Relief flooded over her features, and she reached to touch me.
“You are so good, Signor. Such a good man! I am sorry I made you feel that I did not trust you.”
Angela released my hand, and gracefully arose from the stool where she sat, walking over to the bed I had made upon the floor the previous night. Fully clothed, she lay upon the pallet and pulled some blankets across her body.
I began to wonder where I was going to sleep, and then decided that it was not important. I felt in the mood to write some new song; meeting Angela made me sad, and sadness always opened the gateway within me to the creation of another poem or song. I took my writing gear from the bag I had placed close to the fire, taking on my lap a board on which to write. For a few moments, I just sat there thinking, before I was able to let my mind and fingers explore the vivid valleys and peaks of creativity. And my creativity, at this time, had much to do with my thoughts of Anne, seemingly so far away from me—body, heart, and soul.
Alas, poor man, what hap have I
That must forbear that I love best?
Never to live in quiet rest.
No wonder is though I complain,
Not without cause ye may be sure.
I seek for that I cannot attain,
Which is my mortal displeasure.
Alas, poor heart, as in this case
With pensive plaints thou art oppressed,
Unwise thou were to desire place
Whereas another is possessed.
Do what I can to ease thy smart
Thou wilt not let to love her still.
Hers and not mine I see thou art.
Let her do by thee as she will.
A careful carcass full of pain
Now hast thou left to mourn for thee:
The heart once gone, the body is slain.
That ever I saw her, woe is me.
Mine eye, alas, was cause of this,
Which her to see had never his fill.
To me that sight full bitter is
In recompense of my goodwill.
She that I serve all other above
Hath paid my hire as ye may see.
I was unhappy, and that I prove,
To love above my poor degree.
When I lose myself in poetry I tend to lose myself for hours, thus night soon was gone and morning had come again. Angela began to stir and I decided that I done as much on my new song as I could do, being now so very tired, body and soul. I arose, rather unsteadily, from off the floor where I had sat throughout the night, and leaned my lute carefully on the wall near the table. With a final, exhausted glance at all that I had written—during the hours I had forbade myself to sleep—I determined, for a time, I could do no more. Thus, I put my new “scribblings” amongst my writing gear, and packed it away for another, fresher time.
I glanced over to Angela to see that she was now awake, and watching me with speculative eyes.
“I bid you good morning, Angela. Did you sleep well?” I asked her.
“Si, I slept very well, Signor.”
“Are you hungry, Angela? There is still some bread and cheese left from yesterday morn. You are very welcome to break your fast with me.”
Angela made no reply to this but looked with confusion around the chamber, and then returned her gaze to me.
“Signor did not sleep last night?”
She sounded very bewildered. Angela now pulled herself up, until she sat upright amongst the blankets.
I walked over to her, squatted down beside her and said: “I did not feel the need for sleep. My mind was too restless, and so I chose to exercise it with the making of a new song.”
We both then looked up as we were suddenly disturbed by the opening of the curtain to Sir John’s chamber. Beatrice now came into the room, looking bemused and completely unlike the image of perfection she had presented yesterday. Her pale face appeared very drawn, with dark circles etched deeply under her eyes, and her deep red hair shaken out of the elaborate style she wore when we first had met.
She glanced at Angela, still sitting on the bed pallet with her back leaning on a wall, and then at me beside her. Beatrice smiled.
“So, Angela, it was not as hard as you thought to go from one lover to the next?”
Angela deeply blushed, scowling at the other girl. I felt it time to say something before a serious catfight began.
“Signora Beatrice! Angela may be in my bed, but, I assure you, she and the bed have not had my company.”
Beatrice stared at me, and then pealed out a laugh.
“The English Signor does not like women?” she asked with a giggle.
“Signor likes women very much,” I replied good-naturedly. “But Signor likes to chose his own women, and not have them chosen for him.”
Beatrice then frowned at Angela, and spoke again to her.
“Your master will not be pleased to hear you made no effort to please the Englishman!”
“Signora Beatrice, please stop trying to upset Angela.” I spoke with annoyance, thinking the woman appeared determined to cause friction. “Angela pleased me very much. I would have been more insulted if she had chosen to play the wanton, when I wanted it not.”
Again Beatrice stared at me.
“Signor is a strange man!”
“No!” Angela broke in. “Signor Thomas is a good man, with a very good heart.”
Beatrice looked with another frown at Angela.
“Perhaps it would have been better if you had tried harder with your good man, Angela. Good men are few and far between. It is not likely you will be so lucky next time.”
Angela’s face became as if closed in, but then she shrugged her shoulders.
“What will be, will be. But last night I found a friend who listened to me, who even gave up his bed for me. Such a thing will help me keep hope in the future. Perchance, Beatrice, I will find other friends, but I will always remember Signor Tom who was my first friend.”
Turning her gaze away from Beatrice, Angela beamed at me and held out her hand. I took it and kissed her fingertips, wishing so much that I could help her more. I then decided that it was pointless in becoming too upset in something I had so little control over.
