Chapter 44
Straightening, Prince Escalus allowed his cold gaze to rest on Great-uncle Magno, then each of the three other men who remained in the contest, and I noted that each in turn shivered, as if touched by some deadly premonition.
Not a premonition such as Nonna Ursula had during her seances—more of a Verona is a deadly city for men who seek prestige without honor type foreboding.
We faced an enthusiastic audience of mostly Rosie supporters.
My Silvers were seated in front: Nonna Ursula, Lady Pulissena, my grandparents Montague, and a severe-looking Lady Capulet, who had loosened the reins enough to agree I should slap down Magno in the privacy of our home but clearly did not condone seeing her granddaughter on a stage, in front of strangers.
Nevertheless, she was there and, as such, lent her support.
Papà and Mamma and all my siblings were spread across the space, so wherever I looked, someone smiled or waved or sent a kiss.
Marcellus, Dion, and Holofernes, plus the royal guard under their command, covered every entrance and exit, making no attempt to conceal their command to keep order in the palace.
At the back, Nurse stood, feet planted, arms crossed, and if a glare could wither a man’s aspirations and cojones, hers would have withered the wine tasters who dared take the stage against me.
Last but not least, Lysander and Cal stood on either side of the stage, as if prepared to make their theatrical debuts for whatever nefarious reason might occur.
The mind boggled at the possibilities.
In the fashion of Great-uncle Magno, those men on the stage labeled themselves ampelographic specialists, much to Magno’s loudly voiced displeasure (for all the good that did), all in a contest to prove we were the best tasters in the whole of the flat world.
Gentle reader, you’re thinking, Huh? Or … Why? Or Isn’t everybody simply supposed to drink wine and enjoy it, or not enjoy it and so not drink it, and not use wine to show off some superficial expertise that means nothing in the greater world?
Yes.
Yet somehow, to these men, it had become important to prove that a penis was good for more than pissing, filling a codpiece, and providing the raw material to produce a babe. It also increased a man’s sensitivity to taste and scent.
Wine snots, indeed, and that’s why I was onstage. Because, despite my serene demeanor, I was in full Forsooth, I am the lioness of the Leonardis! Hear me roar! mode.
All of Verona knew Friar Laurence was incorruptible, so he handled the tastings. Friar Laurence was also beloved, and he tasted each wine before pouring it each into its own cup, thus exposing himself to harm to protect us. Or rather me.
He was a man of God, but like God, he did have his favorites.
I’m not conceited (I would be, but have you seen my mother?), but this Franciscan monk had presided at my parents’ secret wedding, at my christening, at my own secret wedding, and he was my mentor in the apothecary world.
He also listened to confessions from half of Verona, and I was fairly sure he detested Magno.
If someone, anyone, tried to kill Friar Laurence … they would burn in hell forever.
Left to right, it was me; Magno in his splendid crimson cloak, his deceitful eyes smiling and kind; and the other three guys, who got eliminated so quickly they might as well never have bothered to show up.
No one in the audience bothered to caterwaul about them, because, let’s be clear, no one cared about them.
Gentle reader, I know you don’t cherish any feelings for three unknown players. For you, the only important thing is the contest between Magno and me, and how he intended to poison me, whom he had enlisted to assist him, and how I would thwart and expose him.
You can relax. I did have the “thwart and expose” part figured out. All I had to do was live through the contest and be right about every grape, every location, and every vintage. Oh, and be absolutely sure my wine was untainted by poison.
No pressure.
As each of the other men had failed and departed the stage, Cal’s footmen had removed their table and stool.
Now, with two tables remaining and one off to the side of the stage and cluttered with used tasting cups, we could have sat apart from each other, but that wouldn’t work to catch our murderer, would it?
The final event pretty much started out as a repeat of Magno and me tasting wines; him heckling me when I took my time; me smiling serenely as I wrote down the flavors, the scents, and the grapes that made up the wines and handing them to the incorruptible Friar Laurence, who read the results and confirmed each one.
Unfortunately, Magno was getting exactly the same, correct results, which meant he retained enough of his faculties to be a threat in every stage of the contest.
