The Girl Who Tempted Fortune

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  After that she would have no other maid. I slept in the servants’ rooms but during the day I sat in her presence chamber with her and her ladies-in-waiting. I combed out her hair and chose her outfits and dressed her in them. I brought her jewels to her and helped her select which ones to wear and adorned her with them myself. I fetched her boys from the nursery to visit her every day, sitting little Charles on her knee. She listened to their sweet prattle and now and then at my encouragement she told them stories of her girlhood. Slowly she came back to life.

  It shamed me, how she mourned. I had not grieved so for Antonio. But he was not dead. I would never see him again but I had the comfort of knowing he was alive and well-cared-for and happy, doted on by his father and his grandparents who had got rich because of my sacrifice.

  I was thinking of this, justifying myself with these bitter thoughts, when Prince Robert entered the princess’s presence chamber with his young lords. My heart leapt up at the sight of him. He strolled into the room, beautiful and powerful and manly, and I watched his every movement as one spellbound. I had not made a sacrifice; I had made a choice. And even now, even though I had faced and accepted that I would never be his wife—that the prophecy would come true another way or else my great-grandmother was simply wrong—despite all that, I would make the same choice again, just to be able to look on him. And have him occasionally look at me, and smile at me, as he was doing now.

  I flushed and looked down, hoping he could not read my thoughts. I had forsaken everything to follow him, like the worst of camp followers, a strumpet who pretended she was not and thought herself better than those who were honest with themselves. My flush grew hotter. I turned to go to the window and hide myself till I regained my composure. As I turned I looked up. Princess Violante was staring at me, a frown creasing her brow. She glanced at Prince Robert then back to my burning face. Slowly her face drained of color. I stood frozen, my mouth open—but what could I say? She turned away and began a conversation with one of her ladies. I walked in what seemed like slowed time toward my window refuge, and I heard her laugh, a brittle, fabricated bark without any amusement in it. A false, angry laugh.

  I left soon after. I did not ask the princess’ leave; she would be as unwilling to speak to me as I was to face her. At last, in the empty servant’s passage, I allowed myself to weep. Everything was ruined. Violante had seen us looking at each other, her husband and I, my feelings as clear as though I had spoken them out loud and Prince Robert’s interest evident in his smile. She was a jealous woman. She would find some reason to dismiss me, or have me assigned to a lower position. And all over nothing: a smile, a breathless glance, a shameless thought swelling my breast...

  Well, several, actually, and a few very detailed dreams. But nothing, really! Prince Robert had his dalliances, what royal lord did not, especially when his wife was so often with child? But I had never given him a word to indicate that I might be willing. I had foolishly hoped for more. I bitterly regretted it now. If I was to be punished, I wished I had sinned!

  I wept all the harder thinking of what I had missed, unaware that I was no longer alone until two hands grasped my shoulders. Enormous hands, their grip followed by a deep, accented voice: “What has happened? Has someone hurt you? Tell me, and I will beat the cur until he wishes he had never touched you!”

  I looked up with a gasp that stopped my tears, then gasped again to see a scowling, pitch-black face staring down at me. I wrenched myself loose and backed away, panting with fear. “You threaten to beat the crown prince of Naples?” I cried, meaning to frighten him away. I recognized him now, the Ethiopian cook.

  “The crown prince? Prince Robert has done this?” Far from being frightened, he looked furious.

  He thinks— Oh Mary, Mother of God, if he should spread such a rumor and attribute it to me—! “Nothing! Prince Robert has done nothing! How dare you suggest—”

  His face changed before me, enlarged, intensified. If before he was furious, now he was enraged. His huge hands curled into fists, the knuckles whitening under his black skin. Such hands could kill an ox! “If he has threatened you—!”

  “No! You have it wrong!” I cried, backing up until the wall stopped me. “No one has threatened me, no one has hurt me! I have just... I thought... Prince Robert smiled at me and Princess Violante saw!” I blurted out. Immediately I thought: Mother Mary help me! What have I told him?

