by Maggi Petton
When it was time, Father Tim made his way to the pulpit. For a long time before he spoke his first words, he gazed at the coffins of Catherine and Robert. He stepped down from the pulpit and walked toward the coffins. He stood between them and placed one hand on each.
“Montalcino,” he began, “has lost a brave and loyal servant, a soldier who died giving his life to his queen, his kingdom. You have lost a precious man in Captain Robert. He was a husband, a son, a father, a leader, a protector and a defender of justice. He was a friend. But I wonder if you know how much more he was? Captain Robert was not just a soldier in your queen’s guard, I believe he was a soldier in God’s own army. These are perilous times. As a Church, we have suffered and struggled to figure out the difference between what we should fight against and what we should defend. Captain Robert fought that battle within his own soul. When that battle was over, he was, I believe, one of the greatest defenders of truth and justice I have known. He heard Christ call to him and he answered. He answered when he stood side by side with your queen in her fight against injustice.
“Captain Robert’s was a gentle spirit, cloaked in the armor of a warrior. He showed us both sides. I was proud to call him my friend.”
Father Tim paused briefly, and turned to lay both hands lovingly on Catherine’s coffin.
“And you have lost a queen,” he said softly. “But Catherine was not just any queen, she was a magnificent human being. She risked, and eventually lost, her life because she believed that no one but God has the right to judge the faith of others. She fought for her people, her kingdom, using everything in her power to try to protect her subjects from unjust and unfair cruelties. She was a wife, a daughter, a mother,” he looked at Bella, “and a companion who loved fully and with her whole being. She was a leader. She, too, was a friend.”
He walked a bit away from the coffins toward the congregation. “A queen holds great power. Your queen was aware of the power she held, but she used that power to touch and strengthen those she served. That power humbled her. That, I believe, made her a great monarch.
“Queen Catherine was not afraid to know her subjects, because she was unafraid to look deeply into her own soul. She was an uncommon queen because she allowed God to illuminate her fears, her doubts, her darkness, her light, her strengths and her power. And she allowed God to guide her as she strove to be a good leader. This was not always easy for her, but it was necessary. She saw it as necessary in her role of queen.”
Father Tim walked over to a section of the chapel where a close knit group sat, tears streaming down their faces. He smiled at them.
“I want to tell you a story. It was one I did not hear until just last night, but it is one that I believe tells of the pureness of heart of the woman who was your queen.
"Several years ago, your queen took it upon herself to visit Radicondoli. You know what she found there. It is the stuff of legends. Your queen, finding abuse of power, injustice, and murder, among other hideous acts, eliminated the sources of the abuse in a single night, restoring peace and justice to a town that had been terrorized for years.
“But there is more to the story of Radicondoli, to any story really, than just the larger event. Last night I had the pleasure of meeting the Guilia children. Both Guilia parents lost their lives in the course of the doings in Radicondoli. The children were shunned, broken and living as best they could on their own. Queen Catherine came into their lives in the middle of the night. She listened to their story. She rectified, as best she could, the injustice done to the children. That could be the end of the story. For most of us it would be…and it would be a fine end. But it wasn’t enough for Queen Catherine. The Guilia children, not really children so much anymore,” he smiled as he looked at them, “told me that Queen Catherine never forgot them. She kept in contact with them. They, along with several others from Radicondoli, discovered that their queen had instructed each of them who had been injured, to contact the others. The result, as we discovered last night when so many of us met, was that the queen, quite surreptitiously, created families where none had existed before. Without realizing it, each person contacted by Queen Catherine, found healing, comfort, and solace in ways that helped them grow stronger as individuals and as a community.
“So, you see, she was more than a queen. She was a mother to us all, in ways that, I suspect, we will continue to learn as we mourn and celebrate her life.
He returned to the coffins, again stepping between them and placing a hand on either side. “And so it seems right that these two beautiful souls should be here together. Catherine and Robert. They spent their lives together, first growing up as cousins, then serving the kingdom of Montalcino. He, always vigilant, always striving to keep her and her kingdom from harm, always protecting her; she, always working to make things better for her kingdom, her subjects…her family and friends, and able to do so because he was watching over her.
“It is my duty to try to comfort you today, to reassure you that they are with God and at peace.” He looked out at the congregation assembled and smiled. “They are with God, and I have no doubt that they are at peace. In fact, I believe that God may have taken them because He needed a little reassurance that He did not make a horrible mistake when He created us. I believe that God looked down at all the misery and pain on the earth and saw these two souls and recognized in them two of his creation that He might call friends.
“He chose well from among us. But in doing so, he left a tremendous hole here. Montalcino will not be the same without Queen Catherine and Captain Robert. I know because I feel the loss here.” Father Tim placed his hand over his heart. “They were my friends. The world will be a sadder place without them. It is a lesser place without them. It will be a more frightening place without them. But, it is a better place because of them. And for that, we must be grateful. No matter how much I will miss them, I will remember how they fought to make this a better place…and I will honor them by continuing to follow their example, no matter how much I miss them. Let us pray.”
