by A Werner
Niccolus, however, had been carefully analyzing the proceedings as they unfolded. Being a religious man of sorts, Niccolus was concerned that Pero might be inviting evil spirits to accompany them on their journey. Niccolus was as eager as Arrigo to fight devils but not under unfavorable conditions. This tryst Lord Pero appeared to be planning with the girl, if carried out, would not portend well. Where they were going they needed all the good fortune they could find.
Niccolus sidled his black mare up beside Pero’s grey palfrey and hesitated. He tried to intercept his lord’s attention, strike him with a disappointed stare, but Lord Pero could not be drawn away. He glanced back over his shoulder at the starry-eyed girl and then to Pero. The two of them were fixated, wholly ignoring the world around them. Niccolus felt his admiration for Lord Pero diminishing. “Be wise, my lord.”
Pero de Alava pretended not to hear the utterance although he did. “Ride on Niccolus,” he mumbled, his blue eyes not straying from Gisele. “I will pick up your trail.”
Niccolus lowered his head and rode away.
Chapter 29 – Gold Clasp
Pero de Alava sat at the edge of the woods until the sound of his escorts had been completely absorbed by the forest. Leaves broke away from the trees and drifted through the air, never touching the ground.
Failing to heed her brother’s warning, Gisele remained, busily counting the four gold coins over and over again. It was quite a windfall.
‘You fool,’ Pero bemoaned. ‘You’ve left a lamb alone in the wilderness, such wholesome purity. You must be mad. I’m a wolf of the wood and call this good fortune. So innocent. Not a care in the world. I’ve gifted her three gold coins. Fair enough payment for any virtue she may yet retain.’
Pero flicked the reins lightly and Zaon carried him back to the girl. “Behold,” Pero whispered to himself. “I am Outis. I am nobody. By the time the girl realizes what is happening, it will be too late.” He pictured Anthea lying on the floor of her bower, blood and tears staining her blue dress. ‘There are no gods to rescue them. This girl will have no one but herself to blame for enticing me.’
Gisele glanced up at the sound of Pero’s approaching horse. Cracking a knowing smile, she dropped the gold coins in a pocket before spatting in her hand. Like the creature she was, she used the phlegm to groom herself, trying in vain to clean up her appearance.
Gisele curtsied. It was awkward.
From high in his mount, Pero de Alava was shocked to find that he could see down her homespun. Gisele wore no underthings.
“Does my lord have further need of me?” She maintained the curtsy, wholly unaware that she was exposing herself to him.
This was pure torture. Pero could hear dozens of voices quarrelling with one another in his head. His mother railed at him, hard as Scripture. Francis Whitehall was disappointed as well.
‘Where is my father’s voice?’ Blassilo was not in there, never had been. Of all the things he and his father spoke of, women was not among them. His father never condoned or condemned his passion. It was a conversation they never had. Pero wished Blassilo had encouraged him, just once. “You are different than me,” Pero heard his father’s voice say from his deathbed. “You are better than me.” Pero grimaced at this. ‘No, I am not better than you. I’m the same. I’m just a man who wants to do what men do.’ Pero wanted to be carefree and do whatever he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it but he didn’t know how. He was suddenly overcome by the whiteness around his father’s dying body. He heard the old lion speak. “So many regrets. I have injured the love of my life but fail to grasp how deeply.”
Unsure why the handsome knight was hesitating, Gisele rose up slowly from her curtsy and stared at Pero with a blank expression. She had never seen a man think so much.
Pero felt a sense of relief wash over him as all the voices ceased speaking. He looked around the clearing and watched as leaves gently fell to earth, one leaf landing on his saddle grip. He lifted it and examined the spines running through the webbing.
“I am old enough.”
Pero raised an eyebrow.
Gisele once again began to primp herself, using her dirty fingers, wet with spittle, to smear the gley across her face. She tried everything in her nature to make her appearance more presentable. “I have heard,” Gisele added, “that knights pluck girls like me from the forest and make us their lovers. I know you didn’t have to pay all that gold for them stupid oranges. I did steal them. You must be wanting something more from me. I understand this. Just tell me what I must do. Don’t leave me standing here. I am not wise in these matters.” Gisele bowed again.
