by Diana Rubino
"I have invited Cristoforo for a visit, Valentine," Denys said toward the end of the Genoese's week-long visit. "We are going to look at maps together and I am going to sing for him."
"That should send him bounding across the ocean faster than the Woodville fleet disbursed," Valentine quipped, not looking up from his mound of paperwork. "I am in no mood for feebly attempted witticisms, Valentine. I am serious."
"Aye, too serious." He finally put his pen down and approached her, gathering her in his arms. "Trying to find your family is a lofty enough enterprise and it would have shattered the very heart of a lesser person in half the time you've devoted to it. Now you want to help explore unknown lands across the Ocean Sea!"
"Sweet Jesu, Valentine, I don't intend to accompany him! I enjoy listening to him. His ideas baffle me, and yet they inspire me." She lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. "His maritime acumen nearly matches the political genius of the Chancellor of England," she cooed, tracing his jawline with her fingertip.
"Why, thank you, my dear, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten you had one." His lips descended upon hers and her eyelids fluttered, shutting out all but the intoxicating aura of the man she loved. No mastic or Oriental spice, however mystical, could match the magic that existed between them.
Their usher entered, clearing his throat, and they jumped apart. "Cristoforo Colombo is here, my Lord and Lady." He presented them both with gold pendants from the city of Elmina, where he'd voyaged the year before. He promised to show her Elmina on the map as she fingered the delicate piece in the shape of a cross with rounded edges.
She noticed a spark of inquisitiveness in her husband's eyes as Colombo hinted at the possibility of more gold there, but she cast Valentine a warning glare, for she had no intention of exploiting the man's talents and bravery to acquire more riches.
After a traditional English meal of roast boar, roast swan in full feather and the lampreys in galytyne that she'd proudly prepared herself, Denys and Valentine escorted their guests into the solar. Colombo brought his maps, one of which he unrolled flat on her writing table.
"I thought the world was round," quipped Valentine, but she ignored him, too fascinated with the jagged seacoasts and the grid that marked the degrees of latitude and longitude. Colombo located England and where Cipango and Cathay lay in the Orient. He showed them Elmina, where the gold came from. The vastness of the Ocean Sea entranced her. There had to be more to the world than what they knew! "And what lies to the west is what I intend to find out," he said, nodding as Silvio spoke, conviction deeply etched into the sharp blue eyes.
"Aye, if the world is round, there has to be another side!" Denys exclaimed, and Colombo's eyes lit up as Silvio relayed her statement to him. They talked about the stars, and how he used them to navigate, which interested Valentine and led to an astronomical discussion. They exchanged stories of the maps they'd seen of the flat earth bordered by dragons, of sailors swallowed up by what Colombo referred to as ‘the abyss,' what common folk believed was the edge of the earth. But he assured them he shared the convictions of learned scholars in Florence and other progressively minded cities that Asia indeed lay beyond the Ocean Sea.
Denys took Colombo and Silvio for a walk through her orchard, of which she was particularly proud. She plucked an apple from one of the trees she'd lovingly cultivated.
"These are deliziosi, cara, fit to be grown on Scio!" As she laughed, beaming with pride, he munched away delightedly. "And are all apples of England this succulent, this sweet?" he asked, bending over to swipe one that had fallen to the ground, polishing it on his cloak.
"Oh, there are divers kinds of apples," she replied, "but these are grown with my tender loving care. I sing to my trees all the time." Smiling at his amazed expression when Silvio relayed her words to him, she explained. "I always believed that plant life thrives on nurturing just like humans, and I do not mean simply food and water. They crave attention and companionship. Just like people, they have the need to be praised. So I come out here every day and sing to them, dance around them, stroke their leaves and tell them how lovely they look.
"In summer I tell them ‘You're going to bring forth many lovely fruits!' and at harvest time, I praise their abundant yields. This orchard and my gardens are my pride and joy. I grow all the herbs we had at supper, and many of the vegetables. My garden at our home in the north is just as extensive, but alas, we are there so seldom, since Valentine needs to be at the King's side. But this orchard is my little patch of Yorkshire right here in London." She beamed proudly as they strolled between the rows of apple, pear and plum trees through the walled orchard that gently sloped down to the river.
To his delight, she filled several baskets of fruit for him to take back with him.
"Take back! They will be eaten so fast, all I will return with will be empty baskets!"
"Come back here for apples anytime, Cristoforo," she said as they faced the river and he took deep breaths of what was the closest to sea air at the moment. "Even after you've discovered lands on the other side of the world and found the most exotic delicacies, you can always come back to my home-grown apples." Upon leaving he took Denys' hand and gave it a gentlemanly kiss. "Buona notte, cara," he whispered, touching her cheek.
Valentine had already bade his farewells and was back at work.
"When will you return to England?" she asked eagerly.
"I know not, but I pray soon," he said through Silvio.
"King Richard and his council do not hold much belief in my expedition."