Sofia knew that her grief would be with her until her dying breath. Too soon she was forced to take up her mantle and assume her role as Queen. Her first official act was to have James’ murderer brought before her for sentencing. While it was customary for the lower courts to deal with such criminals, Sofia wanted, needed, to see the face of the man who initiated the events that had changed her world forever.
The prisoner was brought before her in chains. His head and face were covered with matted hair. He was filthy and insolent. He stunk. He demanded to see the Bishop.
“You were found searching the body of James Mariani. He was killed by a single shot through the heart and you were in possession of the pistol. What have you to say for yourself?” asked the Queen.
“I was defending myself. The boy attacked me.”
“His weapons were not drawn. They were still in their scabbards when he was found. With what did he attack you?”
“With his fists.”
Sofia knew that James would never attack anyone unprovoked. She found herself seething as she looked on this man. “Why did he attack you?”
The prisoner shrugged and did not reply.
“Why do you wish to see the bishop?” she asked as she leaned back in her chair.
“I am known to him. He will remember me.” The prisoner answered insolently.
“In what capacity do you claim to know him?” She leaned forward, staring into the man’s eyes suspiciously.
“It is my business, and his only.”
“Your business only,” she corrected him as she sat back in her chair. “The bishop is dead.”
Fear flashed in his eyes. She saw it, but it didn’t matter anymore.
She had seen him, and his person did not, in any way, soothe the loss she felt. James’s murder seemed even more senseless now that she had met with his killer. With something close to indifference she ordered him removed and executed by hanging.
As he was being led
out of the chamber he looked back over his shoulder and shouted, “Hah, you think you can hold me…I escaped your prison once, I do not need your bishop’s help to do it a second time! Your own mother could not hold me…I will escape your punishments as well!”
“Stop!” Sofia ordered. “Return him.”
He stood before her again. Feelings stirred within her…memories of something. What? She looked at him and tried to recall, tried to brace herself for words that were forming and fighting to surface.
“So, you have been here before. When?” she asked.
“Long ago. And for a matter of such insignificance that even the queen’s own guards, and her bishop, thought to help me escape,” he laughed.
The words arrived tumbling into her like rain pouring off a roof into a cistern. The voice of Lord Giovanni flooded her. “The rapist was marked, branded on his cheek with a hot iron. Robert was so incensed at his treatment of Lady Isabella that he actually used an iron with the queen’s mark, a crown with a sword…the only time it was ever used.”
Sofia’s heart was racing. It could not be. “Guard, bring scissors and a blade. Shave his face.” She stood and paced as she waited.
The prisoner fought as his beard was cut. The blade was painful on his cheek and in his struggle it cut him several times. When enough of the beard had been shaved away she could see it there, the crown and the sword, symbol of Queen Catherine. Lady Isabella’s rapist. James was murdered by his own father.
Sofia collapsed back on her throne and stared at the prisoner before her. The knowledge of who this man really was overwhelmed her, numbed her. All his life James believed that his father was the Lord Daniel Mariani. That is what Bella told him. Sofia understood now why Bella and her own mother wanted to protect him from the identity of this… this inhuman animal that stood now before her.
Lord Giovanni was the only other person alive to know that Lady Isabella’s rapist was branded with the queen’s mark. Sofia did not want James’ memory tarnished with the knowledge that this hideous creature standing before her was his father.
“I have changed my mind about this man’s sentence,” Sofia informed the guards. “I want him beheaded….before day’s end. When all is ready I wish to be called. I will have a final word with the prisoner before his execution.”
Sofia left her throne without another word.
She went in search of Lord Giovanni and confided her discovery and her plan. Together they vowed that the secret of James’ birth would die with them. She asked if he would be with her when she went to see the prisoner and when he was executed. He agreed.
When the block and the executioner were ready, Queen Sofia was called. Together, she and Lord Giovanni went to the cell where the prisoner was being held. He was chained to the wall by both his feet and his hands. She ordered the chains be shortened in such a way that he would not be able to move. He spat curses at her.
“Gag him,” she ordered the guards.
He fought with his teeth and his head, twisting and turning it, making it almost impossible to gag him. Finally, one of the guards grabbed a fistful of his hair and held it firmly while the other guard gagged him. He would never speak another word.
When the guards finished, Sofia asked them to wait outside the cell. She and Lord Giovanni were alone with the prisoner. Her heart raced and she did not know if her legs would hold her up. She was afraid and infuriated. She wanted to rip this man apart with her bare hands.
She did not touch him, but moved close enough that his stench pierced her nostrils. Sofia stood in front of him and spoke softly, so that only he and Lord Giovanni could hear.
