The Girl Who Tempted Fortune

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  I do not have long to enjoy my small victory, for the next day Sancia goes into labor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Summer, 1302

  City of Naples

  That summer, while Raymond was fighting in the south of the kingdom, Violante became ill. All of Naples knew the princess was ill, but she had been ill so many times, and always recovered. I went to the basilica and prayed for her like everyone else, but it did not comfort me. I did not trust the court physicians with their leeches. I should be taking care of her, making her herbal teas to bring down the fever, reminding her of her two young sons to bolster her strength.

  Prince Robert had taken a mistress who had presented him with a son just before Violante’s fever began. Robert had claimed him, although he was still a bastard. They called him Charles of Artois. Another little Charles named for his Grandfather, King Charles II. The little prince I had brought into this world and nursed for two years was four now, a strapping lad, clever and healthy. Did he remember me? I had gone to play with him and his brother Louis a few times after I left the nursery and entered into Violante’s service, but he had not seen me for over a year now.

  I caught my wandering thoughts and brought them sternly back to my prayers for Violante’s recovery. My knees ached from the hard floor in front of the statue of Holy Mary. I thought I had said enough about Violante for Mother Mary to get the gist of what I wanted so I moved on to Raymond, away in battle six months now. I prayed he might have some common sense to balance his ambition and his daring, and if that was too much to ask, that his soldiers defend him loyally while he led them to victory. I thought about our summer manor and wondered if I should pray for... and decided against it. Bring him home, I ended my prayer for Raymond, which made me remember my suggestion when he left and caused me to laugh. I received the frown of a nearby priest and bent my head again contritely.

  Holy Mary, you are a mother yourself, save and guard my child, Antonio. Keep him healthy and strong and remind those who care for him to be patient and kind. I tried to picture Antonio. He would be five years old now, with the round cheeks, wide eyes, and tender mouth of babyhood still. I imagined him running about on sturdy legs and calling to his half-sisters in a high-pitched child’s voice. Make them love him, I prayed, and not resent him for being the child of their father’s second marriage. I sat back on my heels, then added one more thought: remind his grandmother to tell him his mother loved him. I made my obeisance and rose. The statue’s face was kind, but on the other hand, she was made of marble. I slipped some coins into the priest’s hand to soften her stone heart.

  Violante died a few days later, despite the prayers of all Naples. I mourned her sincerely, for she had treated me better than I deserved, and I prayed for her soul to ascend to heaven soon. It would have been presumptuous of me to wear the white of mourning. Instead I put on for the first time the yellow dress Raymond had given me, with its white undershift, and I had a simple white headdress made. I stood on the street with my maid and one of Raymond’s house guards beside me to watch the procession for her funeral and interment in the cathedral of Santa Maria. When I saw Prince Robert ride by wearing white, I suddenly remembered my great-grandmother’s prophecy: she will be mother to a queen.

  The thought startled me. I was married. Twice over! My great-grandmother’s prophecy was wrong. Surely I could not be expected to have three husbands!

  Prince Robert turned his head and looked straight at me. I felt the same jolt of excitement he always invoked, a queasiness in my stomach and a rush of blood to my neck and cheeks. His face was a mask of princely sorrow but I was certain he recognized me. I had come here today for that one glance, I realized, gazing after him. I put my hand to my cheek in horror. Impossible!

  How could my great-grandmother see my future the day I was born?

  This girl will travel far from home...

  Even so, she must have been wrong about the rest!

  ... and rise high above her station...

  “Is there anything amiss, my Lady?” my maid asked anxiously, peering at me.

  I looked around wildly. Who could tell me news of the fighting in the South?

  “My Lady?” Cicillia asked again, her face wrinkled with anxiety.

  I took a breath. “Nothing is wrong. We must go home at once when the procession is finished.”