"Oh, ‘tis not so, Cristoforo," she replied, as they'd reached a first-name basis almost immediately. "They are very supportive! They just have so much more on their minds, we are in an ever so vulnerable position currently, with imminent invasions, restless factions and rebels, King Richard's mind as well as his treasury are quite overburdened.
But I believe in you. I do not have the royal treasure at my disposal, but you have our prayers and beliefs, especially mine, for I, too, am on a quest and have suffered similar heartache and frustration."
"Your goodwill is deeply appreciated, Lady Denys, but I would need vast resources. That is why I appealed to the crown of Portugal, and now here. But I shall not stop here.
Even if the journey to seek help takes longer than the journey for which I seek the help."
"I know you won't stop here. I can see it in your eyes. I can see right through to your soul, a restless inquiring soul that hungers for what is out there but which you cannot readily see. It is called faith, and one must be daring and brave beyond human endurance to ever possess it."
"And how do you know all this, from a few brief meetings?" he replied, barely concealing his intrigue with her keen insight.
"Because I am on a mission of my own, Cristoforo. I too seek a world, if you will. But it is not of the magnitude of the world you seek. ‘Tis on a much more personal level.
‘Tis my world." Silvio translated her words and Colombo, with his buoyant hand gestures, eagerly prompted her to continue. "You see, I know not who I am. I was adopted at birth and I want to find my true family. I do not intend to give up until I find them. Like you, I believe they are out there, just waiting to be claimed, as are the lands that lie beyond the sea. Our missions parallel each other very closely in that regard."
He looked into her eyes and they stood wordlessly for a long time, not needing to converse, for such similar hearts needed no words. They understood each other so well.
"I do wish I could find them for you, dear lady," he finally said.
"As I wish I could help you. But for now, all we can exchange are our prayers. There are other crowns, Cristoforo," she assured him. "Richard's is not the only one.
And although I have a quest of my own, I am too intrigued with your past accomplishments and what you wish to accomplish in future to forget you and your dream. You must secure the backing of a European crown to launch your voyage west. Never, ever give up."
"Grazie, Denys, we
part in French ship," Silvio said as Colombo kissed her hand. She glanced at the interpreter.
"French? How long have the French been assisting you?" she asked, her voice wavering in suspicion. After all they'd done for him, he was already courting the blasted French.
"Not the French, French ship, French ship..." Silvio quickly corrected her, shaking his head, gesturing wildly.
"Oh, friendship!" she exclaimed as the men nodded in unison. She laughed, shaking her head in wonder at how badly they could misinterpret each other. "So where are you off to now?" she asked as they re-entered the house and Silvio gathered their maps.
"Back to Portugal to my young son who stays there."
"Have you a wife?" she asked, out of curiosity she hoped he didn't take as anything else.
"I did, but Felipa, she is dead."
"I am so sorry," she replied, feeling immensely awkward at having to convey a condolence through an interpreter.
"But she left me a precious gift, my son Diego. He is but five years of age, but when he is older, he will be sharing my voyages with me."
"Oh, how marvelous!" she exclaimed. "A father and son, discovering new worlds together! Oh, you will certainly make history, Cristoforo! Please, let us keep in touch.
"Quando arrivi scrivimi," she said in his own language, which brought a bright smile to his face.
"I shall, bella," he replied in halting English.
After they parted, she leaned on the door and gazed into the torch's flame on the wall, flooded in wonder.
She jumped back with a start, for Valentine was standing not three feet away from her, radiant in the torch lit hallway. He was dressed even more magnificently than he had been as governor: his purple pourpoint was trimmed in sable; round his neck hung a glittering gold pendant, the white boar emblazoned on his chest, a jeweled girdle cinching his waist.
"Valentine! You were so quiet."
"Aye, I couldn't help but pick up some charming traits from the French court. But, alas, I'm still no match for King Louis' regal and exclusive demeanor. Neither am I a fanciful Italian with an agenda that can very well change the course of history...world history, that is." His words carried a tone of joviality, so far removed from his torment of the past when he hadn't yet captured her heart. But she detected something buried deep within his words that the twinkling in his eyes couldn't hide.
She wrapped her arms around her husband and held him tightly. His hair brushed her cheek and she kissed the back of his neck. "Valentine, he doesn't come close. For all his flair and sense of adventure, he is just another man compared to you. You needn't ever worry about my heart belonging to anyone but you." She turned his face toward hers and could see the disturbance darkening his eyes.
"So you do not find him at all attractive, Dove?"
"‘Tis his soul I find intriguing, not his person."
"I thought so, I was just checking to see how well I really knew you," he said and she detected the relief he was trying to hide.
"I have found myself so closely empathizing with him. He wants to embark on a quest, but runs up against endless frustrations, just as I am in finding my true family. Mayhap that is why I am such a champion of his cause. We are both in search of what we know is out there, but we've yet to find the best way. With him it's the stars and the currents and the winds. With me it's much more elusive. I must depend on memories and names of those long dead. I just wish you were a little more supportive of him."
