The Girl Who Tempted Fortune

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  Catherine of Valois, Empress of Constantinople and matriarch of the Taranto Duchy, is the last of Joanna’s old council. They dare not touch a royal, these villains. Nor would Robert of Taranto permit it—for all that they hate each other, she is his mother. He cannot have any suspicion fall on his own family, or people might look at him. This is what has kept him from accusing his brother Louis of the conspiracy against Prince Andrew.

  A groan escapes my clenched lips. The water is loosening the filth covering my exposed toes. I take several gulps of the bitter tea. Cicillia stops dabbing at my foot until I settle in my chair again.

  Joanna will have discussed with her new council the decision to announce publicly her preference for Louis. Catherine of Valois has always preferred her second son. He listens to her while Robert of Taranto listens to no one. She is a powerful woman and skillful in court intrigues, but she is blinded by her family’s interests—in this case; the interests of her favorite son. It is not the advice I would have given Joanna, had I been there. Louis’ forces might gain a slight edge by her endorsement, but the absence of a formal betrothal has shown everyone the Pope opposes her choice, which is all the encouragement Robert needs. Moreover, her Hungarian in-laws will be incensed. They want a Hungarian prince on the throne of Naples, or none at all. Charles Martel may die in infancy. Even if he does not, it will be years before he takes the throne. Elizabeth of Hungary and her son, King Louis of Hungary, will be enraged to see the kingdom of Naples slipping from their grasp.

  Joanna must know her Aunt Catherine’s advice is tainted. She has been trained all her life to rule this fractured and highly-coveted kingdom by her grandfather, King Robert the Wise. But she needs a husband to lead her army and protect her realm, one who is fully committed to her, and she has been attracted to Louis since they were children. Did she not have him escort her in to dinner at Castle Nuovo? But to make a public declaration? Without Pope Clement’s blessing?

  “How have the people responded to their queen’s choice?”

  Cicillia shrugs. “They have returned to their business, although there is still uneasiness and discontent. I think they are waiting to see what will happen.” Cicillia lifts my foot out of the water and rests it on a pillow. I make myself look at the mutilated toes, because I do not want to. Cicillia covers them with a light poultice. It stings excruciatingly. I have done this to others, I remind myself, as I drain the last of the poppy tea.

  I should be there. I should be warning Queen Joanna to be more cautious, more subtle, to hold her cards close. To hint at much and promise nothing. She is a clever girl, a brilliant girl. Her grandparents trained her well in the art of kingship, in the careful balance of royal command and royal favor. But she is not a subtle girl. Her step-grandmother, Queen Sancia, imbibed her with too much piety to admit the calculating guile necessary to rule a court of hot-blooded, ambitious Neapolitan and Hungarian cousins. And she has never needed to depend on her wits for her very life.

  Until now. Now, when everyone she could trust is either dead or locked up under the accusation of regicide. Not by chance. No, not at all by chance. Leaving her, a lamb among wolves. A clever lamb, though, and well-trained in royal politics—she will surprise them. Somehow, I must help her.

  “Leave the poultice on until I return,” Cicillia says.

  “You think to instruct me in herb lore?” I say it lazily rather than sharply. The tea is having its effect. Cicillia rises, her joints creaking. At fifty-six, she is nearly a decade younger than I.

  “Thank you.”

  She looks at me.

  “It is the tea. It mellows.”

  “You are welcome, Madame.” Cicillia’s mouth quirks as she ties on her cape.

  “Tell my daughter-in-law I need writing materials,” I say as she leaves. Cicillia has known me since she was a child. She will understand what I need.

  That afternoon our guard admits another visitor, one of Sancia’s maidservants sent from the count of Marcone. She brings us a basket of pasties and figs, a bag of money which the guard confiscates at once to ‘pay the debts we will incur while imprisoned’, a warm cloak and a clean set of clothing for her mistress, and a message from her master.

  “The Count will not visit. He cannot associate with you while you are under suspicion of conspiracy to murder a royal prince,” she tells Sancia bluntly.

