by Maggi Petton
“With pleasure, Majesty.”
She turned back to Carfaggi, whose eyes held even more hatred than when she first arrived. “I intended to interrogate you, allow you to answer these charges. But in the short time I have been in Radicondoli I’ve heard and seen enough to convince me that you would stop at nothing to benefit, or save, yourself.” She handed the list of charges back to Robert. “Then we would have to add perjury to your list.”
She turned to look at the women. “You will be interrogated by the Sheriff, as will your servants. Captain,” she said to Robert, “have your guards take him,” she indicated Carfaggi, “and lock him up. I do not wish to see him again.”
Catherine spent the better part of the next two days in the office of the non-existent mayor. Word spread quickly about the arrests and changes in Radicondoli. She found herself overwhelmed by citizens wishing to offer support and thanks. It was necessary to institute a system allowing only certain people access to the queen. The citizens of Radicondoli converged on the Mayor’s office in droves, many desperate to tell their own horror stories of the Carfaggis. Hundreds wished to participate in the trial of the former leaders. All of them reacted to the events of the past two days with formidable emotion.
It was clear that Catherine would not be able to leave Radicondoli as quickly as she had hoped. She didn’t want to leave Cologero with an impossible task. She interviewed many of the candidates for the vacant positions. Some form of government, no matter how inexperienced, needed to in place before she left. Also, she needed to return to the families of the executed and the former prisoners. They could not wait for justice, in the form of a trial, to be granted restitution for all they had lost. Many would not survive until then. She was determined to distribute as much of Carfaggi’s gold to them as necessary.
“Bella, my love,” Catherine said as she flopped down in exhaustion at the end of her day.
Bella helped her out of her outer garments, then lay next to Catherine and gently massaged her temples. “You are spent.”
“I am, yes.” Catherine responded with a sigh. “And, it won’t be possible to leave as quickly as I had hoped. I am sorry.”
“Your initial time estimate seemed ambitious. I’m not surprised.”
Catherine looked into Bella’s eyes. She reached up to place her fingertips on Bella’s lips. Bella smiled and kissed each fingertip, the palm and the back of Catherine’s hand.
“Would you consider coming to town to aid us tomorrow?” Catherine asked. “The guard is overwhelmed dealing with sorting through everyone who wants to have their voice heard. You could be helpful there. I value your keen political sense. If you might be present during the interviews for the new councilors and sheriff, as well as the Mayor, you can help me sort the wheat from the chaff.”
Bella adjusted her body, slipping it partially under Catherine to hold her in her arms. “I could do that,” she said as she reached to run her fingers through Catherine’s hair.
Catherine pulled Bella into her arms and they lay together for a bit. “How is our James?”
“Bored. He misses Sofia,” Bella said. “So do I.”
“It’s hard to be away from her, Catherine said sadly, “especially now when she seems to be changing so much.”
“Perhaps,” Bella said, “she will be back to her old self when we return.”
Catherine did not respond. She had fallen asleep and was already breathing slowly.
The next several days in Radicondoli were full, dealing with people and situations of all sorts. Catherine would be keeping a close eye on the new government for some time. She very much liked two men for the mayoral position. Bella gave her approval to the choices. Catherine thought they might work well together and made one the Mayor and one a vice-Mayor. Councilors were chosen. Whereas there had been three council members before, she opted to create a larger Council, hoping to avoid the kind of triumvirate that existed with Carfaggis. More men meant more of a chance that at least some might remain honest and less tempted by bribery or power.
Her last day in Radicondoli was spent revisiting with families most grievously injured by the cruelty of the Carfaggis.
Catherine, Robert, Bella began their tour early in the morning. It was late afternoon when they arrived at the home of the Guilia children. The children heard much of what had happened from neighbors and were expecting them. They made a beautiful basket of fruit and vegetables for the queen as thanks for all she had done.
