by Maggi Petton
“No, Majesty,” the boy answered. “But my mother talks of the lighthouse on the shores of the village where she grew up.”
“It’s a fine rendering for someone who has never seen one. I can almost hear the waves of the sea crashing against the rocks.”
The young man beamed.
At each sculpture Catherine chatted with the artist. Some of the work was magnificent in detail. Some, those done by the younger children, were smaller, but clearly gave much joy to those who participated.
There were several animals: a ferocious looking bear, the front end of a rearing horse, a lioness with nursing cubs.
Several of the children had attempted a rendering of the Queen. Catherine found it difficult to hide her smile as she spoke with the artists about her own likeness. They were all so earnest in their descriptions.
Sofia, James and Gio stood proudly next to their creation. It did nearly take Catherine’s breath away. Set into a mountain of snow was a near perfect rendering of Montalcino Castle, its proportions almost faultless. The detail, down to each window was remarkable. The central tower easily supported the two adjoining wings. The main doors almost had the look of the carved wood. Each of the two surrounding walls appeared to be made of the original rocks set in place so many years ago. There was even a guard standing next to the guard house at the outer wall.
“I am most impressed.” Catherine walked around the castle taking in every detail. “Most impressed.” Then to herself she thought, “Sofia, you have your father’s gift of artistry.” She smiled as she congratulated the three children closest to her in the world.
The final work was clearly done by a smaller child. It, too, was a rendering of Montalcino Castle. Compared to the one done by her family it was pitifully small and inaccurate. As Catherine looked at it, part of the center tower collapsed.
The Queen noticed a boy of about eight standing nearby and saw him wince as his tower gave way. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him as she walked around the snow carving. He waited anxiously to be called. She made a show of taking her time to study his work, nodding and whispering to Ambrose and Bella.
Finally, she said, “Who is responsible for this castle?”
The young boy stepped forward, “I am, Your Majesty.”
“I see.” She looked down at him. “And did you have help?”
“I didn’t need any. I wanted to do it myself,” he announced proudly.
“Tell me about your castle,” she commanded as she looked up to see the boy’s mother standing nearby. She gave a smile and a nearly imperceptible nod to the boy’s mother as she continued her interrogation of the boy.
“This,” he announced as he pointed to the crumbling central part of the castle, “is the main tower, and this is the wing where my mother and I live, and this is where the Great Hall is…” The boy rushed through descriptions of his barely recognizable castle.
Catherine listened intently as he showed her everything. Robert had already informed her about this boy and his attempt to recreate the castle. The boy’s father was one of his guard; he died in the spring of the previous year, succumbing to pneumonia. His wife and child stayed on in the castle. The boy’s mother assisted in the kitchen.
“And this,” the boy slowed in his presentation, “is the guard house where my father used to stand guard.”
Catherine looked down at the boy. “What is your name?”
“Marco,” he said seriously, then added quickly, “Your Majesty.”
“After your father.” Catherine bent and placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I remember your father, young Marco. He would be proud of you. Tell me,” she asked, “what made you decide on Montalcino Castle?”
“Because it is my home, Majesty.”
She smiled at him. “Mine, as well, Marco. I am proud to share it with the likes of you.”
Catherine, Ambrose and Bella stepped aside and talked in hushed tones. As they did so they made a show of looking and pointing to all of the imaginative models surrounding them. Finally, King Ambrose said, “We have declared a winner to the competition.
“Marco Carrerro, please come forward!” Ambrose boomed.
Catherine took the golden medal on a strip of blue silk and placed it around Marcus’ neck. She kissed him formally on each cheek and congratulated him on winning the snow sculpture competition. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause for the boy, who beamed so brightly that his smile threatened to melt all of the snow. After congratulating each of the participants on their creativity and abilities to work with such a difficult medium as snow, Catherine encouraged everyone back inside to continue the celebration with music, dancing, games and entertainment.
The mood in the ensuing weeks was much lighter, much friendlier following the festival. The flowered ropes stayed up in the Great Hall and the snow sculptures stayed intact, gracing the courtyard.
As the sun made its lazy way back toward spring, the decorations were finally removed. The grand snow creations were only melted mounds shrinking in the sun.
Spring arrived and fresh berries were again on the table. Catherine, Bella and James were just finishing a private morning meal in the queen’s quarters when Sofia entered and walked over to peruse the table for food. At fourteen she was nearly as tall as her mother and had been developing in both body and attitude.
“Sofia, where have you been?” asked Catherine.
“Don’t bother looking for your favorite berries,” said James. “I ate them all when it seemed you weren’t coming.”
Sofia turned up her nose at James, then, without looking at her mother said, “I was in Church, if you must know.”
“This long?” Catherine asked. “Mass ended two hours ago.”
“I was with the Bishop.” Sofia did not meet her mother’s eyes. With the defiance that colored most of her conversations of late she said, “I’ve been seeing him regularly. I am learning all of the Doctrines of the Church, and he is helping me to understand the finer, more subtle points of the gospels.”
