The Queen's Companion

by Maggi Petton

  “Wait here,” Bella ordered. When she returned she had the basket. Robert stayed with the horses and she pulled Catherine toward the waterfall. “Come, come, I have to show you.”

  As they climbed the rocks surrounding the river and moved ever closer to the waterfall, rocks jutted up to create private, secluded spots, each one of which would nurture the weary soul. Bella refused to stop at any of them pulling Catherine farther on.

  “You will not be disappointed. You must trust me!” Bella urged.

  Water cascaded over the huge rock overhang. They slipped behind the waterfall to the most private, special spot God ever created. Catherine marveled at the sheer beauty and simplicity of the place. Rock and water. Marvelous. As she moved closer to the water and felt the spray mist her face she couldn’t help but smile. Life sprinkled onto her, into her. When she finally turned around there was a blanket spread with cheese, wine, olives, bread and grapes and Bella. Bella was propped against a rock. She held out her arms and Catherine slid into her, resting against her. They sat in silence listening to the sounds of the water. They ate some, and listened some. Finally, Catherine sighed and sat up. She turned to Bella.

  “It’s as if the water washed away the sorrow I carried with me from Ribolla. I am renewed. How did you find this place?”

  “Lord Giovanni told me about it. He told Robert exactly how to find it and with the help of one of Robert’s soldiers, I sought it out today with James. He loved it. It will be a wonderful place for him in the day, and for you every evening, I think.”

  “Bella, it is perfect. I haven’t felt this relaxed and peaceful since Bolsena.”

  “I think, my dear, that this is exactly what Father Tim was talking about when he said that communion with God did not need to be limited to a certain kind of prayer.”

  “I believe you’re right. As usual.”

  Catherine resumed her position lying against Bella for a while longer. Bella stroked her hair. After a bit Catherine reached up and pulled Bella into a kiss. They made love behind the waterfall, the cold, gentle mist creating a shivering sensation that enhanced the pleasure they found in one another. The setting sun filtered through the falling water. Catherine found it magical to look on Bella’s body and see how the moisture formed tiny beads on the light hairs. The tiny droplets sparkled like crystals.

  As the sun drew nearer the horizon they made their way back to camp.

  Although Catherine did not realize it at the time, the beauty of that place would carry her through some of the most difficult days she would ever know. That secluded waterfall alcove became her chapel and her saving grace while she was in Ribolla.

  In the days that followed, Catherine met with several of Lord Giovanni’s family. She was grateful to have them to rely on, since Father Mario was no help. But the person with whom she felt the most affinity was Lord Giovanni’s youngest son, Benito, who had his father’s warm personality and gregarious laugh. He also looked most like Lord Giovanni and that made Catherine always glad to see him.

  When they first talked, they agreed to meet every evening at a large tavern on the outskirts of the city. As they sat, sipped ale and picked at bread and cheese, they talked.

  “Benito, what do you know of the people who have been executed in Ribolla?”

  “I don’t claim to know many of them, Majesty, but the ones I did know were good people, as were most I am afraid.” His voice took on a melancholy tone that Catherine knew all too well.

  “Please tell me what you know,” she said. “And I warn you not to hold back in an attempt to protect me from the ugliness.”

  “Very well, Majesty. But please stop me if you …”

  She held out her hand. “Benito, the people of Ribolla have suffered in ways that stagger me. If they can endure the torture, perhaps it is a small tribute to them to have their queen care enough to listen.”

  He smiled and took a long drink of ale. As with so many others, Benito took his time before beginning. It was as if the tellers of the stories needed to brace themselves for returning to the memories that were too painful to be kept close to the surface. Finally, he began.

  “I have a friend, a good friend. We grew up together. His name is Pietro. Pietro had…has an older sister, Rosa. She was a beauty. At one time I was much taken with her, but she had eyes for only one man. That man was her downfall, I am afraid.”

  “He was married?” Catherine asked.

  “He was the priest.”

