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Post by Ana deCervillion on Nov 18, 2008 19:46:55 GMT -6
His hand was steady as he sat within the brooding chamber of his palace, far from the noise of the household that stirred with the hundreds of bodies that encompassed both vassal and servant. Here, in this little chamber with the waxen faces of his dead enemies staring blankly at him he could take quill to parchment and scratch out what would be one of the most personal letters he had ever written. It would also be costly in that if any were to know the contents of the letter it would endanger the one pawn he had left in this stage of his life when the end was so very visible to him. So infinitely close.
With summer barely begun he had laid his plans, set all of his traps and engendered what he knew would be a final end game so bloody that it would rival any other countries in comparison. He was not a stupid man by any means, but he was one that was at times overly cautious and this was one point in his life that he could not fail to take enough precaution. Were he to lose Naples' only princess then he would effectively end the d'Este's line in Ferrara and all would pass to those in Verona, men he loathed and despised with a passion so great that it had caused on one occasion for his eyes to bleed.
Suffering only a moments hesitation, he formed the words as he spoken the softly. From Italian to Latin, they came with an almost painstaking slowness.[/color]
To the illustrious Duke of Skye and his gracious Lady Wife,
By the Grace of God, the Holy Father, his Grace the Pope and myself the Duke of Ferrara, I bid you greetings and salutations of a most generous and kindly nature. With these tidings, I bring you news of our standing and thoughts regarding the succession of the land of Scotland's throne and wish to ally any fear you may have that Ferrara and Naples are anything if not a good friend and would bid you to stay your present course. Should you require any good or service, you need but have to send word and all will be fulfilled.
To wit, I also send you this note with the hopes that you will consider a position within your household for my niece who is a biddable girl of pleasant demeanor and comely features. Daughter of the King of Naples, who is my brother-in-law and married to my sister a most virtuous and learned woman. She is landed and titled in her own right, but for I have reason to believe that her life is endangered if she is to remain in Italy at all. As my own lady wife and I have no children of our own, and Ferdinand my brother-in-law, King of Naples has a single son to take his throne that leaves me with his daughter who I can only hope will bear a son so as to take up the Duchy of Ferrara, Modena and Reggio. As such, her enemies among the city-states of Italy are numerous, more so than I can imagine and her life is jeopardized daily. I believe this is not to her knowledge, but she is a young woman of keen understanding and me thinks perhaps she does learn quickly of her situation through no fault of her parents to keep her safe.
I am a man of great means, and will dower her as handsomely as any prince or king of France or Spain might do for their own daughters. I beseech you to take her into the protection of your house until such a time that I can acquire a suitable husband.
To you I send my heir, Ana-Catalina Theresa deCervillion of Naples, and of the House of Ferrara. Please take great care of her, as she is the last of our line who I trust to ensure my throne after my death.
With most sincerely regard and kindest wishes,
Alphonse Marco d'Estes
Duke of Ferrara, Modena and Reggio,
Lord of Parma and Bologna
Defender of the Faith[/color]
When at last he was pleased with the letters contents did he seal it with sand and wax, giving it over to a sturdy looking courier who had seen too many harrowing escapes from the clutches of Ferrara's enemies, and they were as vast as the legions of Satan himself. "Take this unto the Isle of Skye and see to it that none other are given this notice save the Duke or Duchess. I relinquish this task to you, and if you should fail then do not set foot in all of Italy or I will have you drawn and quartered inch by inch. Is that understood?" Alphonse never jested, and was known for his brutal punishments to both failed vassals and enemy.
