulders drew back and her back straightened. She was furious.

  He felt, more than saw, that this room, this day, this knowledge would redefine the course of her life…and so his, as well.

  When they left the torture chamber Catherine and Robert made their way to the tavern where they were to meet Benito for one last time. They didn’t speak as they rode the short distance to the tavern.

  Benito rose and greeted the queen. After they ordered refreshments, she told him of her meeting with Rosa and the messages that she sent. She did not share the torture. The smells clung to her nostrils and made it difficult for her to eat, so she satisfied herself with some wine. Benito, tears in his eyes, thanked her and promised to deliver Rosa’s message of love to her family.

  They did not stay long in the tavern. Catherine and Robert were anxious to begin the journey back to Montalcino.

  Benito walked them outside. One of Benito’s servants was waiting with a horse.

  “Majesty, I have been greatly honored to have spent time with you. You are truly everything my father said. Please accept this horse and these gifts from the sons of Lord Giovanni. We are your faithful servants.”

  Equally balanced in large baskets on either side of the horse were many jugs of wine made from Lord Giovanni’s own vineyards and fine wool from the sheep raised by the Lord’s family. But the gift that touched Catherine most was the blanket woven for her by Lord Giovanni’s family. It held the queen’s crest intertwined by a grapevine to the coat of arms of Lord Giovanni’s family. The workmanship was incredible and the wool softer than any Catherine had ever felt.

  “Thank you, Benito. And thank your family for me. I am honored and will tell your father that you serve him well and proudly.” She kissed him affectionately on both cheeks.

  On their return to camp, Robert rode quietly next to his queen. She was weighing all that her time in Pienza had revealed to her. Periodically, she snorted, or spat out a curse as they rode. Finally, he spoke.

  “You are planning something.” He smiled. “I hear it in your curses and see it in your face.”

  She said nothing and Robert looked up into the sky. Clouds had begun to form overhead.

  “I am afraid, my dear cousin,” she finally said, “that it will no longer be so easy for me to fight this Inquisition quietly. The Church has created and unleashed a hideous monster on my people. It has served the church to conveniently turn that monster over to secular authorities. Does it not strike you as cowardly for people like our bishop to be able to shield their eyes from the brutalities they order inflicted upon their victims?” she asked.

  “What do you intend?”

  “It is all well and good for the church to pretend that it remains holy and removed from the tortures. Perhaps a visit to the torture chambers is in order for our dear bishop and our council members.”

  He drew up on the reins of his horse, stopped and turned toward her. “Are you certain that is wise?”

  She stopped, as well. “Would you send your men into battle without knowing the first thing about fighting? Would you give a man the authority to command soldiers without first insuring that he knew how to fight and lead…how to teach…what to expect in battle?”

  “What is it you expect to accomplish by forcing the bishop to the chambers? Don’t you think this will just make him hate you more?”

  An ominous, low roll of thunder reached their ears. They urged their horses to move on.

  “Perhaps, but I care nothing for his hatred anymore. I will not be able to live with myself if I don’t stand up to this injustice. The people of Montalcino deserve a monarch willing to do more than sneak around the back of the Church offering meaningless support. If I can’t show that I’m willing to fight openly for my people, I don’t deserve to be their queen.”

  “A martyr is of little help.”

  She laughed, “I wonder what Christ would have to say about that?”

  Again Robert smiled. They rode silently for a while. The wind was starting to pick up and the sounds of thunder were advancing.

  “Cousin,” Catherine offered softly, “this is my battle. I choose it. I do not expect you to join if you do not feel so inclined.”

  Robert laughed out loud, “You know well I am yours to the end of my days. I have no choice in the matter.”

  “I know that you have always felt so. But you have a family now…a son to consider.”

  “And you a daughter. What of it?”

  “I know what I am asking,” she stopped again, pulled up the reins of her horse and looked straight at him. “Be certain. The risk is great that we may pay for this with our lives.”

  “My life would be worth nothing to my family if I couldn’t do what I was born to do. I am with you, my Queen. Your battle is my battle…and I could not be prouder to serve you than at this moment.”

  Rain began to fall and they slapped the reins onto their horse’s backsides to race the downpour back to camp.