"Dove, no one is more supportive of your quest to find your family than I. You know what I have gone through and will continue to do so until you find them. But the kingdom is a great weight we carry. The unknown lands that lie west, or wherever he wants to sojourn, we cannot fathom right now. I hope you understand that."
"Of course I do. But we are equally adamant about our quests. Having one of my own, I know how important his is to him."
"Do not get too taken in with his flowery language, his theatrical hand gestures or his boundless energy. He tires me out just listening to him!"
"Valentine, we are fellow explorers trying to shape our destinies, nothing more."
"As long as that is all, bella." Without giving her a chance to reply, his lips descended upon hers and with his tongue and hands swept her up into a swirling apex of ecstasy beyond anything that even Cristoforo Colombo could find.
When she entered the solar the next day, she glanced over at the oaken chest where she kept the genealogical tables and other important documents. Something looked amiss. She hadn't opened the chest since before the tragedy in the woods, but behind the glass door she could see the papers were in untidy, as if someone had been rifling through them. She opened it and examined the papers. Then she realized what was wrong. The genealogical tables, the ones she'd procured at court, Anne Neville's, and the ones she'd sent to neighboring shires for—were all gone.
Before the court went on progress, Richard saw his way clear to send her the names and whereabouts of two of King Henry's servitors named John. She and Valentine were to investigate these and join the progress later, for she had the itinerary and knew where the King and his retinue would be every day.
John Grantham had been King Henry's chief steward and was now serving a family of nobles in Windsor. John Lyghtefote was a bit older, and had been King Henry's barber. Thinking he was the surer bet, she went to him, and left John Grantham to Valentine. She travelled the several miles to Maidstone, where John Lyghtefote resided, on the back of her palfrey and with a retinue of servants.
The weather was warm and the sun was as bright as the golden wheat and rye ripening in the fields. She tried to put the recent burglary out of her mind, but it ate away at her like a festering sore: who had stolen her tables? It couldn't be Elizabeth—she was sequestered away without any connection to the outside world save for her servers, who didn't dare meddle. Mayhap she'd sent someone else to impede her search, and it frightened her as she looked over her shoulder every few minutes.
She couldn't bring herself to feel safe, although her escorts surrounded her, their hands poised on the hilts of their daggers.
John Lyghtefote was easy to find; he had a small shop at the edge of the market square next to a butcher's stall. As always, the crowd parted when her retinue passed through the narrow streets; the merchants stopped hawking their wares, the crowd stood still in its tracks, squeaky wheels ground to a halt, and voices hushed at Valentine's splendid colors draped over the mounts. After stopping and asking a merchant where John Lyghtefote was to be found, she approached his small shop and dismounted.
She introduced herself to the sleepy old man, explained her situation, showed him the miniature and, as expected, watched as he shook his head slowly, a look of apology on the wrinkled face.
"Sorry, milady, ‘twas not I who delivered a baby to the King, or even saw an infant there. The young Prince of Wales was born there, but we all knew he'd been born there, for Queen Margaret's screams could be heard in the far reaches of Scotland."
She prodded him for memories of any other Johns he might have served with, and John Grantham's name came up, as well as a few others, but they were dead. She asked for their names anyway, just to verify it. He was able to come up with one more John, John Butts. He lived near Smithfield and had been King Henry's Exchequer. She wrote down his name, thanked him and, blinded with tears of sadness and frustration, headed home to wait for Valentine.
He arrived back the next evening, his visit to John Grantham bearing no more fruit than her journey had done.
He'd recorded the name of one other John, however, that Lyghtefote hadn't come up with. His name was John Smith; he'd been one of King Henry's gentleman ushers, but no one knew where he'd wound up.
Finally the dam burst and she released all the sadness and frustration she'd kept inside these last few months. "Oh, Valentine, I shall never know who I am. This is becoming more unbearable every day," she sobbed into his tunic and he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly.
"We s
hall find them, Dove, dead or alive, we shall find them. We have these other names here; all is not lost."
"How can Elizabeth be so cruel as to not tell me who they are?" He shook his head. "I honestly do not believe she knows."
Now Denys was considering that possibility. No one could be that heartless; she shuddered at the thought of where she would be if Elizabeth hadn't taken her in. Putting aside for a moment the fantasy about being King Henry's natural daughter, she imagined once again being one of those poor children begging for alms in Saint Giles. How ironic—now Elizabeth was virtually homeless—with no one to support her.
Two days later when Valentine was able to alter his schedule, they both travelled to Smithfield to visit John Butts.
"Exchequer is a high position," she reassured herself aloud as they exited the city gates and cantered down the road through the fields in the dusk. "He should know, he must know..." The parish priest was more than willing to direct them to John Butts' home. It was a comfortable timber framed cottage perched on the borders of his farmland. The sky grew dark as Valentine and Denys approached the house from which not one light shone in any of the leaded glass windows.