"Yes m'Lord. I understand and will do as you say. Your trust is not misplaced." Bowing briefly, the courier left and kept to the shadows. It would take months to reach Skye and by then it would be midsummer. With luck, he would see the letter into the proper hands and be done with this whole sordid business.[/color]
(As a note, it would take months for any horse bound or ship bound courier to reach Skye from Italy so I had to draw back the time table to early Summer. At which point of course by the time Ferrara would actually receive a reply it would be midsummer. So Ana-Catalina's arrival in Skye well into the winter is not unusual for the times. Thanks much! Game on! - La)
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Post by King Adam Aberdeen I on Nov 19, 2008 12:45:15 GMT -6
In days before the cold, before Aberdeen, and after the spring wars of the south, Adam sat upon the elevated chair, his beloved wife in her own chair next to him… having heard accusation after accusation from peasants regarding chickens and the number of eggs, or the lack of… With a smirk, he handed down the decree that was suitable to both men… and dismissed them... their nagging wives behind them.
The valet, speaking with a messenger, then announced the official missive from the Duke of Ferrara… “Send him forward…” Adam ordered… then with the graceful bow of an Italian gentle before foreign royalty, the messenger knelt and extended the letter outwards… the valet standing behind him, moved around and took the missive and handed it to Adam… “Rise messenger…” then he broke the official seal and began to read…
During the perusal of the missive, Adam’s expression changed several times… then he looked Bess and handed her the missive… With a smile of disconcern for all the titles about God, the Pope, and formal salutations, his attention now focused on what the man said in his letter and his impending reply…
With a hand to his chin, he looks to the scribe… “Write as Ah speak…” Then in perfect Latin he spoke…
“To M’Lord d’Estes… tis my wishes for Grace to shine upon you… I have received the letter you sent... and if you indeed stand by your word… I have need of nothing but your alliance in some form or fashion… for I am not upon good terms with the Pope, nor several Papal states… but it would be of great importance if you would allow a neutral arrangement with Skye… trade, sanctuary for my people of Skye, should they require it, and open discussion upon Skye’s movement to Gaelic renaissance … and if necessary, forward good tidings to the Pope for us…
As to the issue at hand regarding your niece… Skye turns away none that believes in freedom… of life, liberty, and religion, be that as they wish… I, Lord of the Isles, Griffin of Scotland, do accept your niece for safekeeping and well-being under the protection of the Griffin of Scotland post haste… taxes and welfare shall be discussed between Ambassadors of our choosing at a later date… As with the her impending marriage, under the protection of the Griffin, and her residence in Skye, she shall be free to choose who she is to marry and your acceptance of this protection is guarantee that she shall have that choice… as an uncle, as well as her Father, you can recommend, and give blessing or nay, but still it shall be her choosing… Her arrival here in Turas Lan shall be the decree she requires. Hereby decreed, this 14th day of the Summer Solstice, Year of the Griffin, 1328.”
Adam Aberdeen
Lord of the Isles
Griffin of Scotland…
Handed a board upon which lay the document, a quill, inkwell, wax and a candle, Adam dips the quill, and inscribes his name above where the scribe wrote it… and upon the completion of folding and readying the wax, Adam curled his hand into a fist and applied his seal of the gryphon into the hot wax. After it had cooled, the scribe then bowed to the messenger and handed the offical missive to him…
Adam looked to the messenger… “Make haste Lad… take a’ extra horse an’ bae swift as yaer Master waits word… and a life hangs in the balance…” then he looks to the valet… “Andrew… gaet the lad a swift horse…”
The farewells and bidding of good tidings complete, Adam sat back in the chair and rubbed his chin… he smiled to his wife and they clasp hands… Another stroke for Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of happiness.
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Post by Ana deCervillion on Nov 19, 2008 19:08:04 GMT -6
At the height of summer, deep within the halls of the Castel dell'Novo stirred a rumble from inside the chamber of the Dead. In this sacred place, Alphonse Marco d'Este's turned his eyes toward the numerous faces that were forever struck in the throws of their final resting. Each was an enemy and it was so rumored that he spent much time here, speaking with those who had long past beneath his sword.
