The Queen's Companion

by Maggi Petton

  Catherine was moaning, arching, needing, but she rolled on top of Bella and her hands were everywhere at once stroking, squeezing, satisfying. Catherine became Bella’s desire. As Bella neared her climax her fingers clawed at Catherine’s back, but Catherine, suspended in some otherworldly realm, did not notice. She was Bella’s hunger and her nourishment, her faith and her despair, her life and her death. When Bella finally cried out Catherine heard all of life in her cry, but she did not cease her raw, intense lovemaking. Catherine’s hands, fingers, lips, teeth, tongue, hair…every inch of her continued to ravish Bella, until Bella cried out again and again…and again.

  When the morning sun filled the bedroom, Bella rolled over to reach for Catherine, but she was not there.

  “Catherine?” she called, the fear evident in her voice.

  “I’m here.” Catherine came through the doors from the sitting room. She sat on the side of the bed and reached her hand out to stroke Bella’s face gently. She smiled. “I thought to let you sleep.”

  Bella kissed Catherine’s palm. “What have you been doing?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  Catherine closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and looked at Bella. She spent the last hour feeling the intense guilt of her unintentional disregard for Bella’s feelings. “My love, I am so sorry. You have given so much of yourself. I have not considered your feelings. You are right that I always expect you to simply go along with whatever I feel I need to do because of my title. It isn’t fair to you…and yet, you never complain.” Catherine’s shame overwhelmed her and her eyes reddened and misted. “I never meant to hurt you. I would do anything to make it up to you.”

  “Catherine, I was angry last night,” Bella said as she reached to take Catherine’s hand in her own. “My succor has not changed. I will continue to support you, and the kingdom, in any way I can.”

  “But you have needs, too,” Catherine said through her tears, “and you were right to point out that I have ignored them. That was never my intention. I do promise to be more considerate. Please forgive me?”

  Bella opened her arms and Catherine climbed onto the bed and curled into them.

  “After last night I think you may have accumulated quite a huge surplus of forgiveness,” she smiled.

  Gratefully, Catherine wrapped her arms tightly around Bella. “I don’t ever want to lose you,” she whispered.

  Chapter Forty One

  January 1561

  Just before Sofia’s fifth birthday the Bishop asked Ambrose to bring Sofia to the church.

  “King Ambrose,” the bishop said, smiling happily, “how nice to see you and the Princess.”

  “You did request us, Your Grace” Ambrose replied.

  “I did, indeed, Majesty.” He led them to the front near the altar. I believe Princess Sofia is old enough now to appreciate some of the more intricate aspects of our faith, I believe. She is nearly five years old now, is she not?” the bishop asked although he knew, to the hour, Sofia’s age.

  “What is it that you have in mind, Your Grace?” Ambrose asked.

  “To begin Princess Sofia’s religious training, King Ambrose,” he replied. “It is time.”

  The bishop decided to address Sofia directly. He had no real experience in dealing with children, but had led Lord Carfaggi to believe that he had been setting the stage to endear himself to Sofia for some time.

  “Princess Sofia, do you like coming to Mass?”

  Even at her tender young age Sofia knew that there could only be one answer to this question. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “What is your favorite part of the Mass?” he asked.

  Sofia scrunched up her face and thought for a moment. “Sometimes I like the music best, when it is not so sad. Sometimes I like Communion.”

  The Bishop was surprised that Sofia liked that particular Sacrament. “What is it about Communion that you like, Princess?”

  Sofia looked up at her father, as if she were unsure that she should give her answer honestly.

  The bishop saw the look and moved quickly to reassure her, “Princess, come here,” he sat down on one of the pews and forced himself to hold out his arms. She went to him and climbed onto his lap. “I want you to feel comfortable here in the church, and with me. Whatever your reason for liking communion, you may tell me. I am your bishop and we are going to be great friends, you and I. Now, tell me, what do you like about communion?”

  With the honesty that only a child could give, Sofia looked the bishop square in the eye and said, “I am always hungry at Mass.”

