TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN
“At sunset, I shall hold a public séance to determine the future of this marriage between Lady Rosaline of the House of Montague and Prince Escalus the Younger of the House of Leonardi!”
Beside me, Prince Escalus muttered, “Blessed Mother, here we go.” He might sound disgruntled, but he sheathed his knife in his belt and indicated I should return mine to the holster I kept strapped to my arm.
Of course Prince Escalus knew his wily, wicked grandmother would succeed in pouring oil on the turbulent sea of emotions, for Princess Ursula’s séances were famed for their melodrama and for the occasional ghostly apparitions that appeared, or were said to appear, or whatever.
Occasionally her prophecies came true, mostly because people so badly wanted to believe.
But sometimes, based on her own observations, she was right, and occasionally she got lucky.
As she once told me, Even a blind pig finds a truffle sometimes.
You can bet with Princess Ursula’s announcement, everyone calmed the inferno down.
Knives became eating instruments, swords were out merely to admire the extensive decoration on the hilts, and Papà and Grandfather Montague poured another round of wine that beautifully complemented the cheese, bread and new apples placed on covered boards in all corners of the room.
Princess Ursula held out her arm to me. “Dear new granddaughter of my heart, help me go and prepare to receive my ghostly guide.” In an aside to her aged friend, Lady Pulissena of the House of Acquasasso, she said, “My guide is poor Yorick, my jester, that man of infinite wit and charm.”
“I knew him well, and there was nothing he loved more than to assist you.” Lady Pulissena sounded solemn and as if she believed, when in fact I knew these two elderly women loved nothing so much as to make fools of us all and chortle later.
I put my hand under Princess Ursula’s arm.
She placed the tip of her cane firmly on the floor, and with all appearance of frailty, she allowed herself to be hoisted to her feet.
Why, you ask, did the servants and her grandson not hasten to assist such an aged lady?
Because Princess Ursula (she had commanded I call her Nonna Ursula) resented unasked-for help and her wooden cane was both heavy and enthusiastically wielded.
As we made our way through the long gallery with walls decorated in fresco by the finest artists on the Italian peninsula, with marble statues created by some long-dead Roman sculptor, with lamps of precious, colorful glass made on the isle of Marino each illuminated with a single candle, crowded past the tables into the palace library, Nonna Ursula said, “Make haste, make haste! If we are to catch the setting sun!”
Needless to say, I was not the obstacle to haste, but I refrained from saying such to a woman weighed with years, crippled in the joints, deafened by time, whose milky eyes could see nothing clearly.
Instead I called Princess Isabella to my side, for she was a wise fanciula and had left the contentious party on our heels.
“Fetch Nonna Ursula’s bag from her suite.
” I dropped my voice ominously. “You know the one I mean.”
“I do indeed.” She rushed down the corridor.
With our steady pace down the gallery, I was at leisure to study her.
In the last months, as we prepared for the wedding, Princess Isabella had grown taller, and although she was but twelve years old, her form had become that of a slender blond lady of quality.
In public, she was the female embodiment of her brother, with an untouchable impression of royalty, but the Montague family had done much to teach her about family, joy, friendship and support.
My seven-year-old brother, Cesario, was infatuated with her.
Nonna Ursula was watching, too, for she said, “You and your parents have been good for that girl. She doesn’t brood as much.”
“Adolescence is a tough time. I remember…”
“So do I.” No matter how many years separated us from that traumatic time, we women did understand.
Outside the library long tables had been set up to display the wedding gifts.
They ranged from small, handmade gifts from the children of Verona to gifts from ruling families of far-flung ally city-states, from carvings done by local fishermen to gifts from every friend and relative of mine and Cal’s and every supplicant hoping to influence the Leonardis to view them with favor.
It wasn’t a marriage so much as an occasion to liven up the chill of winter.
Within the library were the shelves with scrolls and books, small, old mosaics and tall marble vases. Before the west-facing window a small round parquet table with a waiting unlit candelabra in the middle.
Nonna Ursula glanced out the window, then at the ornately carved chair she reserved as the leader of the séances. “Move it to this place.” She tapped the floor with her cane.
I knew why, for I’d attended one of her séances before. I tugged it into place.
