by Maggi Petton
“Alright.” He sat next to the boy and put his arm around him. “I am sorry to have had to scare you a little, but I find that it helps me to determine those who are truly devoted to our church. I can see that you are indeed a righteous boy. Let’s turn to other matters, then. As your Bishop, and your teacher in matters of the spirit, I must ask you certain questions about yourself. The Pope insists these matters be addressed. Your answers and actions are important to your religious life.”
“I will answer anything you ask, Your Grace.”
“Have you ever been with a girl?” asked the Bishop.
“Well, I have girl cousins, your Grace. Our families do much together, so I am with them,” the boy answered innocently.
The Bishop smiled. “The question is meant to ask if you have had sexual relations with girls.”
The boy’s puzzled look expressed his confusion. “Young man, girls and women alike are temptresses. They possess an evil within them that causes even the holiest of men to become aroused. Do you know what I mean by aroused?”
“I am sorry, Your Grace.”
“Do you trust me?” the bishop’s voice took on a strained tone.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“I will need to show you what I mean so that you can avoid this temptation. God needs for you to understand this fully so that you will know how to deal with this matter as a priest. Please stand here in front of me.”
Robert clenched his jaw. It took all of his will to stay put.
When the boy stood the bishop instructed him to remove his clothes. He didn’t hesitate to do what he was asked. As the boy stood naked, Robert could see that the Bishop developed an erection. His robe tented in front of him. Robert seethed. He wanted nothing more than to leap from his spot and rescue the poor, unsuspecting boy, but he also recognized that the longer he waited to make his presence known, the more power he would hold over the Bishop. He waited.
“Turn around for me. I need to be sure that you do not have any markings of the devil.”
The boy turned, but with a look of concern on his face. The bishop smiled again. He was toying with this boy, Robert thought, the way a cat toys with a mouse before destroying it.
“All right,” said the Bishop kindly, “I am going to lift my robe up to show you what is meant by being aroused.” The Bishop lifted his robe to reveal his enormous penis, fully engorged. The boy’s eyes widened. “I do this to aid you in your spiritual journey only, my boy. Now, come here. You need to know what arousal feels like so that you can learn to control it and avoid it at all costs with regard to women. It is a sin, but you must know how to control your reactions to women in order to conquer sin. Do you understand?” The Bishop was nearly hoarse with desire.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
At this the Bishop reached out for the boys limp penis and began to gently stroke it. It was not long before the boy hardened. The Bishop leaned forward and placed the boy’s penis in his mouth. The boy let out a small gasp.
“You need to feel very familiar with all of this, now. Kneel and do the same to me.” The bishop leaned back. The boy reached for the Bishop’s cock and began to stroke it. “Put it in your mouth!” the Bishop cried hoarsely.
Robert could take no more. He leapt out from behind the curtain. “Do no such thing!”
The bishop was in the throes of such passion that it took him a moment to react. He blinked, and then he looked in horror at Robert.
“Boy, put on your clothes and never return here again,” Robert said sternly. “Your Bishop is the devil in disguise. Never forget that.”
The boy was so confused that he did not move. “Go!” ordered Robert.
The boy scooped up his clothes and ran for the door.
“How dare you!” the Bishop recovered his senses and stood, allowing his robes to drop back down around him.
“How dare I?” Robert leaped over a table and was in front of the Bishop in a few long strides. His movements were so quick and so powerful that the Bishop cringed and his arms flew up instinctively to protect himself.
“How dare I?” demanded Robert, his face nearly purple. “You have the audacity to use God and the church to satisfy your own sick lust, and you ask ‘how dare I’? Sit down, Your Grace,” Robert’s disdain of the Bishop’s title was clear. When the bishop remained standing and attempted a glare at Robert. The Captain repeated his order with more force. “Sit down. We have a few things to discuss.”
The bishop sat. “First,” said Robert through gritted teeth, “if I ever catch you with a young boy again, I will slice off your cock, shove it in your own mouth and then slit your throat.” He paused, waiting for the image to register with the Bishop. The bishop paled. “Second, if anyone, ever, accuses the queen of heresy I will personally gather every boy in the kingdom with whom you have played your little games to accuse you of heresy and then I will slit your throat.” Robert paused, leaned over the Bishop, who was forced to lean back in his seat. “Have I made myself perfectly clear?” spittle from Robert’s mouth sprayed onto the Bishop’s face as he asked this last question. He looked directly into the Bishop’s eyes and did not alter his gaze until the Bishop finally spoke.
“Yes,” was all the Bishop said. He tried to sound indifferent, but there was fear in his eyes.
“Good,” said Robert. He turned and left the room.
The Bishop sat without moving for some time. Then he gulped down the remainder of the wine.
Chapter Twenty
Catherine and Ambrose had few encounters during the weeks since his family arrived. He was, quite clearly, not political nor did he seem very bright. He was not interested in the plight of the poor or in issues regarding the Inquisition. He was easy enough to look at, but beyond his looks, he seemed to have very few redeeming qualities. During the times they spent together, Catherine noted his eyes wandering, following many of the young women who roamed the castle.