  I sent Cicillia to fetch Raymond’s steward as soon as we walked through the door. “Have you heard anything?” I demanded as soon as the man entered my receiving room. “Your master!” I snapped when he stood looking confused. “Have you heard anything of your master?”

  “His army wins every battle they undertake, Madame. He will return victorious when he has subdued the rebels who refused to pay King Charles’ taxes or obey his laws.”

  “Yes, yes, his army is winning battles. But is he well? Has he been wounded? Is there a fever in the encampment?”

  He studied me. “Have you heard something, Madame?”

  “No, nothing. Why would I ask you if I knew? I only...” I shivered.

  When I did not continue, he said, “There are always rumors about a great man, Madame. And your lord husband is a great man. He is also a very good warrior.”

  “You have seen him fight?”

  “Only at practices, Madame. But none can match him.”

  “It will make him too confident. He will be bold when he should take care.”

  “That is possible, Madame.” His expression disagreed with his words. I did not know Raymond had inspired such loyalty in his servants.

  “The men he leads, do they follow him willingly?”

  He hesitated, seeming to decide something. “Not at first, Madame. But when they rode back with him in triumph after his last campaign, they were his to a man.”

  “They admire him?”

  “They love him, because he is careful of them. He will not squander their lives, not even the lowliest. I have heard of a time he saw a dozen of his men trapped by the enemy. He fought his way to them, rather than leave them stranded. He will not send men into a hopeless battle while he watches from a hill, as other generals do.”

  “And are they careful of him as well? Will they keep him safe?”

  “If it is in their power, or die trying.”

  I frowned. I had wanted more certainty that that. “Get your writing materials. I will send him a letter.”

  The steward smiled. I would not have thought it possible had I not seen it. The man had always made me uncomfortable with his solemn demeanor. “It will cheer him greatly, Madame,” he said.

  I almost changed my mind at that, but he had already gone for them.

  “My lord husband,” I began when the steward had settled into a chair with his writing tablet on his lap. “I admonish you to take care.”

  The steward marked it down and looked up at me.

  “That is all.”

  “That is all?”

  “Yes. So I said.” I frowned at him. Was he waiting for me to add some endearment? I was not sure I wanted Raymond to come home. The memory of Prince Robert’s glance still made me shiver. Had he remembered me in my yellow dress at court when he saw me in the crowd? What if my great-grandmother’s prediction did come true? There was only one way I could be mother to a queen...

  If only I was not married!

  I did not know what I wanted. But what I did not want was that I—or my great-grandmother’s prophecy—should be the cause of any harm to Raymond. If I was the catalyst, it was my duty to warn him. My mother’s belief that a prophecy comes true in the telling, especially a prophecy of death, kept me from saying anything more direct. And I did not want to sound like a superstitious fisherman’s daughter to Raymond’s dour steward.

  “Do you wish to tell him of what he should take care?”

  “Of everything! Very well, add: Do not trust to your good fortune. It may fail you now.”

  He stared at me until I scowled, and then he wrote it down. I watched him move his plume across th
e page. As soon as he was finished I dismissed him, with the order that he send my letter at once.

  Each day I waited feverishly for news about my second unwanted husband. When Raymond’s steward approached me in the hall where I was discussing the coming week’s provisions with the head cook, I broke off mid-sentence.

  “A letter has arrived for you from your lord husband,” he said, bowing.

  “Bring it to my presence chamber at once.” I left the cook with only half his instructions and hurried up the stairs, wanting to be alone when I heard whatever news it brought.

  I was too anxious to sit, but paced the floor while I waited, oblivious to the girl kneeling before my fireplace lighting a fire against the cool day. Raymond had not written to me in all the weeks he had been gone. Why now? He could not have received my letter yet, so it was not a reply. Would it be to tell me he had been badly wounded? That he had contracted a fever? He might even now be dead!

  Why I should care so much was beyond me. He had married me knowing he should not. If his death was now required for the prophecy to come true it was his own fault. But I did not want him to die. Had Violante died because of the prophecy? I wrung my hands. If only I could escape this terrible prophecy!