She lowered herself by painful inches into the seat.
I lit the beeswax candles one by one and arranged other chairs around the table.
Nonna Ursula would allow only females to accompany her on her spiritual journeys, and I ticked off her chosen companions in my head: Mamma, my younger sisters Katherina and Imogene—Mamma had judged eight-year-old Emilia still too young to participate and knowing that feckless child, I imagined the restriction remained—Princess Isabella, and me.
I looked to Nonna Ursula. “Will Lady Pulissena join us?”
“You couldn’t keep that nosy old lupa away,” Nonna said loudly.
“I came early for a good seat.” The nosy old lupa entered on Mamma’s arm with my sisters trailing behind.
The two elderly women cackled.
Imogene, the twelve-year-old undiplomatic sister, said, “You two really do sound like witches!”
Unoffended, perhaps even complimented, the elderly women cackled again, and Lady Pulissena took the place opposite Nonna Ursula.
Lady Pulissena of the House of Acquasasso also now resided in the palace, sharing Nonna Ursula’s rooms. She and Nonna Ursula were best friends forever…
except when they were enemies. Fifteen years ago, Lady Pulissena’s husband fomented a revolt against the Leonardis, a revolt that ended in Prince Escalus the Elder’s death and Prince Escalus the Younger’s prolonged visit to their dungeon.
Such was Lady Pulissena’s reputation for strategy, Nonna Ursula and Cal (I call him Cal) (because I can, and because it annoys him) believed she had in fact guided the revolution.
Naturally, that left a bitter taste in Prince Escalus’s mouth, and only recently was Lady Pulissena allowed to return from exile.
Age and loss bonded the elderly ladies in ways no one could have imagined, and now, whether we liked it or not, she and Nonna Ursula were a Greek chorus at every gathering.
We took our seats around the table.
Guests filtered in, filling the great library, surrounding the table, overflowing into the corridor, shoving for the best location.
“Shall I forbid the men?” I quietly asked Nonna Ursula.
She viewed them through narrowed eyes. “No. They need to see this in person, not by female hearsay.” Using her powerful voice, she projected it to the corners of the room. “Only females may surround the table! The men with their beast-like demeanors thwart the spirits we seek.”
No one moved. No one obeyed.
From near the door, Prince Escalus added, “Your prince would hate to think anyone here can imagine himself to be above obeying the dowager princess of Verona, respected and beloved of the Leonardi family.” Although he spoke softly, his voice was heard.
The men retreated to the edges of the room. The women filled in around us.
It was not merely the authority in his tone that enforced his command. He was known as a wicked-fast swordsman, and as prince, he enforced his will when needed.
“Where is the child?” Nonna Ursula looked around for Princess Isabella. “The sun is close to setting!”
Princess Isabella made her way from the door with the requested black bag.
“Bring forth the contents!” I commanded.
“Uh-huh. Not going to do it.” She shoved the bag at me.
Fine. She remembered what was in there and she didn’t want to touch it. Neither did I, but I gritted my teeth, drew forth Yorick’s skull and with proper reverence placed him beside the candelabra.
The crowd quieted and for the first time I saw unease on some faces. No one enjoys such a blatant reminder of death.
Nonna Ursula intoned, as she did before every séance, “First, let us pray that Jesus, Mary and all the saints guide and protect us in our venture this day, for should the spirits venture forth, we seek only enlightenment and not a haunting.” She meant it, too, because invoking the spirits of the dead was a risky and unholy business, and when we made confession, we would each perform the appropriate contrition.
When I lifted my head from my own devout prayer, I looked around at the finely dressed aristocrats and merchants and thought the churches would be crowded with many penitent men and women. I hoped Nonna Ursula would provide a show worthy of their aching knees.
“We begin.” Nonna tapped on Yorick’s skull, which echoed with the chilling sound of hollow bone. She gestured, and with appropriate solemnity, we at the table followed suit.
From the corners of my eyes, I saw some shudders and uneasy glances, and I also heard a few manly snorts. No wonder Nonna didn’t allow men in her séances. They had to defend their own fears with mockery.
Prince Escalus cleared his throat.
The snorting stopped.