I felt suddenly aware of my hunger, so I put her hand gently on the bed coverings, stood up, and returned to the table where the bread and cheese were placed. Angela arose from the bed, and strolled over to stand beside me. I smiled again at her, and she at me. I handed her some bread and cheese, and we began to eat as if famished.
Beatrice grunted her disapproval, but also moved to stand beside me, reaching out for some bread and beginning to eat as well.
“Would you ladies like some wine to help wash down the bread? I am afraid it is not as fresh as it was yesterday. I’m just about to pour myself some, so I can attend to your needs at the same time, if you would like?”
“Si, Signor. I am sure Beatrice would enjoy some wine. I would enjoy some myself. But, Signor Tom, let me attend to it. It is the least I can do to repay you for your great kindness of last night,” replied Angela.
“You do not have to repay me, Angela, but if it would please you to do so, you are welcome to play hostess.”
With another bright smile, she reached out to pull the tray of goblets towards us. After Angela had poured out the wine into three cups, she gave one to Beatrice, and then one to myself, and at last took a cup for herself.
I could hear some groans emerging from Sir John’s bedchamber, and knew it meant that he was now awake. Indeed, within minutes he emerged from his chamber, appearing very bleary-eyed and drawn, dressed again in only his hose and loose shirt. When he saw Beatrice, he instantly revived, grinning like a boy as he clamoured up to her. But, when he went to embrace her, she deftly moved away from him. Sir John’s face fell, and he looked as if he had just been hit.
“Signor,” Beatrice now said through tight lips. “The gold was paid for only one night. I am tired. Signor Oddo will soon be here to take us back to t
he papal court. Indeed, Signor, enough gold was paid for me to have the freedom to choose who will be my next lover. And, Signor, I will be blunt: It will not be you.”
Sir John furiously flushed, and then scowled. He looked over to me and said: “I will return to my bed, Tom. Let me know when these two Italian sluts have gone.”
And with those words, Sir John returned from whence he had come, yanking the curtain closed behind him. I shrugged my shoulders at the women, feeling rather embarrassed and uncomfortable.
*
To our good fortune, it was as Beatrice said. Signor Oddo soon arrived to confirm the papal appointment for this day, and escort Beatrice and Angela back from whence they had come. So, again, we prepared ourselves for this day’s meeting with the Pope. Sir John seemed quieter than usual. I supposed the events of the previous day had dampened his spirits somewhat. However, once again dressed in his rich clothes, he appeared able to hide his personal disappointment behind the facade of a brilliant diplomat—a confident man who had successfully performed countless missions for his King in a career lasting over twenty years.
Our mission to Rome was especially important. As well as bringing documents from the King that would authorise the release of a large amount of money to the Pope, we were here to urge the Pope to strengthen his resolve against the Emperor and resist any temptation to seek out a peaceful solution. For the moment, the League of Cognac had failed in its purpose to make the Emperor come to heel and the Pope was, understandably, becoming more nervous with every passing day—especially since the Emperor’s soldiers now almost sat on the Pope’s doorstep, just waiting for the right moment to strike. Our King Henry was nervous too. If the Emperor gained the Pope, then it would be more difficult than ever to gain his desire for a divorce. Queen Catherine was Aunt to the Emperor Charles, and the Emperor—if it so suited him politically—was loyal to his family.
So we had our meeting with the Pope. The Pope was extremely thankful to receive the money from the English King, but was unsure as whether he should wait any longer before at last submitting to something which, with every passing day, seemed more and more inevitable. Already we had heard rumours the Pope was prepared to submit utterly to the will of the Emperor. At length, Sir John persuaded the Holy Father to allow us to make an appeal to Venice join the league, thus the Pope would win more money and more soldiers. As it would cost him nothing, but might gain him much, the Pope agreed to this proposal. Thus, on the twelfth of February, we began our journey to Venice.
However, when we entered the town of Narni, the first major mishap of our journey occurred. Sir John was thrown from his horse, and fell in such a way that his leg broke beneath him.
For a few fast heartbeats after it happened, I remained stock still in a state of horror. Sir John had fainted from the shock of his injury, and for a dreadful moment I thought he lay dead. I soon ascertained that, though he clearly had serious injury, he was alive and in desperate need of a surgeon.
Thanks be to all the Saints in Heaven, some local inhabitants of the town soon came to investigate what was ado. So, with their assistance, I was able to take my unconscious knight to a nearby inn. The good villagers also found Sir John’s frightened horse, and brought the stallion to me. I thanked them sincerely, giving them coin for all their troubles.
The innkeeper knew of a good and reliable surgeon, and sent one of his young kitchen boys to run to get the man’s aid quickly. Sir John was beginning to revive, though moaning now in great pain.
At last, the surgeon arrived, accompanied by his assistant carrying the tools of their trade. I winced to see that one of the tools was a bloodied saw, and prayed quickly to God to be merciful to the man who had become my fast friend.
