Raymond did not come to my bed that night. Although I rose soon after dawn, I did not see him leave. When he came home for supper I greeted him in the green dress—green for change, for a fresh beginning—holding my head high under the headdress, with the emerald necklet gleaming at my throat. He noticed my concession and smiled, but neither of us spoke of it.
So our days went. We conversed over dinner about the household, or what was happening around Naples, news I picked up at the market or he learned... he never said where or how he came by any information. He spent his days training the men who would serve under his command and I spent mine ordering our household. I saw the strain on his face when he arrived home day after day, but I did not ask how his days went and he did not offer anything on that topic. He kissed me chastely each evening before retiring to his bedchamber, and I to mine.
Then one day he walked in grim-faced with his lips pressed tight and roared to his steward for wine without a glance at me. The man scurried off.
“You are at home,” I reminded him.
He turned his head as though he had not seen me till then. “I killed a man today,” he said.
“You killed—!”
“A waste! A stupid, unnecessary waste of a strong soldier who could have fought well for King Charles!” He grabbed the goblet from the trembling steward and drank it in one swallow, dashing the cup to the floor. “Bring me another!”
I stood still. I know the look of a man who wants to beat someone. I held my head high and looked him in the eyes.
“He challenged me. In front of the men I must lead, he drew his sword and swore he would not follow a—” Raymond broke off.
I watched him in silence as he glared about the room.
The steward came running with a second goblet. Raymond drank it in one long swallow and handed the empty goblet back.
“The others will follow me now.” He turned and walked to the stairs, his hard footsteps echoing in the empty hall. I drew a deep breath as he started up the stairs. He would never be able to silence every man who called him such names.
Well, he had silenced one.
***
I stood beside Raymond in the pre-dawn darkness waiting for his war-horse to be brought to the mounting block. He was massive in his thick leather armor and boots. He had not told me the details of his commission, but I had heard the rumors of civil unrest in the northern region of the kingdom. Several counts were involved in a vendetta that was laying whole villages to waste and making our trade roads unsafe.
“Are you...” I hesitated. A woman did not ask a man if he was afraid before he rode to battle. “Are you anticipating a long absence, my Lord Husband?” It was the first time I had called him that. He turned to me with a smile.
“Will you miss me, Madame Wife?”
“I do not want to order too many provisions. I will not be entertaining while you are away. The food would go bad.”
He laughed that hearty laugh of his. I frowned to hide the pleasure I had begun to take in hearing it. He laughed again. “I expect you will see me in a month, two at most,” he said. Seeing his horse being led out of the stable he started toward it.
“Are you not even going to bid me goodbye?” Had I got up in the dark to watch him mount his horse? He had not come to my bed since our wedding night, which admittedly was a relief, nor once spoken to me in private, which was not. I was left to stew over what my role in his household was, and whether he no longer cared for me, and that led to wondering what Cicillia had told him. I had not thought of a way to ask her without revealing as much as I learned.
Raymond stopped and turned back to me. He smiled broadly. “I believe you want to be kissed!” he announced, and before I could answer, he lifted me off the ground and kissed me long and soundly. I was so startled I kissed him back. His arms tightened around me, pressing me against the hard leather of his armor. Hard enough to prevent the piercing of an arrow or a sword? Of their own accord my arms encircled his head and held him to my lips.
I was breathless and a little dizzy when he set me down. Guilio had never kissed me like that! Raymond drew his finger along the curve of my cheek, looking at me as though he would memorize my face. I felt an odd impulse to kiss his finger before he withdrew it. Fortunately, I did not. I managed to scowl severely at him, trying to hide the upward tremble I felt at the corners of my mouth. In response I received another of his laughs, this one a low chuckle. “I shall look forward to our reunion, Madame Wife,” he said.
I blushed furiously. My foolishness had given him a false message. But as I watched him mount I was struck once again by the thought that he might die, and I had not the heart to discourage his hopes.
The horse pranced sideways, feeling him in the saddle. He reined it in and brought it near me again. “My steward has my will,” he called down to me. “I have left you all your gowns and jewelry, and your bed. See that you get them, if it comes to that.”
“Come home and see to it yourself!” I snapped. But secretly I was astounded. Such a fortune! I could return to Sicily and live there a wealthy woman. Or stay here quite comfortably, perhaps even set myself up as an herbalist. Who would have thought he would do such a thing? I had not even been a true wife to him. I vowed to be more pleasant to him when he returned. Beneath my dutiful, guilt-inspired resolution I felt a shiver of anticipation. “Come home,” I said again, quietly, as he rode off.
***
Raymond rode home victorious five months later. He had soundly beaten the armies of the quarreling counts and confiscated the sacked villages in King Charles’ name, along with a great bounty of holdings, quarries, castles and money in recompense for the trouble they had given their king.
I heard him arrive, first through the rumors in the market place, then in a thunder of hooves. I ran to the main road in time to see him sweep by, leading his weary but triumphant army. His armor was dirty and stained—with rust, I hoped—but he sat his horse proudly and did not appear wounded. When they had passed I ordered my servants to “buy more of everything: meat, fish, the root vegetables your master likes, flour for pastry—we will feast tonight,” and hurried home ahead of them.
