The Queen's Companion

by Maggi Petton

  A bath soothed the queen’s aching body. The woman who tended her, a servant named Marie, washed her hair. Water was heated for a second bath, for the grime of many days was with the queen. When she felt sufficiently clean she allowed her body to be oiled. Following the extended camping of the past weeks, sleep came quickly and deeply in her own bed.

  A commotion from her sitting room awakened the queen. Catherine had no idea if she had slept for minutes or days. She was disoriented, having spent weeks away from her castle, and had to shake her confusion away. She rose, put on a robe and rushed to the sitting room.

  Three of her servants were pleading with the injured woman to be allowed to continue to tend to her wounds. Each time they attempted to approach her, the woman became more agitated and fearful. She could not speak or move easily for her injuries, but was trying to get up. She was sobbing and gasping for air. Her eyes, what could be seen of them through the swollen lids, were full of panic.

  “Nooo. Nooo.” That part was clear. The rest were just garbled sounds, not even recognizable as words.

  “Stand back, all of you,” ordered Queen Catherine, almost feeling the fear of the frightened woman. Instantly, all three servants retreated.

  The crying woman tried to hold a coverlet to hide her nakedness. The queen did not make a move toward her, but waited without speaking. When she finally seemed to calm, the queen addressed her softly.

  “You are among friends,” she said. “We have no wish to harm you.”

  “I do not know you,” cried the woman. It was difficult to understand what she was saying because of the swelling in her cheeks and jaw, but the queen understood.

  “Nor I you, and so we are on equal ground. Leave us,” she directed her servants.

  The queen turned back, “I will not harm you. You are safe here.”

  Slowly, the woman looked at her. The queen saw the fear slowly leave her eyes. When she collapsed back onto the pallet, wincing in pain, the queen approached slowly and sat down next to her.

  “Can you tell me your name?” asked the queen

  “Isabella,” was the garbled reply.

  “Isabella,” the queen repeated. “You have many wounds that need attending. Will you allow me to help you?”

  Isabella nodded her assent. The queen helped to position her on her side, to allow the sunlight to illuminate the woman’s badly injured backside. Sitting behind her, the queen continued what her servants had begun, carefully extracting some of the hundreds of tiny thorns and sharp stones that had burrowed their way into her skin. It was a tedious and time consuming ordeal. At times the queen’s hand cramped as she worked the pincers and she stopped often to massage her hands and fingers. Eventually the sunlight abandoned her and torches were lit.

  As the queen worked, Isabella drifted in and out of a troubled sleep. She’d accepted water and the sleeping draught, but she whimpered, sometimes jerking and yelling out. When this happened she attempted to get up, but her injuries prevented her. Each time, the queen’s voice calmed her and she fell back to sleep.

  Working to free every pebble and thorn from Isabella’s body, the queen wondered at the softness of the other woman’s skin. As princess and then queen, Catherine had always been tended to, she never had cause to observe or touch another body. She noticed the glistening of tiny blond hairs that covered Isabella’s arms and legs. She became aware of Isabella’s breath, how it labored in her sleep. She was astonished at the velvety feel of Isabella’s skin and how warm and fragile it felt under her fingertips.

  As she worked, the queen’s mind wandered from prayer to silent meditation and back again to prayer. Her prayers were for her kingdom, her subjects, and the woman whose body lay broken before her. While her usual meditations centered on a phrase or two from the Psalms, as her eyes searched Isabella’s body for tiny bits of grit and thorn, she lost all sense of herself, much as she did when her meditations took her outside of her own being. She never knew where she went at those times, only that time seemed to have passed without her participation. All she ever knew was that she returned as refreshed as if from a full night of sleep.

  Catherine’s spiritual life was the most important part of who she was. Being queen was the role she had been given by God, and a role she relied on God to help her fulfill. Although her kingdom, as most of Europe, was Catholic, Catherine realized that no longer could one tell who was faithful to the church because they truly believed and who appeared to be faithful out of fear. Her experiences with the religious leaders, and especially her own bishop, left a bad taste in her mouth.

