Chapter 43
Considering that the air that slid down the mountains into Verona was like a long exhale of Boreas, the god of winter, I found myself amazed that so many wedding guests, random relatives, and indolent nobles had braved the cold to stand or sit in the palace gardens and observe, participate in, enjoy the contest between Magno’s magnificent ego and the rest of us ampelographers (heh, heh) who sought to dethrone him.
On the other hand, it was more like watching a Roman chariot race for the thrill of the wrecks and carnage or, in this case, the poisonings.
Since last night, when Magno had demanded a rematch, fourteen other ampelographers from towns and universities around the northern Italian peninsula had hastened to already crowded Verona and demanded to be let into the contest.
What could Cal say? No, this is a dysfunctional family affair?
He did not.
He said, “Welcome” and “try not to die—there’s been a lot of poisonings lately.”
The weighty response of the respected Prince Escalus deterred a good half of them. The others, not so bright, IMO, had an early morning wine-off to determine who, besides me and Magno, would be in the final round.
Before I stepped on the stage (since Cal was marrying into the melodramatic Montague-Capulet families, he was more or less required to construct a stage) and in full view of everyone, Cal drew me into his arms and looked into my eyes.
“Tell me again why I should allow you to expose yourself to peril when you should be, according to all tenets of civilization, cloistered in your virgin bower as you await our wedding on the morrow?”
I’d forgotten that Cal had experience observing me while undetected, for by his own confession, he’d done so for three years before he made his move to trick me into marital bondage with him.
Thus, as I had concentrated on the scheme to expose a killer, he’d divined at least part of my purpose.
I chose to sidle up to the lesser subject at hand.
“Because if I was cloistered in my virgin bower, the wedding could not go on, because I’m the one who has arranged all the menus and all the seating and all the gifts for us to distribute to our people.
Also”—I grinned at him, in full saucy mode—“my kinsmen have proved you cannot slash your way through the thicket of their blades to reach my virgin bower, so we might as well have a wine tasting.”
Cal scrutinized me more and sighed. “Someday, Rosie, you’ll trust me and tell me all that’s in your mind.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Cal. We’ll be wed. If we told each other everything that was in our minds, the marriage would end in a horrifying death, probably mine, possibly yours, and mayhap both.”
He laughed out loud.
The waiting audience had already been watching us, buzzing about Prince Escalus, his fondness for his bride and, if they were uncharitable, wondering if he was so free with my person because he’d already plucked the rose.
When he laughed, everyone hushed. Everyone stopped. Everyone stared. For it had been so long since Cal had laughed in public (never within their memory?), they imagined they’d heard the sound of an angel’s trumpet from on high.
Cal appeared to notice nothing but the woman in his arms. “You’re too wise for a maiden.”
“But not for a wife, and for the oldest daughter of Romeo and Juliet.” I placed my gloved palm on his cold cheek.
“I promise, Cal, tomorrow I’ll meet you on the steps of the Basilica di San Zeno Maggiore, there to take our vows.
” I lowered my voice. “Take our vows again. All Verona will rejoice to know I’ve at last met my match. ”
“And I mine. Keep your promise, Rosaline.” After turning me, he helped me up the stairs and to my seat at one of the tables.
Actually, not just one of the tables.
My opponents sat at tables hastily assembled from raw wood.
My table was walnut, turned and sculpted, sanded, and polished.
My opponents sat on stools without backs or arms.
My chair matched the table in elegance, and velvet cushions lifted me to match their height and give me comfort.
Their stools rested on the bare wood of the stage.
My table, my chair, and my feet rested on a small, plush, fringed rug, and Evella waited with another rug, which she held close to the charcoal brazier behind me, and when she deemed she had heated the rug sufficiently, with a flourish, she laid it over my lap to block out the cold.
You get the idea.
I was the future princess. These men, dressed as they were in courtly clothing and weighted down by importance … would be lucky to have a future.
Leaning close, Cal spoke into my ear. “Be strong, be vigilant, for I will accept no other outcome of your scheme today …” His fingers made a little running foray across my table, his signal that he knew I was rushing into danger. “Whatever it is.”