  “Is he well? Is Maroccia—”

  The servant’s face softens now she has delivered the count’s distasteful message. “Your daughter is very well, Countess. She walks more confidently every day. Soon she will be running. Your Lord Husband... I never saw a father so attached to a child. Rest assured, Madame, he will never allow harm to come to her.”

  “Tell her... tell her I love her. And tell my Lord Husband I believe he is right not to visit me, for Maroccia’s sake. We must keep her safe, above all.” She touches her abdomen. “Tell him that his son is well.”

  “It is a lie!” the servant says, suddenly fierce. “It is a wicked lie that you were involved in any conspiracy!”

  “It is,” Sancia says. “And I will be proved innocent. You will tell Maroccia I love her?”

  “I will, my Lady. And I will pray for your release so you may tell her yourself.” She bows and hurries out, leaving Sancia praying for her daughter.

  I am not much of one for prayer. God gave us faith and wit, and in my experience wit is the more useful gift. It is time I put mine to use again. I wait impatiently for Beatrice to bring me writing materials.

  She arrives the next day. “My maid, Blanche, has agreed to take your letter to her brother, Giovanni. He will see it reaches Queen Joanna,” she murmurs as she passes a small package from beneath her bodice into my hands. I quickly slip it up my wide sleeve while thanking her for the soup, and the olive oil she has brought for our lamp. I know her maid; I once brought her an herbal drink when she had a fever, and my husband’s recommendation secured Giovanni a position in the royal kitchen. Beatrice has anticipated my intent precisely.

  When Sancia and I are alone again, I unwrap the writing materials and lay them out on the little table. I may not be able to sit at Joanna’s council table, but I have influence yet.

  My Most Magnificent Monarch, who as a babe I cradled in my arms and cared for above my own children, I begin. I am not above incurring a sense of indebtedness where warranted. I think a moment. If this missive should fall into my enemies’ hands...

  My greatest wish is that you are well and safe, and the crown prince also. I anxiously await your reassurance that you and our future king are strong and well-defended. Such an assurance cannot be measured in gold. It is priceless not only to your royal person, but to your entire kingdom.

  I examine my letter. No one can object to my wishing the queen of Naples health and safety. Joanna will understand what I am saying: that she must cast her gold where she has cast her alliance. What she has done in announcing her preferred suitor cannot be undone, so it must not be half-done. It is more important than ever that Louis wins over his brother, and he will need her gold to do so. She will also know, when I ask for her reassurance, that I am awaiting a reply, and by that she will know the man who gives this to her can be trusted.

  I seal my letter with the wax Beatrice provided along with the vellum, and press my ring into it. They took my necklet and my gold brooch but dared not steal my ring, given me by the queen herself.

  Next day the letter leaves, pressed to my daughter-in-law’s bosom under her shift while the guard at our door checks the empty basket in which she brought us bread and fruit and cheese. I watch him nod and wave her on her way. Now we shall see.

  I wait anxiously for three days before Beatrice brings me a reply, and then must wait till we are alone and the guard has left to read it. I open it breathlessly.

  Joanna, too, chooses her words carefully. We cannot be entirely certain of anyone. Her subjects, who so loved her for her beauty, piety, and justice, are now crying in the streets for blood. A monarch who brings war
and the threat of privation to her people has no virtues.

  She writes that she hopes I am well while I await my trial, and expresses her faith that God will protect the innocent and expose those guilty of treason who until now have hidden their falseness. (Hah, she is furious over the betrayal of Hugo del Balzo, in whom she misplaced her trust). She thanks me for my letter which brought her great relief, and tells me she will guard her and her son’s safety with all possible means at her disposal.

  So she will follow my advice and is eager for more. I am about to begin a reply when I hear the key in the lock at our door. I have barely time to hide everything before the door opens. I am shocked to see the master of the royal guard walk in.

  “Leave us,” he commands. Our prison guard looks about to object, but thinks better of it.