It was a place that Ana-Catalina had grown to hate if for no other reason than because it frightened her so. Early in her life she had been taught fear, and to never show that fear. Now as she stood beneath the bower of candles just aside from the door her features were still, without a trace of emotion. Here she had been summoned and the journey from Naples to the seat of Ferrara's power had been long, most of it without sleep. Hallow cheeked, she remained motionless like a specter, witness to this strange rite. This was not the first time, no but the first time she had not known the reputation of this room and had stumbled upon it unerringly only to be faced with an enraged Alphonse who had her chastised by force. It left her with a repugnance for her uncle that was without word.
"You will go from this place in a short time to the Isle of Skye off the coast of Scotland. It is there that you shall remain under the guidance and protection of their Graces the Duke and Duchess." He spoke brusquely without any warmth for the trembling young woman who stood like so many of the vanquished. Regarding her from the vantage point of greater height he wondered how it was that God had so thought it fit to saddle him with a wife who could bear him no children and that his sister could produce only this stripling of a girl besides the babe that now would hold the throne of Naples, her brother. For all he knew her to fear this place, she held herself quiet and steady and he found a measure of respect for her because of that. That he had written she was comely had been no falsehood, and indeed with her dark hair, soft complexion and pale eyes she would indeed be considered to be passably pretty. Alphonse thought little of beauty in terms of looks and chose the cunning of the mind over all things. It was why, he and his wife had gotten along so well even if there were no children between them for no lack of trying.
Breath stuck in her throat she could do nothing for his words had found their mark so deep in her core that she could only blink in disbelief. "Your Grace, Uncle ... I am already betrothed to Lord Venchenzia of Mantua." It was only truth she spoke and yet the moment the words had left her lips she saw the darkening of his gaze and knew for a certain that she had spoken in error. Before the mistake could be righted he had crossed from the room with what seemed like the swiftness of a bolt of lightening. With the resounding crack of his hand against her face she saw the waxen faces of the dead spiral out of her vision before she felt the cold surface of the floor beneath her hands. It dawned on her then as she knelt, trying to compose herself while her cheek throbbed and the taste of her own blood filled her mouth that her life was not her own as she once might have thought. In an effort to keep from crying out she had bitten down and had ended up snapping her teeth through the inside of her lower lip. It burned now like a fire, but that was not the worst feeling. What was worse was that this man who stood so stoically by as she struggled to feet was the man who controlled not only her life, but how she would love as well. Venchenzia had seemed kind, joyful in his own way and she had thought with a girls burgeoning hope that perhaps their union might grow to be a one of love. Now ... now that was all but a dream. The dream of a fool.
"Mantua is nothing. Do you think that you would go to a house that is weak such as they? None of their line will ever sit the throne of Ferrara. Get to your feet, and leave me now. When next I call you, it will be to see you away to Skye and what alliances can be found there. Remember all that you shall be told from your duenna, from the Chamberlain of your House and Sir Terenzio who will be your Champion Knight. Ferrara's future lies in your hands and that is not a task I set to you lightly. Do not fail me." No doubt if she were to fail, her life would be at an end.
Her vision still wavered as she curtsied deeply to her uncle with a murmur that she would do all that was set upon her. Only when she was in the relative privacy of her chamber could she spend the emotions that rolled within her. Not in great wails or in fits of temper but in the silent shadow of the Virgin Mother upon her pier de deiu. There with the benign half smile shining down on her she could let the catatonic state of her being dissolve with the tremulous fall of tears. Utterances begging forgiveness were cast aside for queries of guidance. Her life was a daily litany of danger and yet now, now of all times she would be sent away from the relative safety of the court of Naples in favor of an island so far away it might have been the moon. What was her uncle's game and why did he play it so closely to his skin?