  I had not mollified or reassured him or accomplished whatever was needed to tame this wild man. Instead, I saw his fury turn to comprehension and then into an equally intense expression of disgust. “You are a fool! You would be the prince’s whore when you have the ability to be so much more? I thought you were intelligent as well as beautiful! But you are just another silly maid!”

  Stung by the truth—as if he had any right to fling it at me—I drew myself up and glared at him. “I will be the mother to a queen!” I spat out.

  “Mother to a queen?” His eyebrows rose mockingly. “Your bastard will never be—”

  “How dare you! How dare you imagine—” I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught it easily and held it despite my struggle to free myself.

  “So, my congratulations are too early.” He laughed sarcastically. “This is only your dream?”

  “It is not a dream! It is a prophecy!”

  He looked at me, the laugh gone now. “A prophecy? Why do you say that? What sort of prophecy?”

  Why, indeed, was I telling him this? I yanked my arm back again and this time he let it go. “You are right,” I said haughtily. “I am just a foolish maid.” I tried to brush past him but he put out his arm. I stopped short of his touch.

  “Perhaps I was wrong. On several counts.”

  His accent, now that he was speaking civilly, had a lilting quality that was strangely appealing. I looked up, ready to accept his apology if it would allow me to escape. He smiled, his teeth a startling white in the blackness of his face, like the gleaming fangs of a wolf in the night. I shuddered and drew back. Immediately I wished I could take it back. His smile froze and disappeared. He bowed to me stiffly and left.

  I looked after him with regret. I did not think myself a cruel person. He was alone, a stranger in this foreign court, like me. It was just his appearance, his blackness, so like the figure of Death my father had frightened me with as a child. I could not endure it.

  Well, I would seldom have to. He and I moved in different areas of this huge castle. What was he doing here, outside his kitchen, anyway?

  I rubbed my face to erase any lingering sign of tears and headed for the nursery. Playing with Louis and Charles always lightened my mood and Matriona, if not quite a friend, was the closest I had to one here.

  ***

  Princess Violante no longer asked my advice on what she should wear. She would not look directly at me, but when I was not beside her I could feel her watching me, especially if Prince Robert was in the room.

  Those were the only differences between us. I combed and braided up her hair, helped her in and out of her shifts and kirtles and nightdresses, cleaned and cared for her jewelry and clasped the pieces she chose around her neck or wrist or slid them onto her fingers and into her hair. And removed them again and buffed them, and put them into their cases for the master of the princess’s jewels to take to the wardrobe room, where they would be locked up and guarded. I ordered the princess’s meals and brought her rose water to wash her face and hands with, and saw that her fire was lit and her bed turned down in the evenings. And through it all we barely spoke, other than her instructions and my quiet: “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Prince Robert noticed. I saw him talking quietly to her once while glancing over at me. Afterwards she made an effort to address me more cordially. He must have told her I was not his mistress, but she had seen the way he smiled at me that day. She had seen the longing in my eyes and the flush on my face as I returned his smile. I had betrayed her in my heart. We had been through the loss of a child together, and sh
e had given me her trust as she had done no other, and I had broken it.

  I no longer took any pleasure in my position. I had climbed higher than even my mother could have imagined, but every moment in Violante’s presence was a reproach to me and an unpleasant reminder of her husband’s infidelities for her.

  I saw the Ethiopian slave—freed man, I had to remind myself each time—in the halls occasionally. Matriona informed me he had been promoted from the kitchen to Guard of the King’s Wardrobe, a position of great honor. He nodded to me when we passed and I nodded back, a small quick motion, for I was embarrassed to remember our prior exchange.

  Autumn passed and winter came and the feasts of Yuletide drew near.