  Catherine’s love of God did not come from the Church or the Church leaders, but from her parents. Both her parents believed in God, but from her mother she learned about the true teachings of Christ. Her mother was compassionate, accepting and kind. It was difficult to balance those traits as a ruling monarch, but Catherine attempted to emulate her mother’s goodness in her role as queen. From her father, Catherine understood that being a monarch was more than just an inheritance; it was a calling. He never let Catherine forget that being queen was God-given and that she would answer to God for the ways in which she ruled. In times of difficulty, both of her parents often stole away to the church at night to pray. There she learned how to surrender her heart to God in the peace and solitude that was always absent when others were present in the church, especially the bishop.

  When Isabella’s back was free of the rubble, the queen had a bowl with warmed water and a cloth brought to her. In spite of the protestations of the servants, she did not allow them to perform this task for fear the woman would awaken again and become afraid. Gently, changing the water often, she managed to clear Isabella’s entire back of debris.

  Once Isabella’s body was cleaned, the queen ordered healing ointments. She attempted to count the number of wounds on Isabella’s body as she applied the poultice, but quickly gave up. There were simply too many cuts.

  When she was finally done, she covered Isabella and had the torches extinguished.

  Isabella did not wake again, nor did she stir, for three days.

  Chapter Two

  When Isabella appeared to be emerging from her long sleep, the queen was notified. She did not want a repeat of the scene that so frightened the woman days before. As Isabella stirred more restlessly, the queen dismissed the servant she had ordered to sit watch, and took a seat near the pallet to read and wait.

  It was not long before Isabella’s puffed and discolored eyelids began to flutter and open. Her gaze fell on the queen who sat near her. At first, she stiffened and her expression was one of fear and suspicion, but as they held each others’ gaze Isabella relaxed. She shifted her legs and grimaced, then looked down and raised the coverlet over her. She peered beneath. Her face filled with pain. Her eyes instantly darkened and filled with terror, her head shaking back and forth, back and forth.

  “You remember,” said the queen softly.

  To this, Isabella only closed her eyes as if she could erase the memories by refusing to look at them.

  “You need not speak of what you remember, but it may help you to talk about it.”

  A pitcher of water and a cup were on a stand near Isabella’s pallet.

  “Are you thirsty?” Catherine asked.

  Isabella nodded.

  Catherine stood and poured water. She aided Isabella gently to a sitting position and held the cup to her still swollen, cracked lips. Isabella drank her fill and the queen lay her back down on the pallet. Perhaps it was the remembering or just the act of drinking, but Isabella was exhausted. The queen said, “Go back to sleep, there will be time enough to talk when you are well.” Isabella reached out for the queen’s hand and did not release it until she was deep into sleep again.

  It was late on the same day when Isabella, again, began to stir. The queen was in her quarters for the evening, her hair being brushed by Marie, and so was nearby when Isabella woke. In the reflection in her mirror, the queen saw the woman’s eyes open.


  Queen Catherine turned toward her, “Are you hungry?”

  Isabella nodded.

  “Bring some broth,” she ordered Marie. The servant nodded and disappeared.

  Catherine went over to the pallet where Isabella lay and sat next to her.

  “You are beginning to look like you might live.” She smiled.

  Isabella opened her mouth and tried to speak. Her words did not come out right. “Ehre em I?” She lifted her hand to her mouth and felt the swelling around her face and lips.

  “You are in my home, and you are safe.” Catherine asked, “Are you in much pain?”

  Isabella nodded.

  “Truly,” Catherine said, “it was much worse days ago. The swelling is coming down. Your body was a mass of cuts and bruises. Will you allow me to see how your back is healing?”

