The Girl Who Tempted Fortune

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  “Oh, but you are. The best prize I have won so far.”

  Quick as lightening I whipped my hand up to slap him, but he was quicker and caught my wrist a hand’s length from his face. He laughed and caught my other hand, already rising to do what the first had failed, and pulled me against him. “What a prize you are!” he repeated, bending his head down. His breath tickled my ear as he said it. I shivered involuntarily, at which he laughed and released me. I jumped back, trembling.

  “You are exactly the woman I want. And I am exactly the man for you, whether you know it or not.”

  “You are an infidel!” I cried, not caring if someone heard us as I backed further away.

  “I have been baptized,” he said. “I am as much a Christian as you are.” His face remained serious but his eyes mocked me.

  “You are... You are too bold!” I itched to slap him.

  He caught the slight movement of my hand before I stilled it, and shook his head. “Do not try that again,” he advised me. “I will not have it. In my own country I would be a king.”

  A king? I laughed in contempt. But my great-grandmother’s prophecy came to me once again, shocking me into silence. She will be mother to a queen...

  I narrowed my eyes as if it was he who mocked me, not my own foolish thoughts. “If you imagine I will follow you into the jungles of Africa to set up a squalid little court of black-faced, half-dressed heathens in a mud village, and have your children there, you should think again!”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “It is a lion I am marrying!” he said, wiping tears from his eyes, unperturbed by my furious glare. When he had laughed his fill, he said more seriously, “Do not worry yourself. My village was destroyed; there is no one left for me to go back to.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “And you? Have you anyone to return to?”

  For a moment I considered telling him I was married. That would put an end to this farce. But I remained cool-headed enough to resist the temptation.

  “No,” I said. “My mother has other children to care for her when she is old.”

  “Ahh. You are a tender woman, as well as a fierce one. I am a lucky man.” He drew his finger gently down the curve of my cheek.

  I grabbed my skirts and ran up the stairs so he would not see the tears in my eyes. I expected him to laugh at me for fleeing from him, but he did not. When I glanced back before leaving the stairwell he was still watching me, his expression unreadable.

  I did not see him again during Yuletide. I smiled and pretended to enjoy the festivities but as often as I could I crept away to lie on my bed in the servants’ chamber. I was constantly tired and yet unable to sleep, no matter how early or late I went to my bed. I dared not reveal the lie I had maintained for so long, even to avoid the sin of bigamy. Instead I prayed in advance for forgiveness. But how could I be forgiven a transgression I intended to commit? I prayed for strength, for I had already once married an arrogant man older than me and I knew what I could expect. Raymond was strong and sure of himself in a way Guilio had not been, and clever enough to see through me if I tried to manage him as I had Guilio. I remembered his strength when he grabbed my wrists and pulled me hard against him, and shivered in my bed and told myself it was fear.

  Christmas came, and the feast of the Epiphany, and then there was nothing else but the wedding to think about. Princess Violante had her own dressmaker sew my wedding gown, in whatever color I chose. I would have chosen white for mourning, but I would not give Violante the satisfaction of seeing me distressed. I smiled and laughed and appeared utterly carefree in her presence, as though I believed she was rewarding me by finding me a wealthy husband. I rejected the usual wedding colors—green for new life or blue for purity—instead I chose red. It was the most expensive color I was allowed to wear, and since Violante was paying, let it be an expensive dress!

  The week before our nuptials Raymond came to Violante’s presence room. He bowed to Violante and turned to me. “I have been given permission to walk with you in the royal gardens.”

  “I have work here.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Violante had already risen to depart to her bed chamber for her mid-day rest. She waved her hand at me. “I can spare Philippa,” she said in a tone that made me flush.

  There was nothing I could say. I rose ungraciously and reached for my cape. Raymond took it from the peg at once and draped it over my shoulders with a flourish as though I was a countess. I flushed again as the ladies-in-waiting hid their smiles.

