The Queen's Companion

by Maggi Petton

  “Who is it you are expecting?” Catherine stood and took a few steps toward the Bishop. Robert stood, as well, but stayed where he was.

  Bishop Capshaw saw the look in her eyes and did not answer.

  Catherine stepped closer to him and said coldly, “My daughter will not be coming for her ‘religious studies’ this morning, or any other morning,” she spat.

  “And why is that, Your Majesty?” the Bishop seemed to be recovering from his initial shock. “Do you not believe that she requires a solid religious education?”

  “I will not play games with you, you hypocrite! My daughter is off limits to you. Is that understood?”

  “I understand perfectly well, Your Highness,” he replied coolly. “But I wonder how the Princess will feel about that?”

  “Your arrogance is matched only by your hate.” Catherine shook her head. “Someday soon you will have to answer to God for your pitiful excuse of a life,” she said as she turned to leave. But before she left she turned back to him. “I watched you kill my father with your hate. I will be damned if you will do the same to my daughter!”

  Thomas Capshaw was sitting in his quarters drinking later that evening. The queen’s words upset him more than he thought possible. Was it possible his change after Rome was a factor in Edward’s death? The mere hint tore at him with the claw of possibility. It was bad enough that he still grieved over Edward in the silence of his own soul. The suggestion that he might be responsible for contributing to Edward’s decline and death had never crossed his mind.

  He was well in to his third cup of wine when Master Barone arrived unannounced. A servant asked if he should be allowed entrance.

  He nodded and sent the servant away for the evening. He remained sitting when Mario entered the room.

  “I have been dismissed!” cried Mario as he threw himself upon the bishop.

  It was obvious that he had been crying for some time. The bishop wriggled from his grasp and went to pour him a cup of wine.

  “Here,” Thomas said, “You need to pull yourself together.”

  “What am I to do?” Master Barone lamented, ignoring the wine that had been offered. “Where am I to go?”

  Coolly, as he set the untouched cup down on a nearby table, the Bishop said, “There are other positions. You will find something. Return to Venice,” he said casually with a wave of his hand.

  The Bishop moved to the chair furthest from the tutor and sat, crossing his legs in a casually disinterested manner.

  “I don’t want to return to Venice. How can you even suggest such a thing?” Mario’s blubbering started anew, making his homely face look even more uncomely.

  “There are other places where the skills of an academic are needed.” The Bishop held up his goblet admiring the craftsmanship allowing the beauty of it to totally engross his thoughts, as if it were the most beautiful item he had ever encountered.

  Mario Barone knelt before Thomas. His eyes beseeched the bishop for comfort, for some tenderness. “I don’t want to leave here, leave you,” he sobbed. “I cannot bear the thought of it. I love you!”

  Thomas stood, extracting himself yet again from the cloying embrace of the tutor. This slobbering display disgusted him. He wanted the tutor gone. “It appears you have no choice.”

  Thomas Capshaw might just as well have slapped Mario Barone across the face. The tutor fell against the chair, staring, slack-jawed. He watched the man he loved turn away. “Do you feel nothing for me then?”

  “I am sorry for you,” the Bishop said, never turning to look at him. “It is unfortunate that Mary was observed escorting the Princess to the Chapel. But there is nothing to be done about it now. I will be left to protect the Princess on my own. That, I fear, needs to be my priority.”

  “I see.” Mario Barone pushed himself to a standing position, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I shall say goodbye then.” He turned to go and took a few steps toward the door, but stopped. He looked back, his face filled with devastation. He waited for Thomas Capshaw to turn, but the Bishop neither turned nor said another word. He offered nothing by way of farewell or affection. Mario Barone closed the door to the Bishop’s quarters behind him.

  In the morning Master Mario Barone was gone.

  Chapter Fifty

  February 1570

  The snow lay deep around the castle. It was the middle of another February. A new tutor had been in place for nearly a year. Although it was Sunday there was no outing to Castiglione d’ Orcia, as the pass to the little village was piled high with snow. It would be some time before Father Tim would see the Queen again.

  Bella saw the restlessness of the castle residents in the way they sniped at one another. Tensions were high.

  “Catherine,” she said at the meal following the Mass. “The staff and servants need some distraction from this confinement.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Open your eyes, my love. Don’t you see how people snap at one another?” Bella indicated a minor disagreement on the far side of the hall. “Tempers are short.”

  Catherine followed Bella’s eyes to see two servants glaring at one another. The anger was evident, although they restrained themselves from much more than a few harsh words and scowls.

  “What do you suggest?” Catherine inquired with a smile. “I know you well enough to know that you already have something in mind.”

  “King Ambrose,” Bella leaned across Catherine, inviting him into the conversation. “Don’t you think that a celebration might benefit the mood of the castle? There’s been nothing since the Chestnut Festival in October.”

  “What a splendid idea, Lady Isabella. I wish I had thought of it!”

  Catherine looked back and forth between the two of them. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you two were conspiring behind my back!”

  Bella and the King looked at each other and had difficulty concealing their smiles.

  “Very well, then.” Catherine stood. Ambrose called for silence in the hall.