  “Read it!” I cried, the moment the steward arrived. He glanced toward the chairs.

  “I cannot sit and neither will you. Read the letter at once!”

  The steward opened the letter with infuriating slowness. My fingers curled with the urge to snatch it from his hands. But I could not read it myself. And why not? Why had it not occurred to me to learn to read? I must see to that soon.

  “My most gracious lady wife,” he began. “I think of you with fondness—”

  “Disregard the endearments. Get to the news. Why is he writing? Has he been wounded?”

  The steward looked up open-mouthed.

  I took a breath to calm myself. “Read the letter to me.”

  “My most gracious lady wife, I think of you with fondness and I hope...”

  I watched the logs in the fire smolder, curbing my impatience, as he read to me.

  At length he reached the point. “I am writing to inform you of a loss I know you will feel most keenly. I have learned that your uncle Guilio met with a fatal accident while on his fishing boat. I cannot say how long ago this happened, for I have only just learned of it from one of my men. Guilio’s son, Antonio, is living with his maternal grandmother and will inherit all his father’s holdings when he comes of age. Your uncle’s daughters are living with their paternal grandmother. At my instruction, my man left money for the boy’s care and small dowries for the girls, as I know how tender-hearted you are. I send my deepest sympathy for your loss and hope you will find consolation in knowing your uncle’s children are well-cared for. I will not take up your time with news of my many victories, but know that I am well and will have happier news to share when I return home to you.”

  I was no longer listening as the steward read Raymond’s final sentences. Guilio was dead, and Violante. The prophecy was coming true! Raymond would be next!

  I sank onto a chair. Thank God and all the saints Antonio had not been on the vessel with his father! Tears came to my eyes.

  “Madame!” The steward took a step toward me. “Shall I send for your maid?”

  “Leave me.” My voice was little more than a whisper. I reached out my hand. “Give me the letter and leave.”

  I stared unseeing into the fire. It was a terrible thing to be ruled by a prophecy.

  I started when a knock came at my door. A servant entered carrying a jug of wine. I had not realized my throat was so dry and drank the cup he handed me in one long swallow. He poured a second cup and left.

  The wine revived me somewhat. Guilio was old and the seas were often rough. One did not need a prophecy to explain a fisherman lost in a storm. And had I not told my mother when I left that no prophecy was binding?

  I straightened in my chair. And if it was not the prophecy at work here?

  What was one of Raymond’s men doing in Sicily? Specifically, in Trapani? Raymond was fighting in Calabria, within the Kingdom of Naples. A chill went through me. Why could he not say how long ago Guilio had died, when he had learned so many other details?

  I crushed the letter in my hand and threw it into the fire.

  ***

  Two weeks later Prince Robert was publicly betrothed to Princess Sancia of Majorca, the eldest daughter of the King of Majorca. A strategic marriage; her father was uncle of the King of Aragon who was the elder brother of King Frederick III of Sicily. King Charles was still determined to regain Sicily. Prince Robert, I was certain, had had no more choice in his marriage than I.

  I wept when I heard the news.

  My great-grandmother’s prediction had been thwarted after all. I would never be mother to a queen.

  ***

  Raymond arrived home unharmed, leading his triumphant army through the streets of Naples. Crowds of citizens cheered them as they passed. Calabria was once again obedient to King Charles’ laws, and the southern trade routes secured. Naples appreciated those who protected its trade.

  Each time Raymond returned victorious from battle more of Naples’ prominent citizens sought invitations to our dinners, eager to attach themselves to his rising star. Our large dining hall was filled with friends come to dine with us on his first night home, nearly fifty in all, fawning on the unbeatable new general. Raymond thrived on the attention. Did he not know how false their friendship was?