  The moment Catherine and Robert entered the camp Bella sensed the change. She saw it in Catherine’s face, in the way she rode her horse into camp. Even though she didn’t know what that change was, she recognized the look of absolute
resolve in Catherine’s eyes. Whatever it was, she instinctively knew that life would be different from that moment forward.

  The rain stopped and the sun broke through the clouds again. As Robert and the men broke camp, Catherine and Bella made for the waterfall one last time.

  “Bella,” Catherine said as she continued to tell the story of her day as they walked the muddy path, “if you had been in that cell and met those women, heard their stories, you would understand why I can no longer be so complacent about the plight of my people.”

  Bella moved to avoid a puddle. “I do understand, Catherine. You forget that their story is mine, as well. You forget that I could just as easily be in a prison cell of my own, or dead.”

  “I am sorry, love. I haven’t forgotten. Painfully, I remember how we found you and the agony of your recovery. And I am aware that you still have your night terrors. You are part of why this must stop. I can’t continue to do so little when I hear stories like yours and Rosa’s and so many in the kingdom who have fallen victim to the Church. If I don’t stand and fight for them, then what right do I have to expect them to fight for Montalcino…for me?”

  “And what good will that do when you’re dead?” Bella stopped and looked at Catherine, her eyes beseeching.

  “Bella, I must do something!”

  “But you are doing something! The work we do with Father Tim is something! Why must the something you do be something that could end your life?”

  They were walking again and were almost to the little alcove behind the falls. Catherine waited until they had slipped behind it and turned to Bella.

  “It’s not enough, not for me, not anymore. If I allow Montalcino to collapse under the crushing weight of a Church that has thrown away its compass, then I have no right to be queen. You ask ‘what good will it do when I am dead?’ and I am forced to ask ‘what good is it that I am alive and do so little to help?’ I am sorry, Bella. I know that my stance frightens you, but I need you to believe that there is no other way for me. I need to know that you believe I am fighting for a just cause…and with just reasons. Please tell me you are with me.”

  Bella turned from Catherine and walked to the far side of the alcove. The sound of the rushing water was the only sound for some time. Catherine knew she was asking much. She knew that Bella was as frightened as ever, but she also knew that she had no choice. She loved Bella with her whole being…and she hoped that Bella loved her because of who she was…because she would not turn her back on her people. Catherine leaned against the back of the cove and waited. Finally, Bella turned and walked back across the alcove.

  “I am with you,” Bella said as she slipped her arms around Catherine’s waist and whispered in her ear. I will fight with you, by your side. Together we will find a way to give the people of Montalcino the hope they deserve.”

  Catherine pulled Bella into a great kiss, and behind the roar of the waterfall, they made love one more time.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Their return to the castle was uneventful, but nothing prepared Catherine for Sofia’s refusal to greet her. Ambrose tried to coax the child into her mother’s arms, but Sofia clung to him refusing her mother’s entreaties. That evening, Bella tried to assuage Catherine’s feelings.

  “She is still a baby! All she knows is that her mother disappeared.”

  “Did you see her face? It was as if she didn’t know who I was!”

  “Give her time.” Bella went to Catherine and slipped her arms around her waist from behind. “She needs to get to know you again,” Bella whispered into her ear.

  “She didn’t need to get to know her father again when I took her to Pienza!” Catherine wriggled out from Bella’s arms.

  “We were gone considerably longer this time. To her it must have seemed like an eternity. She will come around, but you need to be gentle with her and give her that time.”

  Catherine sat in her favorite chair near the fireplace. Though the fire was not lit, she was warm. The summer was hot and muggy. Her cloths stuck to her and made her uncomfortable. When she finally stood she made her way to the doors.

  “Oh, you’re probably right. I’ll go to say goodnight to her.”

  “Spend some time with her, Catherine. Here, bring her the gift you brought back from Ribolla.”

  Catherine held out her hands for the cloth doll she found at a shop in the square at Ribolla. The doll itself was cotton material stuffed with wool, but it was the clothes and the hair that Catherine could not resist. The doll’s dress was made in layers of fine blue satin trimmed in even finer white lace. The hair was long, black yarn pulled back and tied with a matching blue satin ribbon. Finally, the eyes were painted on. They were blue to match the satin and were so close to the color of Sofia’s own eyes that Catherine could not resist purchasing it. Although Sofia’s hair was not yet very long, it, too, promised to be dark and long, like the doll’s.