When the queen dismounted in the courtyard of their home, the younger children ran up to her. Before anyone could keep the children from the lack of etiquette, she knelt before them and opened her arms to embrace them. Only Rosaria stood back watching, knowing that it was an exceptional moment.
Finally, Catherine stood. She went to Rosaria, whose eyes had lost some of their fury. They were softer.
Rosaria knelt before Catherine and took her hands, kissing them. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
“Stand, child,” Catherine softly ordered. She linked her arm through Rosaria’s and turned to her siblings saying, “I need to speak with your sister. I will bring her back shortly.” Together Catherine and Rosaria walked off toward the fallow fields. Bella, Robert and Cologero stayed with the children.
“Rosaria,” Catherine said as they walked arm in arm, “you are a remarkable young woman. You kept your family together in spite of a most difficult situation.” Catherine led them to a bench in the midst of a desolate, barren flower garden. There they sat.
“You have touched my heart,” Catherine continued. “You may call on me for any reason. Obviously, you are capable of running this farm and keeping your brothers and sisters happy, but I sense the loss in you.”
Rosaria looked at Catherine with a mildly puzzled expression.
“Don’t let your anger, or your sadness, consume you, Rosaria. Don’t lose yourself to those emotions.”
Catherine reached up and placed her hand on Rosaria’s cheek. The kindness in her touch opened wounds Rosaria was forced to ignore when she lost both of her parents. Tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Catherine wrapped the girl in her arms and held her as she cried a little.
When Catherine and Rosaria returned to the group the boys were laughing and playing happily in the courtyard with Robert. Bella was chatting with the two younger girls, as they showed her their treasures of special rocks and beads.
Catherine nodded to Robert. He brought the box with the remainder of Carfaggi gold coins. Much of it had been distributed throughout the day, but Catherine made sure that the lion’s share was saved for the Guilia children. She took the box from Robert and handed it to Rosaria.
“Rosaria Guilia,” she said with some seriousness, “this is the first of what I hope to be more to come. This was taken from the home of Domenico Carfaggi to help you and your brothers and sisters recover from what the Carfaggis did to your family.” She handed Rosaria the box.
The children all gathered around Rosaria eager to see what was in the box.
Catherine continued, “What is in this box will never bring your parents back, but, hopefully, it will help you heal, forgive, grow stronger as a family…and help you begin to build a new life for yourselves.”
Catherine mounted her horse and removed the key to the box from around her neck. She gave it to Rosaria and turned to ride off with her party.
Rosaria and the children waved and shouted goodbye.
The little ones gathered around Rosaria. “Open it, open it, Rosaria!” they shouted.
Rosaria slipped the key into the lock and turned it. They held their breath as she lifted the cover. A single, simultaneous gasp escaped them all. The box was one third full of solid gold coins…nearly one hundred of them. Rosaria looked up to see the queen riding away. The dam holding back the flood of her emotions finally burst.
Chapter Forty Five
Princess Sofia seemed more settled, less sad, when the Queen and her entourage returned from Radicondoli. She s
olemnly greeted her mother. It was James upon whom she focused her attention. She walked over to him as soon as he dismounted.
“Princess,” he bowed to her once his feet were on the ground. “How are you?”
Equally formally, Sofia nodded her head and responded, “I am quite well, thank you.”
“How have your studies fared in my absence?” he asked, still somewhat stiffly.
Sofia stared at him as if she were waiting for something, a sign perhaps. “My studies proceeded well,” she responded.
“Hmmph,” he ventured. “I thought you would be bored to tears without me to help you understand everything!” He could no longer hide his smile, or his delight at seeing her.
As soon as she saw his face break into his familiar grin, Sofia threw her arms around him and said, “It was awful. I missed you so!”
“And I was the one bored to tears without you!” he said as he hugged her back.
As a stable boy reached for the reins of his horse, James grabbed something tied to his saddle and said, “Come. I’ve brought you something.”
They disappeared into one of the castle gardens.