Catherine’s look of fear was mirrored in Bella’s eyes. But neither James nor Sofia noticed.
“Whose idea was that?” asked Catherine with as much nonchalance as possible.
Sofia looked at her mother with disdain. “Why should it matter?”
“Because you will be Queen someday. You must begin to examine everything with a more critical eye.” Catherine responded as she stood to walk over to where Sofia was. “We have discussed this before.”
“Yes, yes.” Sofia rolled her eyes as she sat at the table where her mother had been sitting. “I have heard over and over the importance of suspecting everyone!”
Catherine worked hard to keep the angry edge out of her voice. “It is not that you need to suspect everyone, Sofia, it is wise for someone in power to examine the reasons behind certain requests.” Catherine fought the urge to forbid her daughter to see the Bishop. She was nearly immobilized by fear that Sofia was so beguiled such a misguided man. She flashed on how her father despaired when he realized that Thomas Capshaw was not the man he thought him to be. The thought of the same thing happening to Sofia terrified her. She knew she must be cautious, or she would lose her daughter, too.
“Mother, please. The bishop has only my best interests at heart. You may not trust him, but I do.”
“Sofia,” Bella offered her a dish of strawberries, “have you given any thought to allowing Father Tim to aid in your religious training?”
More and more of late, Sofia ignored Bella. She took the bowl of strawberries, but did not answer the question.
“Rudeness is not a quality that will endear you to anyone, Sofia. You have been asked a question.” Catherine found it hard not to be exasperated with Sofia.
Sofia looked at Bella with indifference, “I honestly don’t know what you see in that priest of yours. And why would I want to travel all the way to Castiglione d’ Orcia when I have the kingdom’s highest ranking priest right here in my own castle?”
> “Sofi,” James offered, “want to go riding with me this morning?”
“When?”
“Now might be good,” he grinned his winning smile.
Sofia could not get out of the room quickly enough. “Let’s go.”
“James,” his mother called out as they were leaving, “be sure you take at least one armed guard with you!”
Sofia was gone, but just before the doors closed James stuck his head back in and winked at his mother, “Don’t worry, I will.”
James saddled their horses while Robert assigned them a soldier. Once outside the castle walls they made for the forest. Up until then they hadn’t spoken. When the muddy path in the forest widened large enough for the horses to walk side by side, James slowed to allow Sofia to move next to him.
“What has you in such a foul mood this morning?” he asked.
“Do you have any idea what a heretic my mother is?” she asked.
“Not again.” James was tired of hearing Sofia berate her mother. “Your mother is no heretic! Is your bishop still feeding you that load of shit?”
“It isn’t shit, James. It is the truth.”
James reined up his horse to allow the guard to get a bit further ahead. “What are you talking about?”
Sofia stopped and turned her horse toward him. James’ face held a look of innocence and concern. “Never mind,” she said. “You wouldn’t understand.” She turned her horse back to follow the guard.
“Don’t!” James demanded. “I hate when you do that to me. You engage me with a comment like that, and then you dismiss me like a pesky servant.”
“Well, you can’t be my friend while defending my mother!” Sofia was already shouting over her shoulder as she spurred her horse toward the flower fields. She passed the guard and hit the rise at the end of the forest line before either of them reached her. By the time James caught up with her she had left her horse to graze amid the few clumps of snow and sparse grass and was walking toward the lake.
James found her sitting on an old stump at the edge of the water. “Sofi,” he said softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She was quiet for some time. Her expression seemed to vacillate between anger and sadness. When she finally spoke, the combination revealed more anger than anything.
“I know things about my mother that no one else knows,” she said.
James watched as her jaw clenched and unclenched. He waited for her to continue.
“Whether you believe it or not, she is a heretic. She fights her own bishop and her own Church!”
“So you believe that her stand against torture and persecution make her a heretic?” James asked.
“It is more than that. She openly rebels against the Church. She is at war with the Holy See. She defies the Bishop and all he stands for, all the Church is trying to accomplish! There is more, but…”
James waited for her to continue. “But what?” James asked.
“Her entire life is built on a lie.” Sofia seemed to be winding down.
These tirades of Sofia’s seemed to occur more and more of late. James usually let her rant until she was done.
He tried many times to convince Sofia that her mother was a good Queen, a good person. Sofia knew he really didn’t understand the animosity between them, and long ago he stopped defending Catherine to Sofia. Every time he tried she became so angry they ended up not speaking for several days. Lately, however, she found that he seemed content to just listen while she ranted on about her mother. She hoped he was beginning to see her side of things. She was still worried about his soul, his salvation. She so wanted him to be on the right side of the war between God and the heretics, but she always stopped short of telling him what she knew about her mother’s relationship with his own mother. James adored his mother. She knew the information would drive a wedge between them that could never be repaired. She always stopped just short of telling him.
Sofia finally came to the end of her diatribe.
When she finished James said, “Then you must think me a heretic, as well.”
“I don’t think any such thing!” She looked at him as if he were a child. “You are an innocent. You can’t help but to do what your mother tells you to.”