  When we entered the royal gardens the colors and scents of the flowers mollified me somewhat. Raymond could not have chosen a better enticement to walk with him—except for none at all. “I was told you have a love of flowers,” he said as I looked around with a smile I could not hide.

  “Matriona talks too much.”

  He chuckled and tucked my hand under his arm, strolling in a leisurely manner along the path. I pulled my hand away and set a faster pace, making it clear that I would accept no liberties. Then I had to stop as a butterfly fluttered across the path in front of us. Raymond stood beside me quietly.

  “Where I come from, the butterflies are as large as my hands.” He held up his broad hands, his thumbs locked together and his fingers spread to show the span of two wings. As though a butterfly could possibly grow so large. What a monster it would be!

  “They are so brightly colored they look like church windows,” he said, watching the pale little butterfly float toward a red flower.

  I snorted with derision and continued walking.

  He guided me down the path that led to the menagerie. I was content with his direction, for the exotic animals were a singular sight and I had only been there a few times. But when we stopped before the cages of these strange creatures from distant lands I stared at them with an intense awareness of Raymond’s lost childhood. What did he see when he looked at the funny striped zebra, the chattering monkeys? Did he see home? I glanced briefly sideways and saw him smiling as though he and these dumb beasts shared a secret.

  I had overheard Raymond called a “black monkey” once. I was inexplicably angry now at the young lord who had said it, and at the same time embarrassed to think someone might see me standing here with him before the monkeys’ cage. I was ashamed of my thoughts but still I moved quickly on, away from the monkeys that had amused me the last time I was here, toward the cages of the great felines.

  The lion turned its massive hooded head to watch us approaching. Raymond put out his hand to stop me several feet from the bars, but I had stopped already. The huge beast lay still on a rock slab. Only its tail twitched, but there was something in its eye that belied its stillness. I felt small and vulnerable standing before it, and looked around. Now I would be happy to see a guard nearby.

  “It is wrong to cage him.” Raymond’s voice was so low the words came out almost a growl. The lion’s eyes shifted a fraction to focus on Raymond. They stared at each other a long time, as though in silent understanding. Slowly my fear left me, replaced by a sense of profound safety in the presence, or under the protection, of these two fearless beings.

  Raymond broke the spell first, turning abruptly to leave without a glance at the cage beside the lion’s, where a large panther paced silently from side to side. A restless power rippled under its fur, as black as Raymond’s skin. Its malevolent yellow glare reminded me of a mural portraying the angel of death. Suddenly I was filled with dread at the thought of those menacing gold eyes noticing me. Why ever had I found the lion frightening, I wondered, as I hurried after Raymond.

  When we had left the menagerie far enough behind us to find calm in the swaying flowers and the twitter of birdsong, Raymond directed me to a bench beside the path. Enough of the strangeness of our journey through this garden still held me that I went to it unquestioningly and sat down, letting him sit beside me.

  He pulled from under his tunic a small cloth bundle and handed it to me. I unfolded the layers of linen as though in a dream, revealing a golden brooch
with a brilliant black stone and two topaz gems shining on it. An engagement brooch.

  “This is what I see in you.” He pointed to the black stone. “The color of your hair,” he said, “and of all the nights I hope to spend stroking it.” He smiled at my blush. Then he touched the topaz gems. “And the eyes of a lion, because of the strength I sense in you.”

  “I am not strong.”

  “You are.” He nodded. “You will know it some day.”

  But all I could see was the black fur and the yellow glare of the restless, hungering panther. I shivered, looking away from the brooch. “I have nothing for you.”

  “Oh, but you have. What a gift you have given me!”

  He laughed at my confused expression. “You insisted on marrying a soldier!” He shook his head. “What courage you have, what power! To stand up to the King of France and demand the right to marry a warrior! To turn a palace guard into a leader—a commander—of men!” He gave me such a look of admiration I flushed with pleasure despite the fact that he had it all wrong. He took my hand. “There is no limit to how far we will climb together,” he said in a tone as solemn and binding as any prophecy of my great-grandmother’s. Enthralled, I forgot to pull my hand away and sat staring at him as though there could be some truth in such a wild claim.