  The residents and servants turned toward the Queen. Her face appeared a mask of displeasure. When the hall was finally silent she spoke.

  “It has been brought to my attention,” she said with a mock frown, “that perhaps the time might be right for a celebration to help us out of the atmosphere of gloom generated by this extended period of storm.” She watched as the faces of everyone in the room changed, brightened, alerted. She smiled as she announced, “One week from today, in the Great Hall, I declare that we shall have a festival!”

  The hall erupted in cheers and shouts. “And,” she continued, “the festivities shall embrace the snow as well as proclaim the hope of spring!” She felt the excitement and happiness blossom in the hall, it inspired her on the spot. “I want to see sculptures made of snow in the courtyards. A contest! The most creative sculpture will win a prize!”

  Catherine looked down her table to see James, Gio and even Sofia light up. “I expect all children of the castle to participate in creating a garden of delight from the snow that has buried us for so long!”

  “In this hall,” she continued, “with whatever materials we can muster, let’s honor our flower field. Fill the hall with our faith that spring is coming, and our confinement limited!” She lifted her cup and shouted, “To the creation of our happiness!”

  “To Queen Catherine,” someone in the hall shouted.

  “To Queen Catherine,” echoed the simultaneous response from the entire hall. The noise that followed was filled with happy laughter and excited planning.

  Catherine sat back down, pleased with herself and the response from the hall. But then she turned to look back and forth between Bella and Ambrose. She shook her head, and, grinning, said, “You two are dangerous together. I must keep a watchful eye, I see!”

  No one was more excited than Sofia and James about the upcoming festival. They had spent a good part of their time lately bickering and avoiding one another. After James had resumed his weekly trips to Castiglio
ne d’ Orcia, their relationship changed. And since the winter confinement, whenever they were together, topics of heresy, Castiglione d’ Orcia and Church doctrine dominated Sofia’s conversation. She relentlessly hounded James at every opportunity.

  James found himself spending more and more time with Robert and Gio. Robert made himself available to James, including him when they hunted or practiced swords or horsemanship. James and Gio got along well. They had their spats, but got over their anger quickly and moved on without difficulty.

  The announcement of the festival was a welcome intrusion on the ever-present anger and frustration that had become a large part of interactions with Sofia. Her fears and worries about her mother’s salvation, and James’ seeming betrayal, had turned to reticence and anger.

  But all that darkness was instantly banished with the announcement of a celebration.

  “I haven’t seen Sofia smile for so long I thought she had forgotten how,” Catherine said wistfully to Bella as they made their way back to their quarters.

  “She’s changing,” Bella offered.

  “I miss her,” Catherine lamented. “She’s been so angry and distant since I denied her visits with the bishop. She took it harder than I expected. It troubles me.”

  Catherine sat near the fire. Bella went to stand behind her. She slid her arms around Catherine’s neck and hugged her. “I know what you mean. But it’s not only you she has distanced herself from. She barely talks to me anymore. Even she and James are distant lately.”

  “I’ve noticed. I’m also disturbed by how hostile she is with you. I tried to talk to her about it but…” Her voice trailed off. “Has James said anything?” Catherine asked.

  “Not recently. Not since he expressed being worried about us visiting with Father Tim.” She walked around to sit facing Catherine. “Are you certain Sofia isn’t still meeting with the bishop? After all, if they managed to hide their liaisons for so many years, perhaps they have found a way to continue to meet.”

  “Hmmm,” Catherine nodded. “I have thought of that already. Robert has the bishop closely watched during the day. There is no way that he is seeing her.” Catherine got up and sat down on the floor at Bella’s feet. She rested her head on Bella’s lap. “I do not know how to break through all the lies and damage that bastard has done. How do I get my daughter back?”

  She sighed deeply as Bella stroked her hair. “It breaks my heart that she is so resistive to you and Tim…and Castiglione d’ Orcia…and…” her voice drifted off as she stared into the fire.

  “And you?” Bella asked as she slid down and knelt in front of Catherine.

  “And me.” Catherine gazed into Bella’s open, loving face. “I did so want to be close with her. I fought my own mother in so many ways, and miss her so much now, when it’s too late to ask her forgiveness, too late to wrap my arms around her to tell her how much I love her.” Catherine was silent, drifting in and out of her own memories. Bella rested her head on Catherine’s lap, each lost in memories of long lost mothers.

  “I guess,” Catherine said, “I thought that I could do things differently with Sofia. I wanted her to feel the freedom to be strong, and independent, not stifled by harsh rules and formalities of regal life. I so wished for her to desire my encouragement and support as she grew into her role of monarch.”

  “Don’t give up, my love. Give her time.” Bella offered.

  “I feel her resentment every time she looks at me,” Catherine mourned. “Perhaps that is the way of mothers and their daughters. Or maybe this is my punishment for my own resistance to mine,” she thought aloud.

  “Perhaps,” offered Bella, “this festival will heal whatever it is, and you shall have your daughter back.”

  Catherine leaned against the chair and cuddled with Bella. They kissed ever so softly and lingeringly. They sat, warmed by the fire, holding each other quietly.