  The Bishop’s limited experience with smaller children did not prepare him for her answer. He smiled and told her he understood completely. “I am often hungry during Mass myself, Princess. But let us keep that as a secret between us.”

  The bishop looked up and smiled at the King, then turned back to Sofia. “Would you like to see where we keep the Communion wafers between Masses?” he asked.

  Sofia’s eyes grew wide as she nodded enthusiastically.

  So began the subtle and manipulative road down which the bishop hoped to ally himself with the future queen.

  He knew he would have to involve King Ambrose as much as possible, but over the years he was unable to determine whether King Ambrose was sympathetic to the church or to the queen. He remained frustrated in his attempts to identify the king’s loyalties. He thought, at first, that Ambrose would be a malleable subject. When Catherine first announced that Ambrose was to join the Privy Council he was surprised, but considered it a boon for himself. He had no doubts, initially, that he would be able to control the new King, thereby gathering all the evidence he might need to have Ambrose accuse the queen of heresy. Ambrose, to his surprise, remained aloof and unreadable. Bishop Capshaw had never read a man as wrong as he had read Ambrose. If he did not succeed with regard to his plan with Princess Sofia he was doomed.

  To Carfaggi’s disappointment, the Pope had liked Capshaw’s idea and encouraged Carfaggi to be patient. The Pope wanted this queen under his control, and he was willing to wait. But the bishop knew once the Pope had Queen Sofia, he would have no more need for Bishop Capshaw.

  Following the visit with Sofia, King Ambrose sent the bishop a note stating that he and Queen Catherine wished to wait until the princess was older to begin formal religious training.

  Chapter Forty Two

  Spring 1561

  Mary sat in one of the gardens working on a needlepoint as Princess Sofia and James played nearby. On warm spring mornings she always brought them outdoors for some fresh air before the midday meal. She established a routine with them early on, and found they both responded better to a structured day than to one allowing them too much time without guided activity. Mornings outdoors allowed them a bit of both.

  The morning was soft, warm, and held an abundance of clouds. Sofia and James were digging in a pile of dirt left by the gardener, who’d left gone to retrieve some new vine cuttings.

  At six James was all boy, digging contentedly and making a huge mess. He did not care that he was becoming covered in mud.

  “James, stop!” Sofia ordered. “You are getting dirt in my moat!”

  “Sorry, Sofi. I’ll help you rebuild it.” James adored Sofia. “We need water, too.”

  A shadow passed over the children. Mary looked up.

  “Your Grace!” Mary jumped up and put down her needlework and knelt before the bishop. He held out his ring for her to kiss.

  “How are the children doing, Mary?”

  While it was unusual for the Bishop to know the names of any servants but his own, he made it a point to learn the name of the primary caretaker for the princess.

  Mary stood. “They are good children, Your Grace. It is a joy to care for them.”

  The bishop looked over to where the children continued digging, then back at Mary. “It is time to begin formal religious training for the princess. Because of your role, it makes most sense
that you and I arrange a time for you to bring her to me for her lessons.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “I should like you to bring her to the Church every Wednesday following Mass. It will just be for a short period every week.”

  “I understand.” Mary nodded.

  “And, Mary, the king and queen have left this arrangement in my hands,” the Bishop lied. “Please don’t bother them with the details, or for that matter, even our conversation regarding the princess. They have made it clear that all of this is up to me. I don’t want to burden them more than they are already with running the kingdom.”

  “I understand, Your Grace.”

  “Good. Then I shall see you tomorrow after Mass.”

  Mary curtsied. “Tomorrow, then, Your Grace.”

  After that, Mary dutifully brought Sofia to the church once weekly after Mass.

  Each week as she was leaving, the Bishop reminded Sofia about their secret. “Now don’t forget, my little princess, our meetings are just a secret between you, me…”

  “And God!” Sofia beamed. “I won’t forget, Your Grace.”