  Until I heard approaching footsteps and the music of a laugh I knew well. Prince Robert and his friends! I leaped up, horrified that he, of all people, should catch me sitting here with this... this Raymond! Without a word of farewell I fled out of the garden.

  ***

  On the morning of my wedding Violante’s maid, the one who had travelled with her to Sicily and whom I had deposed after Violante’s stillbirth, dressed me in my new red gown. It was a bold color and suited my dark hair and eyes. She braided up my hair and arranged it under my red headdress, silent the whole time. Her resentment at having to attend me was one of the few pleasures I expected from this day.

  “I am sorry you are so old and will likely never have a husband,” I said.

  “I am greatly comforted by the thought of you leaving court for good,” she said, jabbing the last hair pin into my scalp.

  “As I will be comforted by my husband’s great wealth. When you are too old for service and kneel begging in the streets, I will throw you a coin for your service today.” I gave no sign that her vicious jab had hurt me as I drew my wedding veil down over my face, letting her see the seed pearls Raymond had sent to be sewn onto the lace.

  I had never worn anything as beautiful and expensive as this, nor ever dreamed I would. I was afraid to breathe on the veil, afraid to walk for fear the lovely gown would catch on something. I was beautiful enough to marry Prince Robert in this outfit, but he would never see me in it. When I walked down the stairs and out of Castle Nuovo I would not come back, Violante’s maid was right about that. I hesitated at the door, but feeling the maid’s eyes on my back I pretended to shift my skirts and walked on firmly. The carriage was waiting to take me to my new home which I had not seen, and to a new husband I wished had never seen me.

  I asked no one to stand with me, invited no guests to the feast. I stepped into the carriage alone and brought nothing with me to my new life except the clothes I wore. I had used all my mother’s herbs. I knew a woman in the market who would get me more if I should need them, but I brought none with me. I gave the yellow dress I had loved when I wore it in Trapani to a kitchen maid who had spoken kindly to me, and all the clothes I had received or made for myself while I lived in the castle I bundled into a basket for the poor and left on the steps of Santa Chiara. King Charles had given me to Raymond, delivered me to him in a royal carriage. Let him have his prize, and nothing more. If I could, I would not even bring this dress, but would go to him wearing the “ugly rag” as Violante had called it, that I had worn when I came to the soldiers’ encampment to help my mother midwife her.

  My father sold me to Guilio, Guilio sold me to Violante, and now Violante and King Charles were handing me to Raymond. I was a thing. A beautiful thing in this red dress and pearl-strewn veil, but still a thing to be passed around by others and given no say in the matter.

  The day was overcast and chilly. The carriage clipped through the narrow, twisting streets of Naples, winding uphill away from the sea. As we climbed higher the smells of the city diminished—horse and donkey dung in the streets, butchered meat and over-ripe vegetables mingled with perfumes and spices from the market, cooking and baking and sewage from all the tightly-packed houses and businesses, and the tangy salt-water smell of the sea—all the familiar scents I had become accustomed to. From time to time the carriage slowed as carts or people crossed our path. Each time my hand fell onto the door latch as if by its own volition. As if I could simply open the door and flee. As if I had anywhere to flee to.

  Higher we climbed, reaching the larger houses overlooking the city. The air here smelled of green shrubs and flowers and yes, some of the smells of people and livestock, but even more the smell of the land. I leaned out the carriage window, remembering the country smells of my childhood home.

  Many of the houses had walls around them. I gaped as the carriage stopped in front of a fine mansion, rising three stories high behind its stone wall. A servant standing at the gate swung it open. The horses pulled us into a small courtyard. To one side was a stable, but the magnificent house commanded my attention. It was built of stone with a short outer stairway leading up to the carved wooden doors above the undercroft. There were at least a dozen chimneys that I could see, with smoke rising from four of them at once.