  The week of the Festival was filled with exuberance. The castle was abuzz with preparations. Minstrels practiced new songs. Flowers were crafted of various materials and strung together to be hung in the Great Hall. Summer foods were prepared, and if summer foods weren’t available, the cooks worked to make winter foods, roots and other items from the fall harvest cellars, look like summer foods. All the activities delighted the castle residents, but the snow sculptures, by far, brought the most joy.

  Sofia, James and Gio combined their ideas into one sculpture. It took work to merge their ideas, but eventually they managed to come up with something important to all of them. They took their plan to Ambrose to help sketch them out. He was happy to help them design their creation.

  The day of the Festival arrived. Was it Catherine’s imagination or was the bishop’s sermon actually shorter and less hostile?

  When the Mass ended, the residents made their way to the Great Hall. The doors were closed. The cooks, the bakers, the decorators all waited inside to open the doors onto their creation. A single guard stood outside the huge doors to the Great Hall. The Queen waited for all the residents to assemble. When steady hum of voices stilled, the guard knocked three times.

  Slowly, majestically, the doors swung open. Those in front near the Queen exclaimed in wonder. Catherine walked in slowly, taking in all before her. It was a glorious sight.

  From every candled chandelier streamed fabric flowers of every shape and color. The servants and cooks were stationed around the room at intervals, all dressed in summer attire. Huge fires burned in both of the fireplaces to warm the room comfortably, but the fires were hidden behind large screens of summer scenery.

  Each table was adorned with a different color of tablecloth, picking up the colors of the flowers flowing from above. One large table held roasts of every kind, whole pigs and turkeys, lamb and beef roasts. Each sitting table was piled with vegetable dishes, pitchers of summer wines from the cellars, and summer ales. But one side of the hall was the table that made everyone exclaim.

  Flower streams flowed down from a single point on a large chandelier to the each end of the massive table. There sat a sweet table beyond every child’s imagination. Every confection was created to reflect an object of spring or summer. The outer perimeter of the table was covered with small, individual cakes all decorated as a different flower. There were as many different flowers and colors as could be imagined. Within the flowered cake border were candies and candied fruits. Catherine was delighted to see her favorite confection, Nipples of Venus. They were roasted chestnuts coated in brandied sugar and topped with a small toasted almond.

  Light, lacey baked sugar fantasies drizzled with honey took the forms of birds, flowers, boats, suns and flowers. But the centerpiece of the table is what demanded the attention of the crowd. A huge cake, nearly the width of the table and a quarter of the length, was decorated to look like the flower fields surrounding the lake. Mountains of meringue created the look of the Apennines behind a blue frosting lake. The yellow and purple flowers surrounding the lake were a masterpiece of creation. The effect was dazzling.

  Catherine made her way to the head table. She waited for everyone to find their seats, which took longer than usual, for the children had difficulty tearing themselves away from the sweet table. Once everyone was situated, she turned to the makers of this part of the celebration, the cooks and bakers and decorators, and simply clapped. The entire hall erupted into applause turning toward the proud group lined along the wall. They bowed and curtsied, unable hide their pleasure.

  When the applause died down Catherine addressed the crowd. “Winter is transformed!” she began. She lifted her cup, already filled with wine, to the crowd. “To the joy you have brought to this day, and to the promise of spring!”

  “To spring!” the hall resounded.

  At once the minstrels broke into song and the feasting began. Laughter filled the hall. The heaviness of mood that had enveloped the castle just a few short days ago was gone, replaced by giddy chatter and celebration.

  During the meal Bella leaned over to whisper to C
atherine. “Look,” she indicated the table where James, Sofia and Gio were seated.

  Catherine smiled. The three of them were excitedly discussing something of great importance to them. It didn’t matter what it was, only that they were animated, engaged in a way that had been missing for some time.

  “Thank you, love,” Catherine whispered in Bella’s ear.

  “For what?”

  “For everything,” Catherine said softly, “but, especially, for this. I confess I don’t always notice the little things.”

  “You just needed a little nudge,” Bella said, and under the table she gave Catherine’s knee a squeeze.

  When it seemed that no one could eat another morsel King Ambrose called the hall to silence.

  “The outer courtyard,” he announced, “has been a hive of activity this week. If you haven’t had the opportunity to see the spectacular artwork being created there, you are in for a treat. Twenty snow sculptures have been erected by our children and await appreciation.”

  The children hurriedly donned their outer garments. Catherine and Bella had never seen so many children move so swiftly. The adults followed slowly, but no less excitedly, to the courtyard.

  A light snow was falling. It softened all of the footprints and ruts from the week, creating the illusion that the sculptures created themselves, appearing to have sprouted out of the snow.

  Catherine, Ambrose and Bella walked silently within the rows of sculptures as the castle residents gathered around the outer ring of them. Catherine stopped at each sculpture, asking the artists to step forward to tell about their creation.

  One of the first at which Catherine stopped was a lighthouse. It was the tallest of all, towering some two feet over the heads of the Queen and King. A young man, about Sofia’s age, stepped forward when Catherine asked for the artist.

  “Here, Your Majesty.” He seemed nervous, but very proud of his work.

  “Why a lighthouse?” the Queen asked. “Have you ever seen one?”