This time her curtsy was different. Gisele had declared her willingness to be taken and loved and that was more than Pero’s egotism could handle. The lamb seemed somewhat tainted now, not so pure anymore. When her neckline fell open, Pero turned his head decidedly away, his lust completely gutted. Confused and sweating, Pero lifted his right hand to massage his throbbing temples but stopped just short as he noted several dark smudges on his fingers. The smudges were ink spots, blotches from his nervous handling of a quill. ‘My letter of apology to Anthea.’
“How old are you, chica?’ Pero asked still staring at the black smudges.
Her response was quick and sure. “Fifteen summers.”
Pero recalled Francis saying that his daughter Anne would be turning fifteen tomorrow. ‘She’s as faultless as Anne, a girl I love as a niece.’ Upon closer, clearer inspection, Pero saw nothing of womanhood in her. Gisele wasn’t gorgeous or striking, not even the least bit alluring to him. Her face was plain and simple, round and yielding, without a line or blemish. ‘Just beautiful as all young girls are beautiful. What was I thinking?’
With his ink-blotched hand, Pero burrowed deep beneath his breastplate. “Stop all that bowing, girl, and come here.”
Gisele obeyed.
He kissed the thing in his hand and handed it to the girl.
Gisele took hold of the trinket and examined it closely, curiously. “Is it gold?” She asked.
Pero smiled. “Yes, it is gold. But do you know what it is?”
Gisele stared at it and shyly answered, not wanting to sound foolish if she were wrong. “A clasp?”
“Si, chica, it is a clasp that is probably worth more than the gold jingling in your pocket.”
This statement made Gisele’s left eyebrow rise. She placed the clasp in her mouth and gently bit down on it, measuring its worth, her teeth all a glow. Suddenly her mind started to race. She wondered what sort of lewdness she might have to perform for her new lover. ‘We still haven’t done anything yet.’
Pero believed he could read her thoughts and spoke quickly to put her mind at ease. “You are an attractive young lady, Gisele, and you are going to make some man very happy one day. Today is not that day. I will not be that man.”
Gisele was confused by this. She peered up at Pero in the saddle, a part of her deeply disappointed. She held out hope he might reconsider this decision and at the very least demand from her a kiss for all his troubles. She really wanted to know what it was like to be kissed. She had never been kissed.
Pero placed his hand on his armor, up near the neckline. “Listen well, Gisele. When you genuflect before men, as you did before me, your garment tends to open up and reveal more of your body than strangers should see. Attach this clasp to the neckline of your garment and never let that happen again. You must take better care for your virtue. There are wolves about. They will not behave as decently as I am behaving today.” Pero knew his thoughts had been indecent but at least he hadn’t followed through on them.
Gisele started pawing around the neckline of her sackcloth wondering how much of her body the handsome knight had seen. Still and though, she already knew she wasn’t going to obey him. There was no way she would ever attach such a precious piece of jewelry to such an awful piece of cloth. She would, however, take better precautions concerning her neckline.
“When you touch that clasp,” Per
o continued, “I want you to remember this day and pray for your husband to come. When this man promises you his fealty and his commerce, remove the clasp from your garment and gift it to him. Consider it your dowry. Tell him that Sir Pero, Lord of Capua, wishes him prosperity and good health.” Pero grew serious, his voice hinting at a growl. “And if this man does not take the greatest care for you, and Sir Pero should learn of it, Sir Pero shall seek him out and avenge his infidelity and injury towards your person. I consider you a princess, a daughter from this day forth.” Pero couldn’t believe he was issuing this sentimental proclamation and smiling. ‘What the heck has gotten into me? Where did the rage, anger and lust go?’
Gisele agreed although it was apparent many of the sentiments Pero expressed were lost on her, beyond her education. She only knew she was a great deal richer than she had ever been in her whole life.