During one of their afternoons together, she took Ambrose to see the paper mill. She often enjoyed stopping in to watch the process of paper making. It was a simple formula, but the end product was something that made her quite proud. Although making paper was relatively new to Montalcino, paper factories had been in existence throughout Italy for many centuries. It was only in the last ten years, after Catherine’s father toured a paper-making factory in Fabriano that he decided to try the technique at home. Montalcino’s paper was made of diluted cotton and linen fiber.
Catherine took Ambrose into the sorting room. Two women graded and sorted rags of cotton according to grade.
“You can see,” Catherine showed him, “how the quality of this rag is much superior to the ones here.” She held both the rags for him to feel the difference.
“Once the rags are sorted they are brought next door to be stamped.” Catherine guided him toward a door. Before she opened it she said, “You can already hear it’s quite noisy.” She opened the door and led him through, shouting, “The rags are diluted in water then pounded to break down the fibers.”
Several men were pounding the wet rags with sections of large logs suspended from beams. The noise was deafening. The rags were then placed in hot water mixed with lye to cook.
They moved to yet another small room. “Here you will see the vat men passing screens into the mixture. What they pull up is basically a mass of interwoven fibers.” Ambrose watched as the screen emerged from the vat covered with pulped and twisted material. As they watched, the mesh screen was placed over a slanted table. “The excess water,” Catherine explained, “is drained off and this wooden frame, the deckle, is fitted over the fibers and pressed.” When the deckle was removed, the material was lifted and placed between two pieces of felt, where the excess water was pressed out.
“What you have left is a piece of paper that is then hung to dry.”
Ambrose nodded. “I am impressed. I thought only the larger cities produced papers.”
As they made their way back to the castle Catherine said, “For some t
ime we were prohibited from such endeavors. Papermaking was prohibited by anyone within a fifty mile radius of Fabriano. There were even fines levied against anyone caught attempting the trade.”
“You are very close to Fabriano,” Ambrose noted.
“About fifty miles,” she smiled. “But we are so small an enterprise that we are no threat. We mostly make paper for Montalcino merchants and residents.”
“What is the most difficult aspect of the process?” he asked as they made their way through the doors of the castle.
Catherine laughed. “In the summer months it’s bugs! I’ve lost count of the samples of paper that have come across my desk with mosquitoes imbedded in the paper.”
She took Ambrose to her office where she took a small stack of some of the finest paper made in Montalcino out of a drawer. It was wrapped in a velvet ribbon. “For you.”
He bowed and smiled. “Thank you. It is beautiful.”
In some ways Catherine was dreading her wedding night, but she found herself curious about it, as well. She wondered if she would respond to her husband. It was hard to imagine what the wedding bed would be like. She felt no physical attraction with Ambrose. She thought about him rarely, if at all. The kind of desire and longing she felt with Bella did not exist. Still, she could not help but wonder if the sensations would be as pleasant. She hoped they would.
Regardless of her response to this man, she had been rehearsing what she intended to say to him about their future together as husband and wife. She had no desire to hurt him; he had done nothing to deserve being hurt. She was using him, but she suspected from comments made by both him and his parents, that he was using her as well. All the better, then, for both of them.
The wedding was scheduled. Preparations were made. The guests invited.
Catherine insisted the surrounding townspeople be allowed to celebrate the event. She wanted to give them reason to hope, even as she despaired over the fate of her country and her ability to prevent her church from persecutions. Parts of the castle and grounds were to be opened to them and Catherine instructed the staff to be sure that tables were set with refreshments following the wedding ceremony.
The morning of the wedding arrived. Bella woke to find Catherine lying next to her weeping silently. She lay on her back, the tears streaming from her eyes and filling her ears.
“Oh, my love,” Bella exclaimed and reached over to pull her to her breast.
“I cannot believe this is going to happen, Bella.” Catherine could not hide her anguish. She was certain her heart was breaking. “I wish so much for some other way.”
“Be brave, my sweet queen. Our nights will be ours again soon enough. “
“I don’t think that I can bear this burden.”
“Catherine, you won’t bear it alone. When your ability falters, remember I’m with you in this. Remember, always, that I am here, loving you, waiting for you, wanting you. Remember this.” She kissed Catherine--a kiss filled with such love and tenderness, passion and promise, that Catherine allowed herself to be transported to a world where this wedding did not exist. Bella made love to Catherine on the morning of her wedding in a way that helped her to know that she could bear anything as long as Bella was with her.
When they finished their lovemaking, they lay entwined together, for some time. Finally, Bella spoke, “I will call for breakfast, and then we must prepare you for your day.”
They ate in silence. When they were done, Bella had Marie fill the bath, and dismissed her. Bella bathed Catherine without words. As she dressed Catherine in her wedding attire, they didn’t speak.
Catherine’s dress was unusual. Although pure white silk, it was trimmed in gold, and more resembled the robes of a monk than the wedding dress of a queen. It draped in soft, flowing lines from her shoulders to the floor, the train flowing behind her for several yards. Instead of a veil, there was a wide hood that lifted and draped softly over her crowned head and could be pushed back. The dress, though not at all conventional, was elegant, simple and seemed a purer expression of the queen than the more traditional styles of lace and bustle that were being worn. Bella did Catherine’s hair and applied her makeup.