  “Father Mario?” Catherine asked, aghast.

  “Good God, no!” laughed Benito. “That shriveled up old patron would not know love if it spit at him in the eye!”

  Catherine could not help but laugh, too. “I am sorry, Benito, please continue.”

  A server came by to check on them and they did not speak again until he was far from the table.

  “No, Rosa’s love was for Father Paolo. He was a young, handsome priest with an eye for many of the women of Ribolla. For him, Rosa was just another plaything. Pietro and I knew what was going on with Father Paolo and Rosa because we followed her. She did not know, of course, until we confronted her. We were waiting one day when she came out from the church after meeting secretly with the priest.

  “Pietro accused her of sinning, in the eyes of God and the church, and threatened to tell their parents. She didn’t care. She was in love. She thought the fact of his being a holy man of God absolved her from any sin.” Benito turned his cup in his hands. “She thought Father Paolo loved her, as well. Pietro tried to tell her she wasn’t the priest’s only lover, but she refused to believe him. “

  “Did Pietro tell his parents? “Catherine asked.

  “He was going to, but then he decided it would serve no purpose except to upset them. She, Rosa, was not going to stop loving her priest at any cost. In the end, it cost both of them.”

  Catherine waited silently for him to continue.

  “When the Grand Inquisitor arrived he met with Father Mario. Father Mario knew about the exploits of Father Paolo and so the accusations began. Rosa was interrogated. She lied about the relationship with Father Paolo, of course, until the imprisonment and torture began. She found herself in a cell with several of Father Paolo’s lovers. Most were tortured and already confessed to the Inquisitor. Eventually, so did Rosa. She has languished in prison ever since. She will be there for some time.”

  “What happened to Father Paolo?”

  “He was executed.”

  “How?”

  “Drawn and quartered.”

  “My God!” Catherine exclaimed. She dropped her head and briefly buried her face in her hands.

  Her stomach heaved into her throat as she remembered that a series of other tortures generally preceded the actual drawing and quartering. Sometimes a hand or a limb would be cut off and burned in sulpher; other times limbs or breasts were lacerated with red-hot pincers and hot oil or molten lead poured into the wounds. Catherine did not want to know if any of these were suffered by Father Paolo. It was enough to know that his four limbs were tied to the harnesses of large plow horses, driven in different directions, to be dislocated and eventually ripped from his body. She knew that this torture could last for hours and that sometimes the severed limbs would be placed next to the torso of the victim…which might still be alive. All parts were then usually burned. She held her nausea at bay.

  Eventually she looked up at Benito. “How is your friend Pietro?” she asked.

  “Consumed with guilt. He wonders if he had told his parents if they might have been able to do something. He wishes he could go back and force Rosa to stop the affair with the priest. He tortures himself for what happened.”

  “And you?”

  “I am fine, Majesty.” He gave her a winsome smile. “How can I not be fine in the presence of one so extraordinary!” he exclaimed. “My father was right, you are beautiful and kind. I am so glad to have an opportunity to spend time with you.”

  Catherine recognized his need to move on to other top
ics. It was one of the ways that many tried to keep their own demons from taking over and consuming them. She joined him. “You are so like your father, Benito. He is a blessing to me. I am grateful for him every day.”

  They talked for another hour, moving in and out of general discussion of family, Benito’s life, his father, and tragedies of others in Ribolla. Benito told her everything he knew about various executions and tortures. Catherine left with the impression that he did, in fact, feel better after sharing the stories with her. Perhaps listening offered more than she imagined.

  Each evening Catherine and Bella retreated to the waterfall as soon as Catherine returned from Ribolla. Some days they just sat and enjoyed the sound of the water as they ate. Some days Catherine talked about the day and the people she met. On occasion Catherine shared some of their stories, but only if Bella asked.