On the Queen’s first Sunday back from Radicondoli the bishop’s sermon was more subdued than normal. His homily, unlike his usual, so filled with messages of fear and threat, lacked its familiar intensity regarding heresy.
Following Mass on Sundays, it was customary for castle residents to enjoy breakfast in the Great Hall. After the meal, Catherine and Bella made for their quarters to prepare for the ride to Castiglione d’ Orcia, the first since their return from Radicondoli.
“Marie,” Catherine said to the servant as she was assisting the queen into her riding cape, “please make certain Sofia is ready. Ask her to join us as quickly as possible.”
Marie left the quarters with a curtsey, but returned a few moments later.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “the Princess is not feeling well and has requested to stay behind.”
Catherine looked at Bella. “She seemed fine this morning.”
Bella shrugged her shoulders, “Perhaps it was something she ate.”
“I’ll go see her and be down to join you in a bit,” Catherine said.
“Sofia?” the Queen called as she entered her daughter’s room.
Sofia emerged from behind her privy screen holding her stomach. “Forgive me,” she beseeched her mother, “I must have eaten something that doesn’t sit well. May I be excused from going to Castiglione d’ Orcia today?”
“Of course, darling,” Catherine said as she reached to put her arms around Sofia. “I’ll have Marie stay with you. We’ll be back soon.”
“Please, mother,” Sofia pleaded with Catherine, “will you stay with me?”
“What is it? Shall I call the physician?” Catherine reached to feel her daughter’s face. “You aren’t warm,” she said. She placed her arm around Sofia and led her to her bed.
As they sat on the edge of the bed Sofia wrapped her arms around her mother and began to cry, “Don’t go. Please stay with me.”
Catherine lifted Sofia’s chin and looked into her tear-filled eyes. “Of course I’ll stay with you,” she answered as she held Sofia to her breast.
At Catherine’s request, Robert accompanied Bella on the road. He assigned two soldiers to protect the queen. Then he, Bella and James went alone to Castiglione d’ Orcia.
In spite of Lord Carfaggi’s arrest Bishop Capshaw did not cease, or even slow, his relentless pursuit of control over Princess Sofia. If anything, he intensified his manipulation of her. Now that Carfaggi was eliminated as his overseer, the Bishop was free to imagine himself as the sole puppeteer controlling a new queen.
One week later, at Mass, the congregation readied for the bishop’s sermon.
“Today’s gospel,” Bishop Capshaw intoned from his pulpit high above his castle congregation, “speaks to us about weeds among the wheat.”
Princess Sofia sat between her parents in the front row of the chapel. Her attention fixed on the Bishop.
“In Montalcino our farmers know about weeds. Our mountainous terrain does not lend itself to easy farming.” The Bishop tended to begin his sermons softly. “We are required to deal not only with weeds, but with rocks and boulders and even whole sections of land that are nothing but solid rock.
“But Jesus is not speaking to us of real weeds or real wheat. This parable, like all of Christ’s parables, speaks of people. It is people, us, you and me, about whom the Lord speaks. And, He is telling us about the end of days, when the weeds…the wicked among us will be pulled up in the final harvest and burned.
“Who are the weeds, the evil about whom Jesus spoke? We know because our God has told us. The weeds are those among us who do not follow the word of the Lord as it is meant to be followed. The weeds are heretics!”
Sofia listened with all of her being. She not only heard the Bishop’s speaking directly to her, she felt as if God, Himself, stood before her.
“Who are the heretics? Are they here? Do they sit among us in our very chapel? Do we live next to them, or with them? Are they the very people with whom we work and play and whose company we may enjoy?” His voice was beginning to rise. “Can heretics be the very people we love the most?” he asked in mock horror.
As he asked the last question, Bishop Capshaw’s gaze settled on Sofia.
“Yes!” he boomed. Then more softly, “Yes. They can be those we love and those with whom we work and play and with whom we conduct business,” he continued as he moved his eyes over the rest of the congregation. “They can even be those we love the most.”