I called to Cicillia to wash my hair in rose water and sent another servant to invite the merchants who were his friends to dine with us. He would have to report to King Charles first, who knew how long that would take? I had time to decide what I would wear, to wonder why I was going to all this trouble and consider calling the servant back, to change my mind and send an order to the kitchen to make sure they made Raymond’s favorite sauce, to change it again and order my own favorite so Raymond would not think I had thought too much about him. I reminded myself I had promised to be a better wife to him, and that was all I was doing. The giddy feeling in my stomach was only hunger.
I chose my red kirtle, for a celebration, and clasped above the lacing on my breast the engagement brooch Raymond had given me. Its black pearl shone at the center, with the two topaz gems gleaming fiercely against the red silk. I slipped onto my finger the ruby ring he had given me before he left, remembering the importance he set on impressing his wealthy friends. I snapped at Cicillia twice while she was braiding up my hair—I should have an older maid who knew how to do hair properly! I caught myself, a fisherman’s daughter, saying such things, and sat in chagrined silence while she finished, then told her she might choose a ribbon for her hair from among mine.
It was all I could do not to run downstairs when I heard Raymond’s boots on the hall floor, but I remembered how tired and hot he had appeared riding past the market, and sent Cicillia to let him know I would meet with him when he had washed.
As soon as she left I realized what he might think. Of course he had washed his hands and face before he spoke with King Charles. I had told him to come home and had kissed him back—how often I had relived that kiss during these months—and now I wanted him to wash for me more thoroughly than he had washed for the King of Naples? I flushed with shame, but Cicillia was alr
eady gone.
I sent a servant to the kitchen to tell the cooks we would eat as soon as Raymond was ready. I ordered another to ride to the merchants’ homes and invite them to come now with their wives, for our supper was prepared. When Raymond emerged from his bath I was already greeting the first of our guests and need not be alone with him for several hours. I smiled at him as he entered, as though to say I had known he would want to be free of the dust and dirt of travel before greeting his friends.
That night Raymond came to my bedchamber. He stopped at the door. I was sitting in my chair by the fire with my hair combed out, a black tumble against the white of my night-gown. I knew he would come. He stood in the doorway, a large night shadow half-lit by the flickering wall sconce.
“Come in,” I said when he made no move to enter.
He approached me, carrying two cups of mulled wine, and set them on the table before lowering himself into the other chair.
I took my cup and sipped the warm sweet wine. “King Charles was pleased with your success?”
Raymond cocked his head with a smile. I felt an answering one lift the corners of my lips and fought it.
“He has given me one of the manors I confiscated for him. At Aversa.”
“A manor?” I sputtered, coughing on the mouthful of wine I had swallowed too suddenly. “A manor at Aversa? Given to you?”
“We have a summer home.” He chuckled, low and pleased.
I took another gulp of wine to stop my coughing. We. We have a summer home. I shook my head.
“Are you pleased?” He was grinning broadly now.
“We have a summer home.” I was overtaken by a fit of giggles. Raymond laughed with me.
“Would you like to see it?” he asked.
“Of course! I will see it when we go there for...” Another giddy giggle escaped me. “For the summer!”
When our laughter subsided, we sat watching the fire and finishing our wine. I imagined us traveling to Aversa, trying to convince myself it was real. The King had a castle there, Matriona had gone with the royal family as nurse to the little princes, but I had been left in Naples.
The silence lengthened. I became aware of Raymond watching me. He had finished his wine; was he thinking of staying? If so, he could not know about Guilio. Or did not care. He had been a heathen for years before converting. Who knew how many wives his father had had?
“What are you thinking so seriously, Madame Wife?”
I set my empty cup on the table. “I think of many things. I thought of running away when I first came to your house.”
“Every night when I returned I wondered if you would be here.”
“You hired Cicillia to make sure of it.” I stared into the fire, but I could see his slight grimace at the corner of my eye. “Tell me what she told you of my past.” I said it calmly although my heart was racing.
“She did not tell you?”
“I did not ask her.”
He nodded as though he had expected as much. “It is better if there are no secrets between us.”
Secrets are often necessary, sometimes useful, and never completely absent between people. Nonetheless, I nodded. Men do not like to think their wives have secrets.
“Cicillia told me you are married and have a son back in Sicily.”
I sat very still in my chair, fighting to keep my face impassive. He knew. He had known all along. Or had he doubted her? “She is not from Trapani,” I answered carelessly.
“Her mother knew a woman in Trapani, a cousin who married a fisherman there. When you left your husband to go with the Neapolitan army, there was talk.”
I had been going to ask him whether he believed this girl, but there was no point denying it now. What did he mean by ‘talk’? Better the truth than what he might be thinking. “I came as nursemaid to Prince Charles. I have never been with any man but my husband.”
“That I know.” He smiled slightly. “I lived at the castle also. There is always talk among the men about those women who are willing to warm a man’s bed.”
I flushed, remembering that he also knew the reason I had fallen out of Princess Violante’s favor. A minor transgression now, compared to the sin of bigamy. A sin he had knowingly forced on me!