  In answer, Isabella rolled carefully to her side to allow her back to be examined. Although it was still difficult for her to see through her badly swollen and purpled lids, she looked around, for the first time, at the room in which she lay. A round dining table was situated in the largest part of the room. It sat eight if necessary. Near to the table was a sitting area with comfortable chairs in front of a huge stone fireplace. On two opposite walls were massive, floor to ceiling bookcases, filled with leather-bound books. Apart from everything, in the farthest corner of the room was a five paneled, hand painted screen.

  The queen pulled down the coverlet to reveal Isabella’s back. After a careful inspection she said, “Your wounds appear to be closing and healing. It’s also going to be difficult to wear regular clothing. A corset is out of the question for some time.”

  “Ooh ahr you?” mumbled Isabella.

  At that moment the doors opened and the broth was delivered. When they were alone again the queen helped to prop Isabella up on the pallet and fed her. It was a slow and deliberate process to spoon, and swallowing was difficult for Isabella, but Catherine did not rush the task.

  Again, the effort seemed to tire Isabella. Catherine removed some of the pillows and lay her back down. She was soon asleep and slept through the night.

  As Catherine lay in her own bed she wondered about the woman, Isabella. What was it about Isabella that compelled her to care? This was not a task for a queen, and yet, Catherine found herself looking forward to it…both the caring for Isabella and the company. Her quarters seemed less lonely with the presence of another sharing them.

  The next morning Isabella awakened as the queen was preparing to leave. Catherine found Isabella looking slightly better.

  “I need to leave for the day, but will be near enough to call should you require me,” Catherine explained. “This is Marie, in whom I have the utmost trust to care for you. She will not leave your side. I have requested porridge and some ale for breakfast. I am afraid you might not be able to chew anything yet, and the ale might ease your pain and help you to sleep easier,” she continued. “I will be back. Rest well.”

  Marie, the daughter of the woman who had served Catherine’s mother, had been with Catherine since she was a young princess. Although she was a loyal servant and doted on the queen, she spoke rarely, and never, ever gave her opinion.

  The queen and Marie stood in the hallway just outside the queen’s quarters. Catherine instructed Marie not to reveal her identity as queen to the injured woman.

  “The physician is afraid that she might attempt to feign her recovery if she knows I am the queen. I don’t want Isabella to know who I am. Is that understood, Marie?”

  “Yes, Majesty, but…” Marie looked at the doors to the queen’s quarters, “but what do I tell her if she asks?”

  “Say as little as possible. Tell her that my name is Catherine. Tell her you are new to the position and only know that I am a lady of the castle. Don’t reveal that this is Montalcino Castle.”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “And until further notice you must not refer to me as Majesty in Isabella’s presence.”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Marie,” Catherine said with some exasperation, “it is imperative that you refrain from royal address. Please be aware.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Keep all other persons out of my quarters except the physician. Stay with Isabella until I return.”

  For his part, the physician suggested that Isabella be moved to the infirmary so that “the queen need not trouble herself.” But Catherine, having seen the torture this woman endured and still relived when she woke from her night terrors, would not agree to move the woman just yet.

  In this way the identity of the queen remained secret.

  And so it was that the Lady Isabella of Acquapendente proceeded to heal in the quarters of Catherine, the Queen of Montalcino. And Catherine, Queen of Montalcino, assumed the role of caretaker for a woman she had rescued from certain death.

  Chapter Three

  The days took on a routine, of sorts. Catherine left her quarters in the morning and attended to her duties. She returned in the evening where she had dinner brought up and she and Isabella ate together.

  Catherine asked many questions of Isabella, as her ability to speak improved. Isabella, it seemed was the only child of the Earl of Acquapendente, who held much land in the southern part of the kingdom. Catherine knew of the Earl, but had never met him. She remembered her father speak of him and had a faint memory of the association being a positive one, but remembered little else. Isabella’s family called her by the pet name, Bella.