“Jesus was telling us just that. The weeds grow among us. They thrive along with the wheat. The danger is that the weeds may consume the good wheat before the harvest. Once the harvest time is come, then God’s angels will pluck the weeds from among the good wheat and thrust them into the fires of hell!” The Bishop’s arms raised and his hands clutched into fists. “But what are we to do meanwhile? Are we to allow the weeds to grow unhindered? Is that what Jesus was saying? Are we to allow known heretics the freedom to contaminate the rest of the crop? Do we allow the weeds to drop their seeds of sin and take up the good nutrients from the soil…away from the wheat?”
Catherine felt, more than saw, how Sofia absorbed every word of the sermon, and wanted to desperately cover her daughter’s ears to save her from this hate filled diatribe. She could feel Sofia responding to the Bishop. More and more she noticed that words and sentiments expressed by the Bishop on Sunday mornings crept into her daughter’s language. All she could do was hope that the message of love that Father Timothy delivered on Sunday afternoons might offer a counterbalance to the hate.
“No!” the Bishop yelled as he slammed his fist onto the pulpit. “No, we do not. But neither do we pull up the weeds.” His tone was again softening as he looked directly at Sofia. “We do not pull up the weeds.” He smiled at the Princess. “That is not our task. Our job, as good Christian wheat is to identify the weeds so that God and his angels can easily separate the faithful from the wicked.”
Sofia was nodding.
The Bishop continued. “We cannot turn weeds into wheat. But as wheat, we must be stronger than the weeds. We must be more vigilant than the weeds. We must not allow ourselves to be strangled by the weeds lest we shrivel and die before the harvest. The leaves of us must point to the weeds and say, ‘Here, Lord! Here…and there…there is a weed!’ We must identify the weeds so that God and the Church can deal with them.”
The sermon might have ended there, but the Bishop felt it his duty to hold his audience for as long as possible. He droned, yelled and bullied for another half hour.
For the second week in a row Sofia claimed illness and begged Catherine to stay with her instead of going to Castiglione d’ Orcia.
“Sofia,” Catherine said as she felt herself responding to her daughter’s tears, “I will be back shortly.” She reached out to hold Sofia, but the child turned away.
“
I want you to stay with me,” Sofia nearly demanded. “I’m sick!”
“I am going to Castiglione d’ Orcia today. I wish you would come,” Catherine implored. “If you are not well, we can arrange for a carriage. That way you can rest on the way there and on the way back.”
“Please don’t go.” Sofia was in tears.
It took all of Catherine’s strength to refuse her daughter. But Father Tim had planned for her to meet several men who were sent via his brother Thomas today.
“I must go. Your father will stay with you.” She bent to kiss Sofia’s head, but the girl pulled away and would not allow it.
Catherine and Bella immensely enjoyed when Father Tim hosted underground meetings. Whether the visitors from underground movements were followers of de Las Casa, or simply travelers Thomas had met in other parts of Italy and sent to meet with his brother, it meant that Father Tim would actually preach a sermon. On Sunday afternoons when only Catherine, Bella, James and Robert were present the priest refrained from delivering homilies, and just spoke to them about the message for the day, encouraging them to ask questions. Catherine still acted according to her own set of beliefs that she must protect her people as if God did not intervene or assist, but she still enjoyed his sermons.
Father Tim recognized the shift in the queen the first time he spoke with her after Ribolla. He didn’t challenge or chide her. He simply accepted that her relationship with God was undergoing transformation. He had faith that Catherine would find her way back to God, and that she would be stronger for the journey.
“Welcome to all visiting our humble Castiglione d’ Orcia today. I’m delighted to see new faces and meet new friends,” Father Timothy said as he walked around to the front of the altar where he preferred nothing between himself and the congregation.
“Today’s gospel consists of two parts. First is the original parable of Jesus, handed down from disciple to disciple for several decades. The second half is an interpretation of the parable, probably written some forty years after Jesus’ death and resurrection, †” he began gently.