When the hours stretched out into days, she thought perhaps she had been given a divine reprieve until her duenna came for her with a steely look in her dark eyes and her mouth a firm line. "We leave in two days. His Grace commands that you be bathed and readied on the morrow's night and that we leave early in the morning the day after. We shall travel by horse until we reach the coast of France with England in its sight and from there take a ship to the Island of Skye. All will be made more clear to you when we embark upon the ship." The embroidery in her hands dropped into her lap as she stared dully in the wake of her duenna as she took her leave to meet with the man who would be the Chamberlain of her House. Weakly, she turned her face toward the open window and stared out into the vast forest that surrounded the edge of her uncle's estate. Somewhere out in that long great world was her destiny but she wasn't sure what it might be and how well she would doing in seeing that she played it out. What if they never made it to Skye? What if something happened her younger brother, Alonso and with it the crown of Naples? Shuddering, her breathing turned ragged as she stumbled to her feet to set her face out of the window, cooling it with the breeze that drew up the high stone walls.
Life as she had known it was over, and there was only a vast void before her. Prayers had done nothing, God would not answer any of her pleas and the Blessed Mother had remained like stone in the face of all this adversity. She was completely alone and for the first time she was frightened of what she might become. No longer a simple pawn, she could turn into a monster, a horrid person driven by the same greed for power and lust for position as her uncle. But would she weather the storm and perhaps remain true to the valiant nature that she knew was inside of her?
"You have so great a love within you, but take a care with that love daughter for you turn it so easily away from those that deserve it most. You've a powerful nature in you, let it never turn you from the path that the Holy Mother would set your feet upon." The words of her mother sprang to her mind the next day as the halls of the palace of Ferrara were turned inside out to make ready the Heir of Ferrara for her impending journey the next day. Tapestries were pulled from the walls and packed with great care, the merchants were huddled within the great hall to have their wares inspected. Furniture, jewels, plates and cups of gold, silver, of alabaster and obsidian were all tucked safely within the vast stores that would be carried at great expense for this long trek across Europe. There was fabric and fur, ribbons and buttons and bolts of thread for the clothing that would be needed to survive a cold northern winter. With all that was going on, was it any wonder that amidst the whirlwind there was only a singular point of calm. Ana-Catalina seemed poised on the brink of becoming little more than a statue, doing as she was bid and saying all that was proper. That night they feasted her departure and she was feted as if she were a hero. Smiling and laughing, she made sure that all thought that she was eager to begin the task set to her by her uncle. Most thought her eager and respected her fortitude. Inside she quivered from the truth. Morning would come too soon for one unready to see the rise of the sun.
It broke, watery and light through the clouds the morning she left with knights and servants all huddled beneath lightweight cloaks. Summer it might have been, but that morning a strange chill had dawned in the air and everyone took precautions against it. Sickness was the last thing they could afford. Still beneath the cloak of burgundy wool, she took only a single glance back toward the palace as it slowly began to recede and wished so deeply in her heart that she was sure God wouldn't even hear it. Death to Ferrara. If she survived the journey, and was so anointed to set foot on the isle of Skye she swore never to let anyone know the truth of her person. The Ana-Catalina who had lived and loved on the shores of Naples, beneath the great face of Vesuvius would never be known to a Scotsman. Nor to the man her uncle sought to shackle her to.[/color]
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Post by Ana deCervillion on Nov 19, 2008 23:10:06 GMT -6
It took the better part of the summer for the large routine to reach the distant shores of Calais where they would make the final part of the journey not by horse but by ship. It would take four in all to haul all of the people, animals and goods that were being brought from Italy to the small Island. It was indeed as if a state visit was being made of a Princess, which she could have been called if it were really necessary. With so many of the City-States of Italy divided it was easy to joke that Italy and Russia had a singular thing in common and that was that the princes's were as numerous as the clouds.