“You’re wrong, Sofe.” James stood and looked at her with tears in his eyes. “I choose to go with your mother and mine to Castiglione d’ Orcia because I believe the Church has made a grave mistake. I believe in what Father Timothy stands for and I want to help those who are unjustly accused of heresy and witchcraft. I wish you could understand…I wish you would join us.” He paused and waited for her to say something, but she would not look at him. He turned to head back to his horse. “I’m going back,” he said. “I am suddenly very cold.”
James mounted his horse and waited for her, but she didn’t make a move to join him. He told the guard to wait with Sofia and returned to the castle alone.
Chapter Fifty One
Bella’s birthday fell in the full of summer. Catherine planned a birthday picnic in the flower fields to celebrate the occasion. Robert and his family joined them, as did Ambrose and Lord Como’s niece, Mirabella, who obviously cherished Ambrose. No one ever spoke of the relationship between the King and Mirabella, but Catherine made every effort to include them both in the goings on of family gatherings.
When the group settled and spread out the foods and drinks, the children, who were no longer children, but blossoming adults, took off for the lake, while their parents stayed back to lounge in the summer sun and talk.
Gio beat James and Sofia into the water and came up sputtering.
“How cold is it?” asked Sofia.
“Warm as bath water!” he laughed.
James jumped in, believing him, and came up with a start. “Don’t believe him, Sofi! It’s freezing!”
“You believe him every time!” Sofia laughed and sat on a rock on the side of the lake, dangling her feet and legs into the cold mountain water, glad for the rare opportunity to play. This was their sanctuary, their retreat from the real world. In past years they would steal away to the lake to enjoy each other. The water cleansed them of the winter’s arguments and discord. Sofia watched the boys swim and float on their backs. She loved to watch them dive from the overhang into the deep water just over the rocks from where she sat.
Gio called them the “triumvirate.” “Someday, the three of us will take all of Italy by storm,” he called from the water.
“And just where will we take it?” teased Sofia.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he smiled as he shook water out of his hair spraying her. “But with you as Queen, me as your Captain and James, here, as your advisor I think we could rule all of Italy, maybe even the whole of the continent!” He dove, laughing.
James pulled himself out of the water. He and Sofia were grinning at him when he came up. “You are crazy, you know?” James said.
“Oh, I know.” He came out of the water and sat on the rock next to them. “But what shall we do when our time comes?” he asked seriously.
Many of their summers were spent solving the problems of Montalcino and the world. They talked of exploring new lands, becoming wealthy, and they shared the deepest, most intimate desires of their hearts. They loved one another fiercely and passionately as only young people can. As only children, they were both siblings and friends to one another as they grew their own history around and within them, weaving their history like a tapestry. Somehow, no matter how tense things might be between them, when summer came and the lake called, all tension disappeared and they found their rhythm again.
The summer afternoon was warm when Sofia entered the Chapel where she knew Bishop Capshaw was waiting for her. She saw him sitting in the front pew talking with someone. When he heard the great doors close he stopped talking and rose to greet her.
“Ah, Princess Sofia, my lamb, how are you?”
“I am well, Your Grace, thank you. And you?” she asked.
“Quite well, quite well.”
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As he spoke this last, the other man stood and turned to her. He was of medium height, and dressed in drab, brown robes. There was a large, wooden crucifix around his neck. His face was severe, drawn, and dark. Sofia looked at him and then back to the bishop, who was smiling broadly.
“Princess Sofia,” he soothed, “may I present my very good friend and colleague, Captain Dominic Bello. Captain Bello, this is Princess Sofia, about whom I have been raving for the past hour.”
He smiled. It did little to soften his hard features. He looked at Sofia with unwavering intensity before moving toward her. He bowed quite formally and greeted her.
“Princess, an honor to meet you. Bishop Capshaw has, indeed, been glowing about you for some time.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Sofia’s face relaxed into a smile.
“Sofia,” the Bishop said, “I have asked Captain Bello to meet us because I believe he is someone you should know. He does important work for the Church. He has quite a formidable reputation,” the Bishop smiled as he placed his arm around Sofia and led her to the second pew. Once they were seated, Captain Bello sat in the front pew and turned to face them.
“Captain Bello recently moved to Montalcino. He will be a great help to those of us who work so diligently to serve Christ and the Church.”
“Your bishop is too kind, Princess. I am only a servant of God, here to help where and when I can. It is your bishop who deserves the credit for steadfastness in the eyes of our Lord.” Again, he smiled.
The bishop smiled and bowed his head, seemingly embarrassed by the praise. “In any event, Princess,” the Bishop continued, “I wanted you to meet Captain Bello.” He paused and his face took on a concerned look. “You and I have become quite close over the years.”
Sofia smiled broadly at the bishop. “And I am glad of it, Your Grace.”
He smiled back at her and reached for her hand. “That is why, my dear, I believe it important for you to have someone else in whom you may place your trust when it comes to matters of the Church.”
“I don’t understand,” Sofia looked at him quizzically. “Are you going somewhere?”