  “Have you come to release us?”

  “I wish I could, Madame Philippa.” He looks around the little cell, avoiding our eyes.

  “Is it bad news?” At his nod Sancia sinks into a chair, her hand on her belly. I stand beside her, my throat dry.

  “Not that,” he says quickly. “Forgive me, Madame.” He pours Sancia some ale from the jug on the table, then, distracted by his thoughts, drinks it himself.

  “Tell us.” My voice is raw and strange to my ears.

  “The Duke of Taranto has moved into Castle Nuovo.”

  “Moved in?” I stare at him open-mouthed. Of all the news I might have anticipated, this had not occurred to me. “Into Castle Nuovo with Queen Joanna? Surely she has not agreed to that!”

  “Duke Robert of Taranto forced his way into the royal castle, and ordered my immediate departure, along with half of the queen’s royal guard.” He looks down miserably. Before I can speak, he says, “He was inside before we realized what was happening. We fought, but his men outnumbered us, and the queen ordered us to put down our swords. She said she would not sacrifice her men needlessly.”

  I grasp the back of the chair for support. The master of the royal guard stands with his head hanging, like a recalcitrant child.

  “There is more?” I manage to get out.

  “He has begun issuing royal proclamations.”

  “In whose name?”

  “In his name, Madame.”

  “From Castle Nuovo in his own name? What sort of proclamations?”

  “That all citizens of the Kingdom of Naples must resist Lord Louis and his forces, that none may join him or obey an order given by him.”

  “Has Queen Joanna not denied it?”

  “The queen, in retaliation, has issued an edict naming Lord Louis her protector.”

  How desperate she must be. If Duke Robert has his way, she will be locked up the day after he forces her to wed him. Or worse. I forgive her for deserting us in Castle Nuovo, for not being able to prevent our torture, for putting herself and her kingdom first. But I cannot imagine Joanna frightened. Distraught over what to do, perhaps. And angry. Yes, she will be furious! She is God’s anointed, the rightful queen of Naples. She cannot help us now while she is fighting for her life, but it is in her nature, as it was in her Grandfather’s, to stand by those who are loyal to her. If I can help her save her crown, she will help me save my family.

  “Can you get a letter to her?” It will be much more dangerous now. I dare not put Beatrice, Blanche, and Giovanni at risk.

  “I can.” He does not raise an eyebrow when I get my writing materials from their hiding place.

  I smile to myself. I have lived up to expectations.

  I write a second carefully-worded letter to Joanna, urging her to seek the blessing of the Holy Father in all things (I expect she has already sent an emissary to him) and above all to resist the devil (she will take my meaning) and to keep faith with those in whom she has put her trust.

  ***

  Queen Joanna and Duke Robert of Taranto battle for power all spring, issuing edicts and counter-edicts. Meanwhile, Louis fights his way back to Naples, gaining supplies and soldiers as he comes. By the end of May he has reached the hill northwest of Naples, and sits there with a large army looking over the city.

  We wait breathlessly for visitors to bring us the news each day, and even in our foul surroundings, find hope and healing. We will survive this, I and my sons and my granddaughter. Louis will free the queen and the kingdom from his brother’s tyranny and protect us, I promise Sancia. Our family will be freed and reinstated in the top positions of Joanna’s court. So I tell myself. And so I tell my great-grandmother when she whispers prepare yourself! into my mind in the dark of night.

  We will survive.

  If we can just hold on until Joanna regains her power, we will triumph once more over our enemies.

  If we can just hold on.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  February, 1301

  City of Naples

  Everything?

  How could Cicillia claim to know everything about me? And how would Raymond know whether he had been told everything about me? He could not know I had a husband, he would never have married me knowing that! I had hoped for a more specific answer; this veiled warning told me little except that whatever the girl knew, Raymond knew. How he had found her I could not guess, but she had given him at least some of my secrets. She was his, not mine. I would do well to remember that.