To Ana-Catalina that was of a little concern, since she was by birth a member of the House of Aragon, with ties to France, to the Holy Roman Emperor and of course, it was whispered to the Pope himself. Her blood was as blue as an dark sky and the poise of her carriage was certainly a mark of that upbringing. Held stiff in her saddle, she had never complained all the while her maids had let it be known and quite loudly so that they were uncomfortable, that their muscles ached and that their persons had suffered greatly much to the chagrin of her knights. Not she however, she remained ever polite and cordial no matter what the circumstance and the knights who made up her routine began to see her as something of a holy figure in that she was as serene as the Virgin. There was a kindness in her that gave them cause to be loyal without the need for bribery. In the end, some of them loved her a little while others were not so ... pure in their devotion.
Boarding the Northern Spirit, Ana-Catalina could well understand the draw that the open seas had for men even if she could not fully comprehend what that would mean. No sooner had she boarded was she being herded below where she would remain with only a small window to show her the world outside. It was a world of endless blue and gray, of whipping wind and sorrowful nights. It was in Ana-Catalina's mind ... freedom. Here on the ocean she could do as she wished if only within the six or so feet of space she called her own. Sewing, praying and studying were her usual inclinations but there were times when she would sing or take up flute or harp to amuse herself. It was at those times that she felt the most at peace with the swaying of the ship.
During the months it took for the ships to reach the shores, they did not remain idle but were a bevy of activities that included outfitting the entirety of the household with winter clothing that was befitting to their station and seeing to the education of English so that each Italian could go about and speak the language as well as any other member of the court. Most spoke French already, given their relationship with their neighbors to the north but few had mastered the tongue of the Scots. Gaelic was not even considered but Ana-Catalina had been firm in her decision to attempt to master that tongue as well. Being that she was the Heir of Ferrara it was of a surety that she got her way in this and learned with a voracity that few could understand.
Their arrival was expected, and once the standard of the House of Naples was spotted off in the distance the outriders that had been set out by the Duke and Duchess immediately set to carrying word that the Italians were near ready to being docked. It would be only a matter of days until then that they disembarked, rested within the arms of the Briar Rose Inn at the behest of the patron there and then escorted with much pomp and circumstance on the part of the Italians to the court itself.
To Ana-Catalina it was secretly a waste of time but when asked whether she would choose to wear the gold damask or the red brocade she dithered as any other young woman might have regarding the choice. In the end, she chose red. Not because it heightened the color of her cheeks or made her eyes seem more clear but because it made a bold statement when she herself could not do so verbally. Donna Lucrezia, her duenna thought it too brazen a color to wear for so formal a function but with a few firm words and the regal uplift of one downy black brow she got her way. It was rare, but there were times when the steel that held her back straight was shown. Ignoring any further protest, she was bathed and combed in the Moorish fashion, and set atop one of the many gifts, an Arabian mare did she feel like the whole of the world was going to be ending in a few short hours. From the household of one tyrant to another no doubt, she thought dourly with a polite smile fixed firmly onto her mouth. Inside she wanted nothing more than to be on the sea again where the call of gulls and the sound of sailors meant freedom.
The routine was large as it entered onto the grounds of the palace proper, decked out and bejeweled more brightly than even the Pope's routine, for all there was a Bishop among them as well as several other priests with the expressed instructions to see to the Madonna's continued religious education and to speak with the Duke on the Holy Father's behalf. Ferrara had indeed made good on his words to do all that he could in order to bring favor to Skye and with it came a Papal decree that offered only good tidings toward the Duke and his family. There were vast trunks and several animals from the menagerie of St. Amelia's which was said to house some of the rarest treasures that the jungles and wilds of Egypt could offer. Servants laden with fabrics, with spices and dried fruits. There were medicinal plants and furs, feathers and other household sundries that included fragrant sandalwood.
Escorted into the formal court, she was hidden then by the bulk of the knights that were her own personal guard, entrusted by Ferrara himself to see to her safety. She thought it a complete jest, but they saw to their duty quite well and in fact she saw nothing of the court. Could only hear the murmurs of those gathered.