Bella helped Catherine into her wedding dress and stood back to look at her. She was stunning. Bella’s eyes filled with tears. She turned and went out onto the balcony. She would not leave her quarters this day. She would not be present at the wedding. She did not expect to see Catherine again for several days.
That her own lady in waiting did not attend her wedding would be overlooked because of Bella’s condition. Neither Bella nor Catherine could bear the thought of having to endure the others’ presence for the ceremony or the reception that followed.
Catherine watched Bella for a time, waiting to see if she would turn to say goodbye. But she never turned back. The hardest part of this day for Catherine culminated in her next move. What she wanted to do more than anything was to walk out onto the balcony with Bella and forget about this entire facade. If she were entirely honest with herself, what she really wanted was for this day to celebrate her love for Bella. That, she knew, could never be.
After what seemed an eternity, Catherine closed her eyes, bowed her head and turned. She left her quarters without looking back. That very act took more of her strength than any of her life.
Bella heard the doors close behind Catherine. She turned back toward the room. Her face drenched with her own tears. As with Catherine, it took every ounce of Bella’s fortitude to keep from running after Catherine and begging her to call off the charade. Now that Catherine was gone, she went to the queen’s bed…her bed…and wept while desperately trying to drown the sound of the clanging church bells.
The wedding itself was a beautiful Sunday affair.
Though custom was for the bride to be given away at the door of the church, and vows to be exchanged there, Robert insisted that the queen be married at the altar, where she was not vulnerable to attack from anyone with a view of the church.
Catherine placed her trembling hand on Robert’s steady arm and they walked down the aisle of the church. Her free hand held a bouquet of white roses trimmed with knotted gold, silk ribbons. The pews, draped with a variety of flowers and ribbons, were filled to capacity. Every guest bowed or curtsied as the queen floated up the aisle.
Catherine set her eyes on the bishop waiting at the altar, thinking that if she could focus on her hatred of him, she might be able to disguise the dread she felt playing out this miserable game. Bella had hidden the pasty pallor of her face with fine rose colored powder. But Catherine was afraid that the sadness in her eyes was evident to all who had the courage to look her in the face.
The bishop looked resplendent in his formal robes. His miter sat regally on the top of his head and he appeared to tower over everyone and everything in his vicinity. As Robert and Catherine approached the altar, the bishop kept his eyes focused on Catherine, and she met his gaze with determination. If this was a battle, she was going to win. She was glad she decided to dispense with the formal procession of the bishop, cross bearer and witnesses to precede her up the aisle. And, although it had been a bone of contention, she had refused the traditional groomsmen and maids of honor. Ambrose’s parents were unhappy that their other two sons would not be at the altar in their regal attire, but Ambrose was surprisingly supportive of Catherine’s desire to limit the wedding party to just the two of them.
As she and Robert approached the altar, Robert leaned to kiss her cheek. He whispered softly in her ear, “Be brave, my dear cousin, it will be over soon…and I will check often on your true beloved.”
Catherine’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude and despair; despair for the fact that she was not marrying her true beloved; gratitude for Robert’s understanding and his words; words that she knew helped her to appear as the happy bride shedding tears of joy.
She turned to accept the hand of Prince Ambrose who was dressed in full, formal, royal robes. His outer robe was crimson, trimmed in
gold. On his head he wore the crown of the Prince of Perugia. Catherine wondered at the irony that there was probably not a woman or girl present who did not wish to be standing next to the dashing Prince, when she wished to be anywhere else.
The wedding ceremony was a Nuptial Mass, enhanced with special music. The bishop said an opening prayer, and followed the prayer with a psalm reading.
The homily, although blissfully shorter than the bishop’s usual Sunday sermons, was a treatise on the importance of marriage as a holy sacrament.
Catherine felt her jaw clench as the bishop focused on the exclusivity of “a marriage in the eyes of God,” and the importance of all persons respecting the holy sacrament between Catherine of Montalcino and Ambrose of Perugia.”
Catherine was angry that she had not thought to have Robert warn the bishop to be brief and encouraging on this day. Now, as he began his not so subtle diatribe to unnerve her, she was furious at her lack of foresight.
“Any person,” the bishop was droning louder and louder, “who tempts a married person to stray from the vows of holy matrimony is a sinner and will suffer the fires of earth along with the fires of hell! It is our responsibility as stewards of the faith to insure this does not happen! We must be vigilant for the couple married here today…”
Catherine heard a loud clearing of the throat meant to get someone’s attention. She didn’t turn, but recognized the interruption as Robert’s throaty tenor. She looked at the bishop, who paused only briefly before continuing on a much lighter and more appropriate theme.
Following the sermon was the exchange of vows. Catherine dreaded this part of the ceremony. She hoped the sadness in her voice was noticed only by her, or that it was interpreted as something other than what it was. In her heart she was saying her vows to Bella, couched in a prayer that Bella might feel them and be comforted by her love.
Following the vows, the couple took their first Eucharist together as husband and wife. The bishop offered a nuptial blessing and led the congregation in the Lord’s Prayer after which a final blessing was given.