  To further insure that Sofia remembered to keep her secret, and to help her look forward to coming, he always ended the short times by giving Sofia a special treat. Usually, it was some confection, but on occasion he gave her a little toy.

  Chapter Forty Three

  October 1563

  In the fall of Sofia’s seventh year a tutor was hired to begin in earnest on her studies. The tutor, a scholar from Venice, was a homely man in his thirties. Mario Barone was short, stocky and hairy. At first glance one would not take him for a scholar, rather, he had more the look of a blacksmith gone soft. His pudgy face was smooth and his nose bent a little awkwardly at an angle, as if it had been broken one too many times. He had overly large ears, but kept them covered with a full, thick, long head of brown hair. His eyes, dark and bright, were his best feature. They were intense and shining, open and intelligent. Although not much to look at, he possessed a fine mind and his ability to train his young charge was admirable.

  “Your Grace!” Sofia exclaimed delightedly when the Bishop entered the room where she and her tutor spent a good part of the day working. Sofia ran from her table and threw her arms around him.

  “Ah, my sweet little princess, how are you today?” He picked her up and hugged her. “Oh, but, Sofia, you are forgetting your manners. Please introduce me to your teacher,” he said more playfully than sternly.

  As the bishop put her down, she dutifully introduced Mario Barone, who knelt and kissed the Bishop’s ring.

  Bishop Capshaw said, “I don’t mean to interfere with Sofia’s lessons, Master Barone. But I wanted to meet the great teacher she has told me so much about.”

  “Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you. It is evident that you two have a special relationship.”

  Thomas Capshaw looked down at Sofia and winked. “We do, indeed.” He looked down at the open book from which Sofia had been reading. “And what are we learning today?”

  “Numbers,” Sofia said brightly.

  The Bishop squatted down in front of her and whispered loud enough for Mario to hear, “Numbers are important. Unless you know your numbers and counting how will you be able to figure your purchases of candy?” As he said this he slipped a small confection into her hand.

  The bishop stood and turned back to her teacher. “I would like to visit with you regarding certain aspects of the Princess’ education, Master Barone. I wonder if I might impose upon you to dine with me this evening in my private residence.”

  “You are too kind, Your Grace. It would be an honor.”

  “Seven o’clock, then,” he turned to Sofia and smiled, “and you, my dear, back to work!”

  Master Barone arrived at the Bishop’s private residence at precisely seven o’clock. In anticipation of his arrival, Thomas placed a book with detailed drawings of Michelangelo’s works on the table near where they would sit before and after dinner. He had stolen the book from the library at the Villa Guilia when he was in Rome. He left it open to a sketch of the statue of David. The nude statue created quite a stir when it was unveiled.

  One servant was on hand to serve dinner and wine. The bishop handed the tutor a glass of wine and invited him to sit.

  “Master Barone, how do you find life here in our quaint little Montalcino?”

  “Please, Your Grace, call me Mario.”

  “Mario, then.”

  “I like it well enough. It is quiet and seems friendly,” he replied as he sipped at his wine. “This wine is quite delightful, Your Grace.”

  “I am glad you like it. The grapes are grown locally, and the vintner is a friend. I save his finer wines for special occasions.”

  Mario blushed, unable to conceal his delight at being ‘special’. “I am honored, Bishop.”

  “Not at all, it is we who are honored to have a scholar, at long last, in our midst. I love our little kingdom, but must confess to feeling quite alone in my search for more sophisticated companionship.” The Bishop stood and strolled over to his bookshelf. “I spent an extended period in Rome several years ago, and have greatly missed the discussions among scholars and great leaders.” He smiled at Mario.

  “Rome is quite the place, is it not, Your Grace?”

  “It is a delight for all of the senses.”

  “Have you ever been to Venice, Your Grace?”

  The Bishop sat down again, this time a bit closer to the teacher. “I have not had the opportunity. My duties here in Montalcino take up too much of my time.”

  “Ah, Your Grace, that is a shame. I believe you would find Venice even more enchanting than Rome.”