With each tasting, we handed over our used cups for a clean one so the taste of the next wine would be untainted by the previous one.
Between sniffs and sips, I would eat a crust of plain bread or enjoy a crumb of mild cheese, something to cleanse my palate, and I’d exchange jests with the audience. I kept them laughing and relaxed. … One cannot claim to be the child of Romeo and Juliet if one is not comfortable onstage.
Whenever Nonno Montague met my eye, he nodded in encouragement and approval. He tapped his chest and mouthed, My granddaughter.
I grinned at him and, at a snort from Magno, glanced at him.
As we continued, I had a close-up view of Great-uncle Magno as he began to unravel.
That the race remained nose to nose, as it were, seemed to be disturbing his equanimity.
Sweat beaded his upper lip and wet the hair strands on the rim of his scalp.
I could hear him grinding his teeth—seriously distracting, by the way—and he periodically released a series of short sniffs, as if he couldn’t contain a drip—or as if he could no long breathe in the odors and identify them with his past skill.
He began to look like a man on the verge of a huge decision …
and I hoped, I really hoped, he chose wisely.
He didn’t.
When the moment came and Fiametta came out from inside the palace and whispered to Friar Laurence, Friar Laurence argued with her for a moment.
Cal came over and listened and spoke softly.
Both men glanced up toward the sky over the palace, where a billow of dark smoke caused the crowd to murmur in alarm.
“What’s happening?” I asked. As if I didn’t know. Fiametta and Chandrika had enlisted the servants to create a diversion, which would allow me to manipulate the results in a way that exposed Magno and his wickedness.
“A fire in the top-floor kitchen,” Cal responded, projecting his voice for all to hear. He hadn’t known what was going to happen, but he did know that everyone should hear him.
“Nooo.” The moan rippled through the crowd, for it had been only days since our orphanage in Verona had been ravaged by fire and Verona was still dealing with the dire results.
Cal spoke over the dismay. “Our loyal and formidable palace staff have the flames under control, but as entertaining as this wine competition is, it must end before we all freeze.” He indicated the shivering crowd, who blew on their hands and strained for a conclusion.
“We have one last wine to be tasted. I’m told its flavor is complex and will be a challenge to both Lord Magno and Lady Rosaline.
Because of our staff, who have rushed to assist in the fire, we’ll allow each contestant to choose one of these last remaining vessels. ”
Fiametta disappeared, then reappeared with a collection of cups and one goblet, made of pewter, with a glowing aquamarine in its base.
I took my cue without hesitation. In my highest, sweetest, silliest, most feminine voice, I said, “What a pretty chalice. I want that one!”
Cal looked at me sharply.
Papà looked at me sharply.
Every single man in my family looked at me sharply, and Friar Laurence fairly glowed with suspicion.
Not Magno, who in a satisfied tone said, “That chalice is pretty. I was sure that sparkling jewel would catch your eye.”
I pressed him. “You are happy to have me use whatever cup I choose?”
“I cede the special goblet to you.” He chose a plain, unornamented cup from the prince’s stock.
A murmur of approval ran through the audience, obviously from those who didn’t know me or Magno and didn’t suspect a trick or a revelation.
Friar Laurence brought the last wine. He tasted it and pronounced it exceptional, and in fact exceptional enough that he tasted it again, which caused a chuckle to ripple through the crowd.
He poured mine into the pretty jeweled goblet and Magno’s into the cup. He placed each of our choices in front of us.
With the dignity of a defeated lord and honored professor, Magno lifted his hands and spoke to the crowd, which quieted to listen.
“I wish everyone to know I honor Lady Rosaline for being a female of exceptional taste and bravery to confront a master such as myself in this contest.” Turning to me, he placed one hand on the desk in front of me and one hand on the goblet stem, over the aquamarine that sparkled there.
“I wish you all the best in your future destination.”
I pressed my hands over both of his. “And I wish you the best in your descent into the seven circles of hell.”
He stiffened in offense. He pulled back in astonishment.
The spectators murmured in admonition; I was not following the script as they believed it had been written.
In a boldly exaggerated gesture, meant to be seen from the cheap seats, I lifted my goblet and exchanged it for Magno’s plain cup.