“Yet you married me. Knowing I was married to another man!” I glared at him, my voice rising. “You knew all along! You forced me to marry you, knowing I should not. Knowing I would be committing a mortal sin!”
“Have I asked you to consummate our marriage?”
“It is no marriage, nor ever can be.” I huffed in my chair. Why did he have to tell me? Why tonight? How could I go to Aversa with him now? I fumed in silence.
“I will see that no one learns of it.”
I looked at him. If he had known... “Cicillia...!”
“Cicillia is our servant. I pay my servants a good wage and treat them well. In return I demand their complete loyalty. Cicillia knows this.”
“I will be executed if it is discovered.”
“There is nothing to fear,” he put his hand over mine. “You have nothing to fear, Philippa. I will protect you.”
I snatched my hand away. “I cannot!” I cried. “I am married to another!” I shrank against my chair, away from him.
He looked at me a moment. “Very well,” he said.
“You knew!” I cried as he got up from his chair. “You knew all along!”
“I knew. But this was the only way I could think of to protect you.”
***
Raymond’s second mission was to the south. He told me no more than that, and I did not ask. I stood beside him wrapped in the cool silence I had maintained for weeks, waiting for him to leave. Before he mounted his horse, he turned to me. “This may be a long campaign.” He leaned in to embrace me. I turned my face away, offering only my cheek.
He did not kiss it. Instead he murmured, so only I couod hear, “Go and have Cicillia pack your things, then. Be sure to take your jewels. I will wait.”
I stepped back and stared at him. Was he putting me out on the streets? Had I provoked him too far?
“Come,” he said, still quietly. “It is time to choose. I will take you south with me, and see you safely back to Trapani, and to your loving husband.”
My mouth dropped open. I shut it with a snap. How dare he! I wanted to slap him, but he would not have allowed it in front of the servant holding his horse at the mounting block. I leaned forward, causing him to bend again to hear me. “I have a better idea,” I said. “Why don’t you keep going when you get down south? Why don’t you find a boat that will take you back to your little village in the jungles of Africa?” I turned with a swish of my kirtle and marched back into our house.
There was silence for a moment that made my back tingle, and then a huge gust of laughter that could be heard even when the door closed behind me.
I grabbed my green headdress and yanked it from my head, the pins tearing strands of my hair off with it, and hurled it across the hall. He knew full well I would not go back to my village; he only wanted to make me admit it! I could still hear his laughter outside. Servants scurried aside as I stormed up to my chambers. I slammed the door behind me and threw myself into a chair. I was so angry I wished... I wished he would...
Go back to his little village in the jungles of Africa? I pictured him in Africa riding one of the grotesque animals painted on his walls, and chuckled.
Did I really say that to him? I covered my mouth with my hands and laughed. His little village... I bent over, laughing ...in the jungles of Africa... I pressed my hands to my mouth and laughed silently, helplessly, my eyes streaming. If I was proud and ambitious, so be it; I could throw the same accusation at him! Let him paint his walls how he liked, he would never return to his humble origins.
He had laughed, too, after a moment. I started laughing again at the thought of that moment. I would like to have seen his face then! Pity I turned my back so quickly. But after that moment, how he had laughed!
Oh, this was an interesting man.
If only I was not already married.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
August, 1346
Castle Capuano, Naples
Elizabeth, the queen mother of Hungary, seethes with fury over the delay in bringing her son Andrew’s murderers to justice. We learn she has written Pope Clement that if the murderers are not punished Hungary will intervene and see to it themselves. The threat is real, and grave. Her son, King Louis of Hungary, would relish an excuse to invade Naples and claim it as his own, and with the Neapolitan dukes fighting amongst themselves it would be near to impossible to present a unified resistance. The Pope responds at once by authorizing Bertrand del Balzo, chief justice of the Kingdom of Naples and cousin to Hugo del Balzo, to act on his behalf to judge and sentence everyone responsible for the heinous murder of the prince, and to conduct their swift punishment.
This ushers in another round of gruesome tortures. Day and night we hear screams rising from the dungeon and moans from the prison cells. I do not want to think about what is being done to them, or wonder what lies they are confessing to make it stop.
When two guards enter our cell and come toward me I stand up straight. I am shaking so badly I am sure they will notice despite my attempt to hide it. Have I been accused by the others? Are these men taking me down to the torture room or outside to be put to death? I turn a last, bracing look on Sancia, wishing there was time to tell her how proud I am of her, to exhort her to have courage... and then they drag me out.
It is a long hall, lit sparingly. On either side I hear the agony of my fellow inmates as I walk down it. My heart stops when I recognize my sons’ voices moaning from behind the iron doors of their cells. At least they are alive, but it is poor consolation for their suffering. When we reach the stairs and I am led downward I know my fate. I feel faint, thinking I would rather have been taken up and outside to my death. Then I raise my head and steel myself for what will come. Despite my resolve, it is not long before my screams and moans contribute to the hideous cacophony of the dungeons. Sancia, too, is tortured, though only once. Her condition is obvious now and possibly shames them.
The Girl Who Tempted Fortune Page 21