“Now place your hood back over your head, Gisele. Safeguard your virtue. It is more valuable than gold.”
Gisele flashed Pero with her big brown eyes one last time before lifting the hood back up over her head as ordered. She curtsied once again, this time protecting the neckline of her frock with her left hand. Pero was pleased he did not need to avert his eyes from this honor.
Playful and giggling, seemingly disremembering all the flirting that had occurred between them, Gisele spun around and scampered off into the woods in a direction completely opposite to the one Pero would undertake.
The knight was feeling pretty good about himself and he waited on the road until he could no longer hear her footfalls or the coins jiggling in her pocket. She was gone. The test of temptation was over. Pero snapped the reins, prompting Zaon to enter the woods at the same place where Cambio and the escorts had entered. The horse did all the work thereon as Pero allowed himself to be swept up inside a vortex of thought, hurling him backwards in time to the best day of his life. A memory he was now determined to replay one last time before he reached Eagles Pass and died.
Chapter 30 – Best Day Ever
Pero was drunk. It didn’t happen often but Pero de Alava got drunk. He felt he was entitled. The great deluge was over. There were no more crying children, no more weeping mothers, and no more anxious fathers. No more demands being made on him by guilds, banks and businesses. And best of all, no more rain.
Winter had been brutal and the torrents that followed in the spring of 1197 caused massive flooding. Roads and homes were washed away. Commerce and trade came to a standstill. Pero de Alava and his administrative circle at Capua, worked tirelessly to manage the calamity. Plans changed daily. Every available resource was allocated to help the thousands of desperate families displaced by rising waters. Pero’s faith and fortitude had never been so challenged.
It was no secret that administrators in other regions being equally beset by the flooding were less than helpful. Their citizens suffered needlessly, the leaders begrudging the people basic necessities. And when the wail and the stink rising up from makeshift camps outside their castle walls grew tall enough to disrupt their detachment and serenity, they dispatched armed troops to destroy the camps, tax the vagrants, and expel them with cold regard for their hopeless condition.
Pero de Alava prayed the day would never come when he could be so low, so isolated and indifferent to the suffering of others. Bishop Candello kept the doors of the chapel in Capua open around the clock and Pero spent long hours in there, praying. The people were ravenous and scared. They had nowhere else to turn. It was an unparalleled relief effort, a communal determination that brought the richest and the poorest together and earned Pero respect from all sectors of society. Even the pope, who was not pleased to have Pero de Alava stationed at Capua, upon hearing of these exploits, sent a letter commending him and his administration for their selfless service to God’s people.
With order restored, Pero de Alava and Francis Whitehall took a sabbatical. They bolted south for Parthenope where a festival was already underway.
Sometime during the dead of winter, no one could really remember when, a proclamation went out to all the cities announcing the engagement of Rugerius Fabbro to a woman he had never met. The Castellan had no wish to wed this woman but it was arranged for by his father and he had to go through with it.
Pero de Alava and Francis Whitehall arrived in the city on 10 June, a day before the actual ceremony was to take place. They had rooms reserved for them at the palace but Pero and Francis were not feeling very royal and had had their fill of being stuck behind fortress walls. They wanted to walk the vias, see the sky, and escape the pomp of court. They dressed down to simple attire and invaded the bristling streets. The howl of street minstrels could be heard on every corner. Mimes, jugglers and actors entertained enthusiastic crowds.
More adventurous types traveled beyond the city limits, to the ashen plains near Herculaneum where an attraction known as Sin Circus had raised its mysterious black tents. The Circus was surrounded by a dark aura of black magic and heathenism. It was said that there were hideous beasts and devilish monsters performing daily in those tents, creatures of legend captivating spellbound audiences, carrying out dangerous and oftentimes sensually scripted acts of unbecoming behavior the likes of which could not be seen anywhere else.
Rugerius Fabbro may not have been a man of the people, in fact, he was downright hated, but that did not stop them from enjoying this event.