All bowed before the Duke and Duchess, the faces of the Italians as unreadable as stone. First came the Lord Chamberlain of the Household, Don Marcos Antonio d'Ercole, and with him the Lady of the Household and Person of the Madonna, Princess of Naples, Donna Lucrezia diCampelli. Both were dressed in the dark, somber fashion of the Italians as were her guard. It was as if some depressing cloud had descended to dress these people. They were eloquent in their stringent hold on tradition and etiquette. It would be Don Marcos who spoke, leveling his eyes toward the raised surface of the Duke and Duchess who had seated themselves.
"From the court of the Duke of Ferrara and that of the King of Naples, we bid you greetings and good tidings to you the Duke of Skye and his Lady Wife, the Duchess. With thanks be to God for our safe passage, we have entered into a compact with you, for the protection of the Lady Ana-Catalina Theresa deCervillion, Princess of Naples and Heir to the Duchy of Ferrara, Modena, Reggio and of Parma and Bologna. All have been brought with her court that are required and we do agree to your terms as they were stated previously in written form." His voice was smooth, holding fast to the Neapolitan under currents of his home. Removing the cap from his head, he bowed deeply before stepping back so that Donna Lucrezia might speak next.
"By the Grace of God, and his Holiness the Pope, I bid you greetings from the wife of the Duke of Ferrara, her ladyship Jacopa Catalina d'Estes and ask that your Graces look upon her niece as you would your own daughter. By taking her into your household, we give unto you a part of her dowry as a surety for our continued allegiance to your cause and pray that you accept it." Her curtsey was as deep as protocol dictated and she stepped aside then, a graceful movement for a woman who was not yet twenty and eight. As many might recall later, the duenna might have been pretty were it not for the dour turn of her lips downward and the constant steel that was in her eyes. She saw to the protection and education of her charge and that was all. What amusements of life there were, she ignored or rigidly kept herself from.
With all that was going on, she could only strain her ears to hear before finally it was the moment that she had both feared and anticipated. Her surrounding knights moved forward and she with them, only to have those immediately in front of her step away. Once the relative shelter of their bodies was gone, she was left with the strangest feeling of being alone in a room full of people. Head held high, she walked forward with skirts of brilliant red clasped firmly in her hands.
Before the dais of the Duke and Duchess she too would curtsey, only further than her duenna or any other member of her court had. Skirts belled softly, forming a rigid pool around her. Staring down at it, she remarked silently to herself that were the color any deeper it might remind her of pooling blood. As it was, she steeled herself and rose only when she was bid to do so. The Italians were if anything, steeped in etiquette. Gray eyes clear beneath a sweep of lashes the color of a raven's wing she peeled the swollen member of her tongue from the roof of her mouth before speaking.
"We are pleased to be honored by your courtesy and your continued friendship. Know that these gifts are but a token of our affection for you and your cause." Turning her face to profile the Duke and Duchess, she motioned toward two pages that stepped forward from the routine, bringing with them each a flat chest. "For the Duke, we bring you a game of chess, in the finest alabaster from Ferrara and obsidian from the face of Vesuvius herself." It was a grandly made set, a game of stratagem that Ferrara had hoped would please the Duke. "For the Duchess, there is also a gift of obsidian cultivated from Vesuvius." It was a carved collar of rich dark stone, that glinted almost like diamonds in the light. Coupled with it were stones that glinted like the sun and flashed a strange fire when set next to the darker stone. It was a rich gift, made more so from the simple fact that carving obsidian from an active volcano was a dangerous job at best.
As all was said and done, there was little enough for her to do but wait for them to accept the gifts and then seal her fate. A member of the Duchess's household, a lady ... forever waiting. It would not have been so miserable if she knew what game was afoot. Already she could feel the watchful eyes of her own attendants, the Chamberlain of the House and the Bishop of Rieti. There were other eyes among her loyal routine, those of the house of Verona and of Mantua, and of course of the faction of Ferrara that would see the d'Este's line ended with this lone woman-child. Already the wheels were in motion that would draw out the players into the open.[/color]
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