  One morning when I brought Violante mulled wine to warm her while she was being dressed, she sent the other women out of her bedchamber, save only me. “I have good news for you, Philippa,” she said. She smiled at me for the first time since that day she had caught Prince Robert and I looking at each other. It was not the kind of smile I had hoped to see again on her face. I dreaded what might come, and raised her nightdress over her head with trembling hands. She let me worry, waiting until I had finished dressing her and stood behind her combing her hair.

  “I have arranged a marriage for you,” she said.

  I dropped her braid, catching it again as it began to unravel. “I...I was not expecting to remarry, Your Majesty.”

  “Then this will be a pleasant surprise,” she answered. “And he is a wealthy man, with horses and a fine, big house for you to live in together. Did I not promise you on the boat trip here that you would be rewarded for your loyalty?” There was an edge to her voice that made me sweat.

  “Yes, I remember. You promised I need never fear for my future.”

  “And you need not, for when you marry you will be a wealthy woman.”

  I took a deep breath, soundlessly, never pausing as I pinned up her braids, the model of self-control. “May I know who I am to marry, Your Majesty?”

  “A man whose position is higher even than yours.” She paused with a little smile on her face that set my heart hammering. “King Charles himself proposed the marriage. You have been honored indeed, Philippa. You are to marry the Guard of King Charles’ Wardrobe.”

  “The Guard of the King’s Wardrobe.” I could barely get the words out.

  “Yes. Do you know him? His name is Raymond of Campagno.”

  “Raymond of Campagno.” I pinned her headdress in place slowly. My hands and limbs felt numb. My heart was numb. Even my mind was numb. I could not think except to repeat his name. This was my punishment. This was her chance to mock me. Instead of the golden-haired, blue-eyed prince I had dreamed of for two years, I was to marry an African slave. Freed man. What difference? A man I could hardly bear to look at.

  “King Charles has favored him above all other servants,” she reminded me coolly.

  I commanded myself to think, to break through this numbing stupor. This could not be happening! But it was happening, would happen. I had this moment; if I did nothing I would be lost forever. “I am honored,” I murmured, searching desperately for some way out. “It is only...” What? What could I say?

  I dropped to my knees at her side. “Your Majesty, I swore an oath in Sicily, on the ship, when we were leaving,” I spoke quickly, urgently, thinking even faster, “...that if I ever married again it would be to a soldier, one who could come back and help...” I had been about to say ‘your husband’ but she would not care for me making an oath to help him. “...help King Charles of Naples to win Sicily back for its rightful... king.” I finished a little awkwardly, the best I could think of with such short notice. I bowed my head and waited for her response, whispering Hail Mary’s while I waited.

  “A soldier,” Princess Violante said slowly. “What a noble sentiment. How loyal you are.”

  ***

  When I told her of my predicament, Matriona gave a delighted hoot. “Oh-ho! So that is who was sending us all those extravagant meals while you were Charles’ wet-nurse. And you did not even know you were being courted!”

  “Being courted?” I shook my head. “I thought it was...” I closed my mouth. What a fool I had been, a blind fool! I should have been batting my eyes at the young knights who turned to watch me as I walked by swinging my hips, instead of dreaming of Prince Robert and counting on a dead woman’s prophecy. I should have found myself a husband if I did not want one found for me. But I knew I was married! I had forgotten that to everyone else I was a young widow.

  I am married! Married to Guilio! What if they learned—? No, even if Prince Robert returned to Sicily, Guilio would never reveal my secret. He could have let it be known when I became Charles’ wet-nurse, but he accepted the term “uncle.” He benefited from it. He is as committed as I am to the silence we both kept then.

  “I told her I could not marry him.”

  Matriona stopped laughing. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing. “What did she say?”

  “Nothing.” She left me on my knees beside her chair reciting even more desperately my silent Hail Mary’s.

  Matriona shook her head.