  Bishop Capshaw started to ask about Venice when his servant indicated that dinner was ready to be served. The men made their way to the dining room.

  “Tell me about Venice.” Thomas said as he indicated for Mario to sit.

  “Some of the most learned men and most gifted artisans spend time in Venice. It is a seat of great learning. I guarantee you would never tire of finding good conversation. And Venice is a vision of grandeur and beauty. The architecture and the waterways are an unimaginable feast for the eyes.”

  “I will have to make it a point to travel there someday then.” The bishop lifted his wine glass. “To Venice then, and to Montalcino’s good fortune at having secured such a remarkable tutor for our princess.”

  They dined on roasted pork in a honey glaze. Pork was an especially telling entrée to serve as it allowed the host to determine whether or not the guests might be averse to eating pig. Avoiding pork gave rise to the suspicion that the aversion may be religiously motivated.

  Mario had no problem with the meal, eating everything with gusto.

  When the meal was complete, the Bishop asked about the princess and her studies.

  “She is really quite a remarkable student, Your Grace. Her ability to grasp more complex ideas with regard to mathematics and languages is really surprising for her age.”

  Thomas led them over to the more comfortable couches where the art book was open. The couches were arranged to allow for ease and comfort of conversation no matter where one sat. The Bishop sat directly across from Mario, so that the tutor could not avoid the drawing of David.

  “I have found the princess to be very astute. I am glad you find her so, as well. I have spent several years working on her religious training.” “That explains the closeness of your relationship.”

  “Yes. And I have no desire to distract her from her studies with you, Mario, but it is important that her religious studies continue with me.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. How may I be of assistance?”

  Bishop Capshaw rose and poured them each a glass of hazelnut liquor. “The King and Queen have placed Sofia’s religious training in my hands. Since she will someday inherit the throne, her knowledge of the Catholic Church and the tenets of our religion are of utmost importance. Do you agree?” The Bishop raised an ey
ebrow in question.

  “Without a doubt, Your Grace.”

  The Bishop remained standing after giving Mario the liquor. “I should like a bit of time with her, say, two times weekly, for her religious instruction.”

  “I do not foresee that as a difficulty.”

  “Good.” The Bishop moved over to the couch where Mario sat. He sat down close beside him. “Two mornings a week, then, after Mass. I shall come directly to your classroom and spend time with her there.”

  “Whenever you like, Your Grace. I am at your service.”

  “Thank you, Mario. Now, let us turn to more interesting subjects. Have you seen this statue of David in person?”

  Mario turned his focus to the drawing in the book that Bishop Capshaw was pulling over toward him. The tutor flushed ever so slightly.

  “I have not, Your Grace, but I hear it is magnificent.”

  “Truly,” the Bishop answered. “I had the opportunity to be staying at the Villa Guilia in Rome when Michelangelo was staying there.”

  “What was he like? Did you actually meet him?”

  “He was so unlike his creations…slovenly, uncouth. An interesting man, but very unsociable, lacking in good manners. I had difficulty marrying the man to his work. His paintings and his sculptures are so magnificent that one expects him to have an air, a presence, himself. But he does not. I was disappointed to be honest.”

  The Bishop leaned over the drawing, and as he did so he allowed his hand to rest on Mario’s knee in a preoccupied sort of way. “His attention to detail is amazing. Look, here,” he pointed to the musculature in David’s torso, “you would be astonished to look upon exquisite attention to detail. It makes you want to reach up and touch the marble, certain it might come alive under your touch.” Here Thomas allowed his finger to casually drift over David’s penis. “And. if you haven’t seen the ceiling of the Chapel in Rome, you must do so before you die.”

  Mario swallowed the remainder of his liquor in one gulp. Thomas got up to pour him another glass.

  “Oh, no, Your Grace. Thank you. I really must be going.” The tutor stood and made for the door. “It has been a delightful evening, but I must prepare for tomorrow’s lessons. Forgive me for rushing off.”