  Sometimes Bella found that hearing the stories of others helped in a strange way to link her to the people Catherine met. She felt less isolated in her own waning grief. It was as if each story she heard joined with her own, creating a tapestry of kinship and sorrow. She was not alone and somehow that comforted her.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  On the last day that Catherine spent in Ribolla the sheriff reluctantly agreed to accompany the queen to the prison to meet with two of the convicted heretics. Catherine hadn’t met with any of the prisoners in Pienza. After learning about Benito’s friend, Rosa, she wanted to meet her. She wasn’t sure what she might say, but prayed for guidance as the sheriff led the way to the cell. Robert accompanied them.

  She and Robert followed the sheriff, who carried a torch as their only light. As they walked down the stone steps deep under the interrogation rooms, the air became cooler, the light waned sending shadows along the walls from the torch. Smells drifted up the dark, dank stairwell. The lower they went the more intense the smells. Catherine recognized the stench of human waste. She covered her nose and mouth with a handkerchief. Her breaths became shallow.

  “It is a prison, Your Majesty. As such the conditions are filthy. Are you certain you wish to continue?” asked the sheriff.

  “I am fine, Sheriff.” But she was not fine, she was terrified. She wanted to turn and run back up the steps and out the door. Run and run all the way back to her waterfall. She imagined standing in the flow of the falls, cleansing the smells and filth away. Her heartbeat slowed, her breathing returned to normal.

  But when they finally reached the bottom of the stairwell Catherine thought she would retch from the stink. “How could anyone survive here?” she thought.

  Soon enough her nostrils became somewhat accustomed to the smell. Some of it was mold and mildew. The rock walls were wet in places and slippery from the constant ooze of water seeping through the pours.

  They stopped at a cell door. The sheriff held his torch up to light one on the wall outside the cell.

  “This is the cell of Rosa Pucci and Bettina Torino, Majesty.” The sheriff unlocked the heavily padlocked door and placed a chair inside for the queen. The women were told that the queen wanted to meet with them and warned to behave themselves. After lighting a small torch high on the inside wall, he stepped outside. Robert checked inside the cell, nodded to Catherine, and stood guard in the hall. The sheriff disappeared.

  The cell was small; about eight feet by eight feet. There were no windows. A hole in the floor on the opposite side of the two women served as the privy. The torchlight cast an eerie glow. Whatever clothes the women originally wore were now nothing but thin rags, barely enough to cover them, let alone keep the damp, cold air at bay. As the light flickered on the women she saw they were struggling to get up to greet her.

  “Please, please, don’t get up!” She insisted.

  They looked frightened and Catherine quickly tried to reassure them that she was not there to punish them further or pass judgment.

  “I came to find out for myself the conditions and circumstances surrounding your imprisonment,” she started. “Which of you is Rosa?”

  “I am, Majesty,” said the smaller of the two women.

  Catherine could tell that at one time she was probably extraordinarily beautiful. Although her hair was matted and dull now, she imagined how it might once have flowed long, silken and raven black across her shoulders. Her eyes, so sad and lifeless, were the blue of the Aegean Sea. They surely sparkled with life not so long ago…they would never sparkle again.

  “Rosa, I learned your story from my friend, Benito.”

  At hearing this Rosa hung her head.

  “You need not feel ashamed, Rosa. You are not the first to be a fool for love, nor will you be the last. How long are you to be imprisoned?”

  “Two years, Majesty.”

  “And you, Bettina?”

  “The same, Majesty. I was the same fool for the same lover.”

  “Were either of you tortured for your confession?” asked the queen.

  Rosa looked at Bettina, who answered, “I was, Majesty.”

  “How were you tortured, child?”

  Bettina did not answer. She looked to Rosa, but the other woman kept her head bowed and would not meet her gaze. Bettina lifted what was left of her dress to reveal what was left of her feet.

  “My God, child, what did they do to you?” Catherine gasped, her hand flew to her mouth. Her gut heaved and she fought against being sick. They were not even feet any more, but scarred masses, barely recognizable. There were nothing but hideous, deformed and blackened nubs where the girl’s feet should be. Catherine wondered how she had even tried to stand when she entered their cell.