  A servant hurried toward the carriage and opened the door for me. I let him hand me down, glad now that I was wearing such an expensive dress. Could this really be Raymond’s house? My future house? I climbed the steps and followed the man through the doors into a huge hall.

  The walls were decorated with a forest scene, very green and lush, with extraordinary bright-colored birds and huge butterflies like the ones Raymond had described to me in the king’s garden. The ceiling high above was painted blue with stars and a sun so brilliant it must be done in gold leaf.

  I had little time to look around, for Raymond stood there, waiting for me. He was dressed in a rich red tunic embroidered with gold and silver thread. Had he known the color I chose for my gown? It fit him perfectly, showing off his wide shoulders and brawny arms, flowing down his muscular body and narrow hips. I caught myself staring and quickly looked away.

  When I looked back I expected his expression to be mocking, or at least to wear a possessive leer, the kind of look I had often received. He was staring at me as I expected, but he looked... a little breathless, and for the first time that I had seen, unsure of himself. I frowned, wondering at his expression, and it vanished. He raised his hand and beckoned me. I had no choice but to go to him.

  When I reached him I noticed his palm was pale, only a shade darker than mine. I lay my hand on his calmly, determined he would not see I was afraid, and let him lead me where he would.

  I thought we would be married in the main hall, but he led me to a door which was opened for us—another servant, how many did he have?—to reveal a household chapel. Nor was it a tiny personal chapel, but a room large enough for a family and their household to worship in, with a painting on one wall of Saint Thomas with his hand in Christ’s wound and a tapestry on the other wall of Mary weeping over her crucified son. An altar stood at the far end, with a narrow window of colored glass behind it, a mosaic depicting Peter cutting off the soldier’s ear. I frowned at the odd choices for the illustrations but was more surprised to see several dozen people dressed in the current court fashions standing about the room. They turned as we entered. I recognized a few faces from the castle, and several wealthy Neapolitan merchants with what I assumed were their wives and families. There were other faces I did not know, all dressed in expensive silks and brocades that proclaimed their wealth. But I saw no faces like Raymond’s, nor for that matter like mine. We were without family,
we two, having drifted into this cosmopolitan city like flotsam washed to the shore.

  The door closed behind us. I glanced back to see a huge man, bigger even than Raymond, holding his sword at the ready. The best man, standing guard at the door to ensure no one interrupted the ceremony. As though any man was going to rush in and steal a disgraced lady’s maid. But the gesture touched me. If I was a prize, at least I was a prize worth guarding. I looked back to the front. A priest had come forward and stood ready behind the altar.

  This was real. I was about to take a second husband in the sight of God. I considered for a moment lifting my skirts and running. I even glanced behind me to the door. The best man caught my eye and held it a brief moment. Raymond’s hand tightened on mine. I turned back to the altar.

  The priest began. I saw his mouth moving, but could not make out his words for the ringing in my ears and the pounding in my chest. I felt a drop of sweat run down my face beneath the veil, and then another, and I could not tell if they came from my forehead or my eyes. I blinked hard several times, for I would not be weeping when Raymond lifted my veil. I drew a slow, deep breath. Soon I would have to give my consent. I tried to hear the priest’s cue.

  “...Any reason this man and woman should not be joined, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  The ringing stopped suddenly, and my heart as well. I could not breathe. Now! Say it now! I am already married before God. Say it! For the sake of my immortal soul, say it!

  The priest’s voice resumed, asking Raymond if he would have me. Over the tiny gasps for air that I hid behind my veil, I heard Raymond’s firm voice confirming his will. The priest turned to me. It was my turn, my chance to confess gone, my soul damned. I saw his mouth working, but the hammering had returned, the ringing had become a roar. And then his mouth was still, his brows drawn into a frown as he stared at me.

  I could not breathe. The silence in the room bore down on me. I opened my mouth but could not make a sound. The priest’s frown deepened. His lips moved, repeating his question as I struggled for air.