God heard my prayers. The break in Sir John’s leg was a clean one and easily set. The doctor assured me that, though Sir John would need to rest and thus would be bed-bound for a time, he should heal and walk again. I breathed a sigh of relief. But now a new crop of troubles came forward to plague me. What were we to do about the mission to Venice?
For the moment, my duty was plain—stay with Sir John until I felt assured his life lay in no danger. I have heard countless woeful tales of a man dying for less than a broken leg. So for the next four days, I remained with him in Narni, in the same inn we had been brought to after his accident. During this time, Sir John coached me in what I would need to say to the Venetians, until he was able to assure me I would do well enough, insisting too that I continue on the journey and complete the mission we had set out to do. As Sir John realised that he was forced to remain bed-bound for many weeks, he also gave me permission and encouragement to spend some days in Florence before returning to Narni.
This was my first, truly important diplomatic exercise. I could not help but feel excited at the prospect that it was now up to me to persuade Venice to concede to our proposals. I soon discovered how difficult and frustrating this task would be.
In Venice the English ambassador, Giovanni Casale, assisted me. We spoke together in the Palazzo Ducale with the senators of Venice, trying desperately to convince them of the wisdom of our proposals. Eventually, they agreed to join the League if France desired it of them. I began feeling as if Casale and I had spent our time talking ourselves around in circles. Of course, the French would agree to this proposal. To do otherwise would be alike to cutting off their noses to spite their own faces. Thus, after much wasted debate and arguments, the Venetians promised to send aid to the Pope. Little did we realise that, back in Rome, the Pope had finally capitulated to the demands of the Emperor, and signed with him an armistice of eight months.
Thus, believing I had now achieved part of my mission’s purpose, and with yet no realisation that the Pope’s recent actions had made it already fruitless, Casale and I, early in March, decided to travel to Ferrara. Here we wished to gain the support of the Duke of Ferrara for the League, and gain his endorsement and aid. The sanction of the Duke was easily obtained. In sooth, the Duke appeared totally outraged against what he saw as an insult to the whole of Italy, so was easily convinced to give lend his support to the league.
Casale now returned to Venice, but I, having fulfilled my mission for England, decided to best make my way back to Narni, passing through Bologna and Florence before returning to Sir John. At Bologna, the good Duke provided me with a safe conduct and a courier to accompany me on my journey, and so I departed from his court in full anticipation of all the excitements that I would soon enjoy in Florence. How was I to know these excitements would take the form of something grim and ugly?
Barely more than two days into my journey to Florence, I stopped at a small town to rest my horse and give the courier a chance for respite. The courier was a young lad of fifteen and the poor, ill-fed boy had been made much exhausted by our long hours in the saddle. I felt otherwise. Indeed, during my absences from England, I had fast developed an enjoyment for travel and the viewing of new sights, which gave me a great zest to continue my wanderings. So, having free time on my hands, but feeling too fidgety to sit still, I decided to explore my surroundings.
By the time I returned to the street to where I had found lodgings, the sun had lowered behind the hills edging the horizon, I found myself feeling very surprised, realising how long my feet had spent wandering through all the town’s narrow, dusty streets. But my arrival in the inn was not meant to be, for as I came close to the inn’s door someone clouted me from behind, and all went black.
CONTENTS
* * *
Chapter 3
“And she me caught in her arms long and small.”
I returned to consciousness, finding myself tightly tied up, lying on my back in a tent with a short, dark man dressed in the garb of a Spanish soldier bending over me.
“Buenas noches, Señor,” he said, smiling gap-toothed at me.
I stared at him, trying desperately to make sense of what had happened while fighting strong waves of nausea seeking to draw me further under. At last, I felt able to
speak.
“What in God’s holy name is the meaning of all this?”
I struggled hard against my bonds.
“Señor was rather stupid. Señor made the mistake of leaving his papers behind when he went out for the afternoon… papers for Spanish friends to find and read. Now Señor is a guest of the Imperial Troops.”
“You must be mad. I am on official business for the Pope.”
The Spaniard spat loudly at that.
“That will not help you, mi amigo. We will soon make that dog pay for the insult he gave our Emperor.”
I stopped moving, as my bonds were just getting tighter and tighter. I gulped down a couple of deep breaths, trying to keep myself calm. I gazed back at the soldier.
“What do you want of me?”
The Spaniard laughed. I thought it an ugly sound.
“Gold. Señor had very little gold, but his papers told us he is an important man to los Ingleses—important enough for a ransom of three thousand ducats. We have already allowed the Italian you travelled with to return home to his master, to demand fast payment of the ransom. All you need to hope is that we are not wrong about your value!”
Knowing that being thought important enough to ransom would be enough to save my skin from further harm, I could only briefly shake my head in assent, reflecting as I did so that a ransom would probably break my family’s back for many years.
“Señor is hungry, hey? Señor would like some food?”
My head aching, again I cautiously nodded, thinking a meal might help settle my queasy stomach.
Dear Heart, How Like You This Page 13