  Bettina was silent.

  Rosa told of Bettina’s torture. “They tied her feet together in a leather sack and dragged her to a fire. Boiling water was poured over the leather sack. It ate away at her skin and some of the bones, as well.”

  The queen could only shake her head in disbelief. Slowly, she felt her horror being replaced by anger.

  “Were you tortured, as well, Rosa?”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Rose lowered her head and seemed reluctant to tell of her torture.

  “Rosa…” Catherine could no longer remain sitting. Her sorrow propelled Catherine off her chair onto her knees in front of the women. “Tell me what they did to you.”

  Rosa nodded, her eyes closed, her head dropped. Sounds, sharp exhalations, short bursts, emanated from her. “Do you know what ‘the pear’ is?”

  Catherine could barely hear Rosa, her voice was only a whisper. “No.”

  “It is a metal instrument shaped like a pear.” She stopped.

  Catherine waited.

  “I…I was stripped naked and tied to a table. The pear…the pear opens up from the handle.” Rosa began to shake, violently, and could not continue.

  Catherine reached out and pulled Rosa to her breast. “Stop, child. You needn’t continue. Hush.” The smells that originally assaulted the queen disappeared as she comforted Rosa, stroking her head, hoping to calm the girl. “These women,” Catherine thought, “and so many like them are the true warriors in this battle. They are sacrificing themselves in droves in places like this all over Europe. How have we let this happen?”

  “Majesty,” Rosa said tentatively as she began to calm and regain her ability to speak.

  “Yes, child.”

  “Will you see Benito again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you tell him that I am sorry.”

  “I will.”

  “And, Majesty, would you ask him to tell my family that I am sorry, and to tell them that I love them and miss them?”

  “I will. Benito told me that your brother misses you terribly. It sounds like he still loves you very much. I will be sure that your family gets the message.”

  It was time to leave. Catherine spontaneously grasped each of their hands and pulled them to her, enfolding them in an embrace. “I am so sorry for what has happened to you. I wish that I could release you from this hell and give you back your lives this very day. Know that
I will never forget you, either of you. You will be in my thoughts and prayers. I vow that as long as there is breath in me I will fight to end this…this savage brutality. I am so sorry. I am so sorry,” she whispered. She held the two women close and cried with them. “God give you peace, and the strength to endure until you are released.”

  Catherine rose on shaky legs. Before she left the cell, she removed her cloak and wrapped it around the women.

  The sheriff locked the cell door again and turned to lead the queen up the stairs. Her heart ached within her breast and she fought the desire to stifle a sob. She stopped at the foot of the steps and reached to lean on the wall to hold herself up. As she worked to regain control of her emotions she felt her strength returning. The sheriff stopped partway up the stairs and turned to wait. But she did not follow.

  Her spine began to straighten and her shoulders slowly squared. As her body transformed, so did her demeanor. “Take me to see the torture chamber,” she demanded.

  The sheriff looked at Robert, then back in horror at the queen. “Majesty, no, please, why?”

  “Now,” she ordered.

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  Robert followed, a small smile on his face. He remained silent.

  She could not see all of the room for the darkness. They remained beneath ground level so there were no windows. The single torch carried by the sheriff did not illuminate the entire room. From what she could see there were several chairs and a desk. A fireplace was on one wall. A large black cauldron hung from a swinging arm inside the hearth. There were benches and tables scattered throughout the room.

  “Light all the torches,” Catherine commanded, swallowing her fear.

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  As the sheriff lit each torch, the intent of the room could not be mistaken. Even though she did not understand the uses for all her eyes beheld, there was no question but that this room was used to inflict the most unimaginable pain. She forced herself to look, to take it all in, steeling herself against the dread and loathing.

  Along one whole wall chains hung from hooks buried in the stone. The ends of the chains bore metals cuffs. The height of the hooks and length of the chains were too high to allow the prisoner to stand on the ground.