  I lay awake all night. The servant’s chamber was cold but I sweated in my sheet. I could ask Princess Violante to find me a position elsewhere. But no ladies’ maid would leave the service of the future queen of Naples without a reason, and neither Violante nor I wanted people to speculate about that reason. What if I found another suitor? I would have to do so quickly, and it would have to be someone they would approve of. Princess Violante wanted me gone from Castle Nuovo in a way that would not break her promise to me; but she might break that promise if I refused to marry. I must reconcile myself to the sin of bigamy unless I wished to defy the King of Naples and run away penniless.

  Princess Violante did not mention the previous day’s conversation when I dressed her and braided up her hair the next day. I was nervous and jumpy all morning. When she went for her mid-day dinner I wandered through the halls and down to the outer courtyard, looking over my prospects. I glanced sideways at a number of handsome young knights, and lowered my lashes when they looked back at me. A few of them bowed and I gave them a lazy smile, which brought several over to bid me good morning. I returned to the princess’s chambers having made my availability known. If only I would have the time to snare someone suitable!

  As the afternoon waned I began to relax. Princess Violante had accepted my condition, or at least must be considering it. King Charles’s interest in my prospective nuptials was more problematic. This was a man who had sent his young sons into captivity in Aragon. What would he care for the oath of a Sicilian woman? No doubt Violante had brought me to his attention, but now that I had it, would I be able to escape it?

  The Princess returned to her presence room after the evening meal with a smile on her face.

  “You are happy, Princess,” one of her ladies-in-waiting said. “Do you have pleasant news?”

  “I do,” Violante replied, “and you shall all hear it while we do our sewing.” Violante and her ladies were busy sewing shirts and handkerchiefs and other yuletide gifts for their husbands or families. “Philippa, you must not serve us tonight,” she added. “You may sew with us.”

  “My sewing is in my room, Your Highness,” I said, curtseying. “I could fetch it...” I was sewing a new shift and was embarrassed to bring it out, for it was obviously meant for me, and equally obvious that I had no one for whom to make a Yuletide gift.

  Violante shook her head and waved me into a chair. She clapped her hands for the court musician to begin playing for us. “Something gay and romantic,” she instructed him.

  I was not the only one in the room waiting to hear her next words, but I was surely the only one who wished they would never come.

  “...in honor of my maid, Philippa, who will be married as soon as Yuletide is over!”

  The ladies as well as the maids and servants in the room all clapped and smiled at me, a sea of smiling mouths and envious e
yes trapping me in their insincere congratulations, the foreigner being favored over Naples’ own. I straightened my back and smiled back at them, including Princess Violante. The musician began a joyous tune.

  “But I did not know she was being courted,” trilled one of the younger ladies-in-waiting who had recently arrived at court. “Who is she marrying?”

  “A soldier,” Violante said, looking straight at me with that cool smile on her face. “After the wedding he will leave for his first military command.”

  “Oh dear!” the naïve young lady cried. “How sad! How romantic!”

  How fortunate, I thought. Especially if he dies in combat.

  “Tell us his name,” someone said.

  I did not need to hear it; the smile on Violante’s face had already told me.

  “Raymond of Campagno,” she said.

  The room went quiet. Even the musician stopped playing. All eyes were now averted, the maids’ to their duties, the ladies’ to their sewing. Only the young lady still stared at me, her mouth a little round “0”.

  I turned away from her horrified stare. I will run away tomorrow morning. In a city as large and wealthy as this, I will surely find a way to make a living.

  As if she had divined my thoughts, Princess Violante looked directly at me. “King Charles is taking a personal interest in our Philippa’s nuptials. Raymond is a favorite of his,” she announced to the roomful of averted faces. “The bride will be given the use of one of the royal carriages to take her to her groom on their wedding day.” Someone giggled nervously. I flushed, aware of the image of Raymond and me in their minds.

  Violante’s smile widened. “And to show my love for Philippa, I have decided to send my court musician to entertain them at their wedding feast.”

  She nodded to the musician whose jaw had fallen open. “Play,” she commanded.