  Bella had married slightly over a year earlier. Her husband was considerably older than she, and an aristocrat. The marriage, though it was an arranged one, was pleasant enough. It was marriage that brought Isabella further north to her husband’s castle and lands. Her parents came north to visit Bella following the miscarriage of her first child. Bella made attempts, over several days, to tell of the events that occurred during her parents’ visit, but each time she tried it was as if a cloud enveloped her entire being in darkness. She became silent and withdrawn, her eyes unfocused. Catherine sensed that to speak those things aloud would give them the power to become real. She knew Isabella could not yet visit those memories.

  At those times Catherine read until Bella gradually fell asleep.

  As the weeks progressed the swelling in Isabella’s face decreased. It became clear she was a woman of uncommon beauty. High cheekbones began to surface, and a high forehead. Her eyes were difficult to describe. They were of a color that changed with her surroundings…from blue to hazel, green to steel grey, depending on the light and the colors that surrounded her. Her hair fell to her breast line and was soft with golden waves. Although her lips were still swollen and discolored, they were beginning to return to their original shape, full and perfectly proportioned, with a slight downward turn. Her chin held a soft cleft at the bottom and it was evident that a scar would form to the right side of the cleft. She was twenty four years old.

  “From the description, you could be this woman,” Catherine commented one evening as she read aloud from a book about northern Europe. “You are much fairer than most women this side of Spain, or the Kingdom of Sardinia.”

  “Some of my ancestors were from the north. I favor them. And yes,” she attempted a smile as she held up a strand of her hair, “my hair is the color of straw.”

  Catherine smiled as she looked at Bella. “You are lovely. And straw holds all of the hues of sunlight.”

  One night Catherine was awakened to the sound of Isabella screaming in terror.

  “Paaapaaa! Nooo! Paapaaaaa!”

  Catherine rushed to the outer room, and found Isabella reaching out and crying. She ran to grab Isabella’s flailing arms and called out to her, “Isabella! Wake up” and finally, “Bella, please, Bella.” Bella woke just as guards stormed in to the room.

  “It’s fine. She was merely having a bad dream. All is well.” Catherine dismissed the soldiers quickly and turned her attention back to Bella who was drenched in sweat and shaking violently.

&nb
sp; Bella clung to Catherine and cried, “I could do nothing…nothing!” Great heaving sobs wracked her body. “I was made to watch! There were so many of them…they wore huge crucifixes around their necks. I did not know who they were. They made me watch…they made me…”

  “Watch who, Bella…watch what?” asked Catherine, although she could already have predicted what was to come. The Church had been trying to cleanse itself of heretics in the most unimaginable ways for hundreds of years. In the name of God the Church was responsible for the torture and murder of anyone suspected of being a heretic. All it took was for two people to make accusations of heresy and the likes of Bishop Capshaw could order execution or imprisonment. No matter that those two people may be criminals, or enemies or even a person’s own children who were threatened by the Church. Catherine had been listening to the horrors of this Inquisition all her life.

  “They came at night,” Bella was still crying, “and tore us from our beds. They told us that we were accused of heresy against the Church!” At this Bella’s face crumpled and she was unable to continue for some minutes as the weeping overtook her again. Finally, she went on, “My mother…oh, God, my mother. You cannot imagine.”

  Catherine held Bella patiently, rocking her gently and stroking her hair. Her heart ached as her thoughts swirled around and between the horror stories she grew up hearing. Knowing that Bella was a victim of such a crime made her angry. But she waited, silently, wanting Bella to be able to give voice to her torment in her own time.

  “They would not even let us defend ourselves or profess our faith,” Bella finally continued. “They dragged us outside in our nightclothes…my husband, my father and mother. The servants were already outside. They were told to observe what happens to heretics!”

  Bella couldn’t say more. When she tried to speak the only sounds that issued forth were whispered cries, “No…no…no!” She could not speak, and began to weep again. Her head shook back and forth as if she could shake the images from her mind.