The comrades from Capua mingled covertly with the motley masses, visiting the seediest dens. They found it amusing to remain anonymous during their journey, fashioning for themselves novel personas for each new hostelry they visited. First they were rugged stable hands, and then they were traveling furriers. At one establishment they even posed as defrocked priests desiring wine and women for the first time.
Pero received a lot of attention from nearly every bar fly and courtesan, all of them wishing to get into a bawdy tussle with him. He flirted liberally but expended himself on none of them. He was just out to drink and have fun.
Poor, married, Francis Whitehall, drank and laughed as well, just not with the same vigor as his Spanish friend. Midonia was still a part of him, the other side of the spiritual yoke. He could not dishonor or forsake his promise to her despite all the temptation enticing him. He had fun that evening but not as much fun as his Pero or his fancies.
The day and night were spent. It was nearly time for the sun to rise again as the intoxicated duo returned to the palace. They wished to catch a few winks before the grand ceremony started sometime after noon. Laughing and singing, Pero and Francis traipsed arm and arm past the amused guards at the gate, one carrying the other into the open courtyard. Pero felt his stomach rumble and bid the Griffin goodnight with a kiss on the neck and a prolonged bear hug. He was famished and knew the royal banquet must have included succulent scungilli, fried calamari, and mussels in white wine sauce. The seafood served in the capital city was exquisite. And the cheeses, the formaggi, hard chunks of asiago, mascarpone spread over warm wheat bread, a brick of pecorino. Pero pushed his loyal estate steward up a flight of stairs leading to their reserved quarters in the east tower as he made his way into a tunnel for the dining hall alone.
Unfamiliar with the labyrinth inside this grand old building even when he was sober, Pero de Alava stumbled along blindly. Celebrants were everywhere, all of them drunk, many loud, most engaged in some form of fornication. He constantly found himself having to press his back against walls to avoid them, men and women chasing one another around in various stages of undress.
Down one corridor he thought he finally found light but had to press himself against a wall once again to avoid some revelers. He was pushed backwards into what turned out to be a door. Pero fell into the dark room. His bloodshot eyes readjusted slowly to the soft flickering glow of candles. The first thing he identified was an intimidating, white-marble statue of Christ in his chastened state hovering above a small altar some twelve pews away. Lines of blood had been painted down his sallow cheeks, a crown of thorns presse
d into his head. “Forgive me Lord,” Pero nodded in the direction of the edifice. “But in my current state of insobriety, this chapel is the last place I ought to be.”
As he wheeled about to leave, the faint whimper of a teary-eyed woman somewhere in the chapel caught hold of his ear. There was a lady suffering in this room. He couldn’t help but smile. ‘A woman.’
He tried to quietly shut the door but the latch refused to hold and the door popped back open leaving a crack of light to enter from the hall. With all the bravado of a toreador entering the ring, Pero swept aside his long black curls, flattened the blue linen cotte which ran down almost to his knees, and tightened the leather belt running around his waist. Clumsy, blurry, having a difficult time focusing, he tried to button a button near his neck that had been buttoned and unbuttoned at least a dozen times by sultry young ladies. He currently lacked the dexterity to accomplish the deed and eventually surrendered, leaving it unbuttoned. He hoisted his dark trousers tight to his crotch and squeezed his goods once for luck.
Swaggering proud and wavering prouder, Pero weaved his way down the short aisle finally discovering the weeping woman slumped over on the front bench. She was so consumed by her distress and her prayers, she evidentially didn’t hear him burst through the door or approach. Pero shut his eyes for a long hopeful moment and pleaded with God. ‘Please Lord, don’t let her be old or ugly, please, please, please.’
Chapter 31 – Beautiful
“Excuse me, my lady, may I be of service?”
The woman flinched and her sobbing ceased. She was alarmed that someone had entered without her knowing. Still, she kept her head down, her shoulders drawn away, a purple hood preserving her identity. She did note the stranger’s shoes, keeping tabs on his whereabouts at all times. Tersely she finally replied. “No, you may not be of service.”