  After enduring hours of detailed descriptions of Raymond’s various battles and the tactics he had used to win each one, I finally retired while Raymond saw our last guests out. I was seated in a chair by the fireplace in my chamber when Raymond entered, followed by a servant carrying mulled wine. Raymond lounged against the cushions in the chair beside mine while the servant poured the wine and left. He must have noticed how quiet I had been during the banquet in his honor, but he gave no sign of it.

  He took a sip of wine and set his cup back on the table, watching me the whole while. I kept my face averted.

  “I have a village,” he said casually. “And a small castle beside it,” he added, when I turned to stare at him blankly. “A very small castle, it is true, but the next one will be larger.”

  “You are serious.”

  He laughed. “I won a great victory. A number of victories, amounting to a great one. King Charles is a monarch who shows his gratitude. Next week I am to be knighted.”

  “You will be knighted?” I felt foolish repeating his sentence, but it was beyond belief. “Knighted?” I asked again, as if I might have heard him wrong.

  He nodded solemnly. “Knighted.”

  I should have congratulated him. Instead, I laughed.

  He frowned. “You find me amusing?”

  “Why did you not tell our guests? I would have liked to see their faces.”

  His frown turned into a conspiratorial smile. “I am waiting until it happens.”

  I laughed again, and raised my cup in salute. “Sir Raymond.” I drank.

  ‘Lady Philippa.”

  I coughed on my drink and took a second swallow, not quite looking at him. I did not know whether I believed it yet; it was not a thing one could take in all at once. I glanced down at my fine silk kirtle. The topaz and ruby gems sparkled on my brooch.

  “What are you thinking, Philippa?”

  “I feel like I am at a masque. Wearing my new silk kirtles and fancy headdresses, with precious jewels on my breast and neck and fingers. I am always afraid I will do something, say something. That I will open my mouth and my... my rough Sicilian accent will emerge and I will be exposed for the peasant I am.”

  “You are fortunate that you can don the mask. At least you can make them forget, see something beautiful that might fit into their narrow aristocratic world. No matter how well I speak in how many languages, how elegantly I dress, how capable I am at court and on the battlefield, no matter what title I hold, now o
r in the future, they will always see my face, my hands, and know me for an imposter.” He stared down at his hands, turning them over and back. “I can never escape my origins.”

  “Then we shall not, either of us. Let us throw it in their faces that despite our origins we are smarter, richer, more successful, more favored at court than any of them!”

  He smiled his beautiful smile, the darkness of his skin only making his smile shine brighter. Was I once afraid of his smile? I leaned forward now and kissed it, feeling the hardness of his teeth, the softness of his generous lips, the curve of his smile under my lips.

  “Have you finished your wine?” he asked when I drew back.

  “No.”

  He smiled. “Finish it,” he said softly. “It is late. I have waited a long time for this night.”

  Abruptly, and even with some regret, I remembered his letter and the questions I had waited for this evening to put to him. I took a quick sip of my wine. Did I want to know?

  I tapped my fingers on the chair’s arm, glanced at him and looked away. Want or not, I had to know the truth. I set my cup upon the table between us and drew in a breath. “Did you murder Guilio?”

  He barely hesitated, slipping into the masque again as easily as a leaping fish slides back into the water. “I have never set foot in Sicily.”

  So calm, as though he had been waiting for my question. “Did your man... did you have him...”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I was told it was a fishing accident. I assume he fell from his boat during a strong wind.”

  “Guilio has been a fisherman all his life. He would no more fall out of his boat than you would fall off your horse.”

  “Men have done so in battle. Often.”

  “Tell me the truth!”

  “Why are you upset? He was stupid and greedy, a dangerous combination.”

  “You knew him so well?” I asked sarcastically. “And yet you never met him.”

  “He gave you up!” Raymond’s fingers brushed my cheek. “He had you and he gave you up. Did he imagine another man would do the same?” His face hardened. He cradled my face in both his hands. “Or was he waiting for the day another man would not?”