“Seventeen years ago you were found by Queen Catherine in the forest near the granite cliffs. You held a woman prisoner whom you had been brutalizing for days. The queen and her guards brought that woman back here where she eventually recovered.” She paused briefly before continuing, “You were branded with the Queen’s own mark…the one you hid beneath your beard. You did escape, with help. You will not escape this time. You will be dead within the hour. But you will die with this knowledge; the woman you raped bore a child, a son, nine months later.”
The prisoner watched as Sofia spoke to him. His eyes did not reveal that he cared about her or the story she told. They, like his life, reflected the hate and bitterness that were his heart and soul.
As Sofia looked into those eyes now, she wondered if he would feel anything when she spoke her next words. She considered leaving and not telling him, but she had come this far.
“It was he that you murdered.”
It was slow to come, but come the realization did, just a subtle change in his eyes as he glared at her. Powerful, horrifying awareness. He turned away and shrugged as if the information was meaningless. But it was too late. She had seen it.
The guards were called to escort the prisoner to the execution block. Sofia and Lord Giovanni left the cell and rode in a covered carriage to where the execution would take place. The prisoner was led up the steps to the block. Before he was forced to his knees he looked up and saw the shade raised in the royal carriage. His eyes met Queen Sofia’s. Hatred spilled out of them. She was glad she had thought to gag him. The gag was still in place as his head was placed on the block. It took two swings to sever his head. As the head rolled off the block Sofia drew the shade.
Queen Sofia and Lord Giovanni never said a word to Lady Isabella.
Chapter Fifty Five
Queen Sofia, Lady Isabella and Father Tim continued to fight against the persecutions of the Inquisition. None of them saw its end.
Although Isabella participated as she could, she never recovered from losing James and Catherine. She was prone to bouts of melancholy and unable to leave her bed for long periods of time. She finally succumbed to pneumonia in August of 1584, thirty years from the day Catherine had found her near death. She had been in and out of consciousness for days, but came fully awake that August morning while Father Tim was administering Last Rites. She smiled at Father Tim, whom she grew to love so well over the years, and thanked him for being with her. Queen Sofia was at her side. In fact, Sofia never left Bella’s side from moment she became ill.
Sofia wept openly. She had come to love the woman who shared such a rich history with her mother, and who loved her in spite of everything. She took Bella’s hand in both of hers, kissed it and clasped it to her heart. Bella looked up at her with tenderness and smiled, but then her gaze was drawn beyond Sofia, to something else. Her eyes widened and her face filled with joy.
“Catherine,” she whispered as she reached into the air. Her spirit left her in that moment.
Epilogue
November 2008
The story of Catherine and Bella stands alone. I know that. Still, there are a number of events that occurred during its revelation that may give the reader pause when reflecting upon the fictional aspects of the novel. Call it my overzealous need for honesty if you like, but the following are facts which I feel would be unfair to keep from the reader.
Early in the process of writing the book I was introduced to a local editor, Terry Cutler. At the point we first met, she had arrived at my home to pick up my original outline of the story. When I brought her back to my office I had a large table set up with a map of Italy.
“Is your story set in Italy?” she inquired. I had not mentioned that when we talked on the phone.
“Yes,” I acknowledged. Although I was still struggling with the exact location of the story, I had a very strong sense of where it happened. The visual impressions were vivid in my mind. Interestingly, as I studied the map, I was continually drawn to a specific area.
“Have you ever been there?” Terry asked.
“No, but it feels like I’ll need to go there at some point to finish the story. I can’t explain it, but that feels vital to me.”
It was May, and I’d been working on the story since the end of February.
“I am doing a writer’s workshop in Italy in October,” she offered. �
��Part of our itinerary will be touring various places.” She continued to look at the map.
“Where is the workshop being held?” I hadn’t indicated where I thought my queen lived, but she leaned over the map to study it closely. My heart began to beat wildly.
“Here,” she pointed. “Here is where we are staying.”
The little town she indicated was on a small lake just south of where I had continually been drawn since I first started looking at maps of Italy. I had only just gotten the detailed map the day prior.
I looked at her, and without any knowledge of how I would make it all happen, financially or otherwise, said, “I’ll be coming.”
As the summer progressed, Catherine and Isabella wreaked havoc with my sleep and emotions. The more immersed I became in their fight, their relationships with others, their intense love for one another, the more I began to think I had lost my mind. I did not know if this was what all writers went through with their characters, but I felt that in some strange way I was losing myself.
Characters I thought I was inventing turned out to have actually existed. Sometimes, I would write about a character and think, this guy needs to be a pope. The next thing I knew I found a pope that fit my character, in the time frame set out by the story, whose activities closely resembled the ones of my stories. Other times, I would simply be researching a certain aspect of the Inquisition and find a character too perfect to resist adding to the story.
Summer flew by and suddenly it was October. A few days before we were to leave for Italy, Terry emailed me that one of her speakers cancelled. She had a contact that might be able to set us up with another one, but some of the workshop plans had to be rearranged. Before we left, a new speaker was set.
The day just prior to his presentation, the speaker contacted us. He preferred we come to him, about an hour and a half north of where we were staying.