  Catherine looked at the doll and smiled, then turned and crossed the hall to the nursery.

  Mary was readying the child for sleep when the queen entered.

  “Majesty,” she bowed.

  “Give me a few moments with Sofia, Mary.”

  “Of course, Majesty.”

  Mary left the room. Sofia refused to look at her mother. She picked up a wooden figure that lay in her crib and began to play with it.

  Catherine made her way slowly to the crib. “You can be mad at me if you want, my sweet one. But I brought you something.” Catherine saw she had piqued Sofia’s interest. Sofia’s head briefly and almost imperceptibly turned, but then she returned her attention to the wooden toy. Catherine placed the doll in the crib on the opposite side of where Sofia busied herself. Sofia looked up and could not contain a little cry of delight when she saw the doll. The wooden toy was immediately abandoned as Sofia reached for the gift and pressed it to her heart.

  It filled Catherine’s heart to see Sofia’s face transform from recalcitrance to pure joy. She reached out to stroke Sofia’s head, then bent down and kissed the top of it. “Goodnight my little love. Sweet dreams.”

  Catherine’s first order of business on the day after her return, was to meet with Lord Giovanni. She knew he would be anxious to hear about her visit to Ribolla. She invited him to join her for a private midday meal in her office.

  “Lord Giovanni,” she rose to greet him as he was announced. She extended her hands and he knelt to kiss them.

  “Majesty. It is good to have you home.”

  “Come, sit.” She led him to a table that was prepared with a small meal. A servant was waiting to serve them. Catherine dismissed the servant so that she could speak without caution to Lord Giovanni.

  As she doled out a mixture of black and green olives in a marinade of olive oil, vinegar and herbs, Lord Giovanni poured his own Ribolla wine into two goblets and lifted his to her. “To long life, Queen Catherine.”

  She raised her cup. “And peace.”

  Over the meal Catherine told him about her visit to Ribolla. She began by singing the praises of his family, especially Benito. She did not hide her great affection for his youngest son. Once she had reassured him that all was well with his family, she picked up her wine goblet, stood and walked away from the table.

  Lord Giovanni almost stood, as well, but she indicated for him to remain sitting. She walked over to the window and stood looking out quietly for some time. When she finally spoke it was to tell him about her visit to the prison and the story of Rosa and Bettina. She told the story without ever looking back into the room, without moving from the window. When she finished she finally turned to find Lord Giovanni wiping tears from his face.

  “I know Rosa. I have known her since she was born. Her father and I have done much business together. He must be shattered.”

  Catherine moved back and sat at the table again. “There is more.”

  He looked up at her and waited.

  “After I met with the women I went to see the torture chamber.”

  H
is eyes opened wide, “My God, whatever for?”

  “It seems to be the fate of my kingdom that torture is more commonplace than we ever imagined. Does it seem fair to you that my subjects, our people, our family and friends, are subjected to things that we will not even allow ourselves to know?”

  Lord Giovanni lowered his head and covered his eyes. “No,” he whispered.

  “I want you to know that I plan for Robert to take me to see our own chamber later today. You are welcome to join us.” She paused before continuing. “And because I love and respect you, I want you to be prepared.” Again, she paused, stood and walked over to the window. “At tomorrow’s Privy Council meeting I intend the council to join me in a visit to our chamber. I will not accept any refusal. I will make it clear that to refuse means abdicating position on the council.”

  She waited to see how he would respond. When he did not she turned. He was sitting, hands folded against his forehead, eyes closed, leaning heavily on the table. She waited.

  “You are my Queen,” he said softly as he raised his head, opened his eyes and looked at her. “There is no question but that I will do whatever you request of me.” He stood and walked over to her. “Are you certain this is how you wish to proceed? You understand what this means? You are declaring war on your own Council.”

  She remained facing the window. She closed her eyes. Her face was creased with pain. She lowered her head, “I know.”

  He reached out and pulled her into a great, ferocious hug.

  The next morning, when the Privy Council gathered, Catherine was called. She entered the room with steely resolve. Even her gown, though simple, was a grey, cold color. The council stood and bowed. She let them remain standing longer than usual before she finally said, “You may be seated.”

  She, alone, remained standing. The room was eerily quiet and the atmosphere charged with tension. Even the colors in the room hesitated to reveal themselves, as if they were waiting to determine whether it was safe to cast a beam.