VI
The carriage that had borne me and my new husband to Squillace was outfitted for the journey back to Naples. This time we rode with a larger contingent of guards, armed for battle, traversing Italy in a north-easterly diagonal from coast to coast. Given the size of our entourage-three wagons bore our attendants and luggage-the trip required several days.
During that time I contemplated with dread the reunion between myself and my father.
On the final morning of our journey, when we saw Vesuvio towering over the landscape, I caught Donna Esmeralda’s hand with excitement. Such gladness it was, to at last draw near the city, and see the great cupola of the Duomo, the dark stone of the Castel Nuovo, the hulking fortress of the Castel dell’Ovo; such gladness, and at the same time, sorrow, knowing that my beloved city was endangered.
At last our carriage pulled beneath the Triumphal Arch of Alfonso the Magnanimous into the courtyard of the royal palace. Look-outs had reported our arrival, and my brother was waiting as Jofre and I were assisted from the carriage. I smiled broadly: Alfonso was fourteen; the Neapolitan sun glinted off the beginnings of a blond beard upon his cheeks.
‘Brother!’ I cried. ‘Look at you; you are a man!’
He smiled back, flashing white teeth; we embraced. ‘Sancha,’ he said, in a voice that had deepened even further, ‘how I have missed you!’
We reluctantly let go of one another. Jofre was waiting nearby; Alfonso took his hand. ‘Brother, I am grateful you have come.’
‘We could do no else,’ Jofre replied graciously-a statement which was true, if only because of my insistence.
While the servants dealt with the luggage and our other effects, Alfonso led us toward the palace. As the joy of reunion slowly faded, I noted the tension in my brother’s face, his manner, his step. Something evil had just occurred, something so terrible that Alfonso was waiting for the proper moment to tell us. ‘We have prepared chambers for both of you,’ he said. ‘You will want to refresh yourselves before you greet Prince Federico.’
‘But what of Father?’ I asked. ‘Should I not go first to him? Despite his troubles, he is still the King.’
Alfonso hesitated; a ripple of emotion crossed his features before he could suppress it. ‘Father is not here.’ He faced me and my husband, his tone as sombre as I had ever heard it. ‘He fled during the night. Apparently he had been planning this for some time; he took most of his clothing and possessions, and many jewels.’ He lowered his face and flushed, mortified. ‘We had not deemed him capable of this. He had taken to his bed. We discovered this only a few hours ago, Sancha. I think you can understand why all of the brothers, especially Federico, are preoccupied at the moment.’
‘
‘One of his attendants is missing,’ my brother added sadly. ‘We assume he was part of the plan. We are not certain where Father has headed. They are conducting an investigation at this moment.’
An agonizing hour passed, during which time I paced the elegant guest bedchamber; Giovanna now resided in the one that had once been my own. I walked out onto the balcony; now my view faced east towards Vesuvio and the armoury. I paused to stare out at the water. I remembered how, a very long time ago, I had stood upon my old balcony and hurled Onorato’s ruby into the sea. I wished that I could reverse my childish action now; such a gem could purchase rations for countless soldiers, or dozens of cannons from Spain.
At last Alfonso came for me, with Jofre flanking him. Together, we went to the King’s office, where Uncle Federico sat dejectedly at the dark wooden desk. He had aged since I had last seen him; his black hair had begun to silver, and the shadows I had seen upon my father’s face were now beginning to gather beneath Federico’s brown eyes. His features were round and not as handsome, his demeanour stern as old Ferrante’s, yet somehow still kindly. Across from him sat his younger brother, Francesco, and his even younger half-sister, Giovanna.
At the sight of us, they rose. Federico had clearly taken charge; he stepped forward first, and embraced Jofre, then me. ‘You have your mother’s loyal heart, Sancha,’ he told me. ‘And Jofre, you are a true knight of the realm, to have come to Naples’ aid. As Protonotary and Prince, we welcome you.’
‘I have told them the news regarding His Majesty,’ my brother explained.
Federico nodded. ‘I won’t soften the truth. Naples is threatened as never before. The barons are in revolt- frankly, with good reason. Against all advice, the King taxed them beyond conscience, appropriated lands unfairly for his own use, then publicly tortured and executed those who dared protest. Now that they know the French are on their way, the barons are heartened. They will fight with Charles to defeat us.’
‘But Ferrandino is coming, with our army,’ I said.
Prince Federico eyed me wearily. ‘Yes, Ferrandino is coming…with the French on his heels. Charles has four times the men we have; without the papal army, we are doomed.’ This he said without apology, despite the fact that Jofre shifted uneasily at the words. ‘That is one reason I sent for you, Jofre. We need your assistance as never before; you must make good on your ties to our kingdom, and convince His Holiness to send military aid as quickly as possible. I realize the safety of your brother Cesare is compromised, but perhaps a solution can be found.’ He paused. ‘We have sent for help from Spain-but there is no way such assistance, even if it is granted, can arrive in time.’ He let go a gusting sigh. ‘And now we are without a king.’
‘You have a king,’ my brother countered swiftly. ‘Alfonso II has clearly abdicated his throne in favour of his son, Ferrandino. That is what the barons and the people must be told.’
Federico gazed at him with admiration. ‘Shrewd. Very shrewd. They have no cause to hate Ferrandino. He is far more liked than your father ever was.’ He began to nod with the first stirrings of enthusiasm. ‘The hell with Alfonso. You’re right, we should consider this disappearance an abdication. Of course, it will be difficult. The barons don’t trust us…they might still fight if they believe this is political manoeuvring on our part. But with Ferrandino, we have a better chance of winning popular support.’
My Uncle Francesco spoke at last. ‘Ferrandino, and mercenaries. We simply have no choice but to hire help, and quickly, before the French arrive. It’s all very well for Prince Jofre to convince Alexander to send papal troops, but we don’t have time for such diplomacy. Besides, they’re too far north to get here in time.’
Federico scowled. ‘Our finances are strained as it is. We can scarcely support our own army, after all of Alfonso’s spending on rebuilding the palaces, and commissioning all of that unnecessary artwork…’
‘We have no choice,’ Francesco argued. ‘It’s that, or lose to the French. We can always borrow money from Spain after the war.’
Federico was still frowning; he opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again at the sound of urgent knocking. ‘Come,’ he commanded.
I recognized the white-haired, hawk-nosed man whose face appeared in the doorway; it was the seneschal, the man in charge of the royal household-which included the royal jewels and financial matters. His expression was stricken; Federico took one glimpse at it, then forgot all royal protocol and hurried over, bending his head down so that the old man could whisper in his ear.
As Federico listened, his eyes widened, then grew dazed. Finally, the seneschal retreated and the door closed once again. My uncle took a few unsteady steps, then sat heavily upon his chair, lowered his head, and put his hand to his heart. He let go a strangled sound.