  I went to my bedchamber, closing the adjoining door behind me, and bid Cicillia pin on the green headdress and clasp the emeralds around my neck. I itched to ask her what she knew of me, and how she knew anything at all, but I would not let her see my concern. What did it matter what a servant thought she knew? That attitude was my best defense, that I was too high for her reach. I sat proudly as she tucked my hair under the headdress, as though I had merely found a simple veil over my braids more convenient during the day and had always intended to dress for dinner with my husband.

  We dined in the small hall at a table that only seated thirty. I was surprised to discover Raymond had invited several wealthy merchants of Naples to join us with their wives. I entertained those around me with the latest court gossip while I still could, earning Raymond’s smiling approval, and watched them, particularly the men, when Raymond spoke of drilling the soldiers he would lead on his first commission for King Charles, and how a victory would affect trade here in Naples. They leaned toward him smiling, interested. These were men who had earned their positions through intelligence, ambition, and careful business dealings. They admired their betters, but they also respected those who had climbed above their station as they had, through effort and competence. As did King Charles, I reminded myself, for Raymond’s climb was by the King’s grace and the tolerance of his cosmopolitan court, as was my own rise. What other ruler would have so amply rewarded two such base-born subjects? So I spoke generously of the king who had given me in marriage without my consent, and of his chosen heirs, Prince Robert and Princess Violante. Our guests added their praise to mine, and not only because they must extol their rightful rulers. I saw sincere enthusiasm in their faces and heard it in their words. A monarch who brings peace and prosperity to his people has no faults.

  Would Prince Robert be such a king? Of course he would, he was in all things noble and wise. But peace and prosperity were not always easily secured. When a prince was in descent on Fortune’s wheel, his people suffered with him, and those who had the least to lose, lost the most. I touched the necklet at my breast.

  “Beautiful,” the woman beside me commented. “A gift from your days at court?”

  I lowered my hand, embarrassed. She wore a gold brooch with two rubies on it, both smaller than the emeralds in my necklet. She leaned toward me, her lips parted, as though waiting to hear some scandalous story.

  “A gift from my husband,” I said coolly, fully aware of what she had all but accused me of. She leaned back and looked at Raymond, surprised.

  Then I understood my husband’s generosity. He was proud, and he was laying claim, and I was wearing his credentials into this influential circle of successful merchant
s. All of that was true. But I remembered the pictures in his bedchamber of his mother and father, beautiful and regal despite being unadorned by any valuable possessions—and both dead in one violent night. I had climbed up from the river mud easily compared to him. So easily I had not stopped to think how much easier the slide back down would be.

  That was the message on his walls. That was the reason behind the silks and gems, the elegant furnishings and lavish feasts. Raymond was building a wall of wealth around himself.

  Around us both, now. I looked at him thoughtfully. He was laughing with one of the merchants as though he were utterly carefree. A carefree ‘black monkey’ within a white man’s world.

  Was that how they saw him underneath their worldly indulgence? I glanced around the table, looking for a false note in their cheer. There, in that one, a narrowing at the corner of his eyes: envy? And in another, a tightening of his lips beneath his smile: scorn?

  In most I perceived a genuine respect, but there were small signs—a momentary withdrawal, the straightening of a back—when Raymond laughed too loud, when he indulged in subtle boasting. He was not one of them. I knew that look on their faces, however well-hidden; I had received it too often not to recognize it.

  And now because I was listening and watching for what lay behind all their masks, I heard something in Raymond’s voice: a note of triumph, a mocking glint nearly invisible beneath his smile. He knew. They thought they were better than him because of his origins. I had received the same veiled condescension from Violante’s ladies, for a similar reason. But Raymond turned it back on them. He was laughing as much at them as with them, he was so confident in his future. It drew me, that confidence. It drew us all like a tide sweeping over us, pulling us into his swell. I blinked and sat back. But my brief insight changed me. I looked at Raymond and saw a man now, a man with greatness in him, rising on Fortune’s wheel.