He entered the room. He had changed his tunic and washed away the dust of travel, but his face was brown from sun, his dark hair and beard unkempt, untrimmed. Ferrante’s daughter, Giovanna, then seventeen, dark-haired and voluptuous, threw her arms around him and they kissed with great passion. Despite the fact that she was his aunt, he had long ago fallen in love with her, and she with him; they were betrothed.
‘My boy.’ Federico was first of the brothers to embrace him warmly.
Ferrandino returned his and Francesco’s embraces and kisses a bit wearily, then scanned the assembled group. ‘Where is Father?’
‘Sit down, Your Highness,’ Federico said, his voice tinged with affection and sorrow.
Ferrandino glanced at him with alarm. ‘Do not tell me he is dead.’ Giovanna, standing on his other side, put a comforting hand upon his arm.
Federico’s lips pressed together tightly to form a thin, straight line. ‘No.’ And as the young prince sat, the older muttered, ‘Better though if he were.’
‘Tell me,’ Ferrandino commanded. He glanced at the rest of us, standing around the table, and said, ‘Everyone, sit. And Uncle Federico, you speak.’
With a great sigh, Federico lowered himself onto the chair next to his nephew. ‘Your father is gone, boy. Gone and sailed to Sicily, as best we can tell, and taken the Crown treasures with him.’
‘Gone?’ The prince stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. ‘What do you mean? For his safety?’ He looked round at our solemn-faced assembly, as if pleading for a word, a sign, to help him understand.
‘Gone as in deserted. He left in the middle of the night without telling anyone. And he has left the kingdom without funds.’
Ferrandino turned wooden; for a long moment, he did not speak, did not look at anyone. A muscle in his cheek began to twitch.
Federico broke the silence. ‘We told the people that King Alfonso decided to abdicate his throne in favour of you. It is the one way we can regain the trust of the barons.’
‘They showed no trust today,’ Ferrandino said tightly. ‘They fired on us, brought down some men and horses. A few fools with swords even charged our infantry.’ He paused. ‘My men need food and fresh supplies. They cannot fight on empty bellies. They have been through enough. When they learn-’
He broke off and covered his face with his hands, then bent forward until his brow touched the table. All was silent.
‘They will learn that you are the King,’ I said, surprising even myself with my sudden, vehement words. ‘And you will be a better King by far than my father ever was. You are a good man, Ferrandino. You will treat the people fairly.’
Ferrandino straightened and ran his hands over his face, forcing away his grief; Prince Federico directed a look of profound approval at me.
‘Sancha is right,’ Federico said, turning back to his nephew. ‘Perhaps the barons mistrust us now. But you are the one man who can win their confidence. They will see that you are just, unlike Alfonso.’
‘There is no time,’ Ferrandino said tiredly. ‘The French will soon be here, with an army more than thrice the size of ours. And now there is no money.’
‘The French will come,’ Federico agreed grimly. ‘And we can only do our best when they do. But Jofre Borgia has written to his father, the Pope; we will get you more troops, Your Highness. And if I have to swim to Sicily with these tired old arms’-he held them out dramatically-‘I will get you the money. That I swear. All we must do now is find a way to survive.’
Instinct propelled me to rise, to go to Ferrandino’s side and kneel. ‘Your Majesty,’ I said. ‘I swear fealty to you, my sovereign lord and master. Whatever I have is yours; I am entirely at your command.’
‘Sweet sister,’ he whispered, and clutched my hand; he drew me to my feet, just as old Federico knelt and likewise pledged his loyalty. One by one, each family member followed suit. We were a small group, torn by fear and doubt over what would betide us in the coming days; our voices wavered slightly as we cried out:
But our hearts were never more earnest.
So it was that King Ferrante II of Naples came to power, without ceremony, a crown, or jewels.
VII
From the moment Ferrandino arrived, Naples was overrun by soldiers. The armoury lay just cast of the royal castle, along the shoreline, protected by the ancient Angevin walls and newer, sturdier walls erected by Ferrante and my father. From my bedchamber balcony, I had a direct view: never had I seen so much artillery, so many great heaps of iron balls the size of a man’s head. During my lifetime, the armoury had been a mostly deserted place, filled with silent cannons rusted by salt and spray: now it was bustling and noisy as soldiers worked on the equipment, practised drills, and shouted to one another.
Our palace, too, was surrounded by the military. On the winter days when it was not too cool and the sun shone, I liked to take my meals on the balcony-but now I stopped the practice, for it was disheartening to see the soldiers lined up around the castle walls below, their weapons at the ready.
Each morning, Ferrandino was visited by his commanders. He spent his days closeted in the office that had been his grandfather’s, then his father’s, discussing strategy along with his generals and the royal brothers. He was only twenty-six years of age, but the lines in his brow were those of a man much older.
Of our military plans, I had only the news which Alfonso, who often attended the meetings, shared with me: that Ferrandino had posted royal decrees lowering the taxes on the nobles, promising rewards and the return of lands for those who remained loyal to the Crown and fought with us against the French. Word was spread that our father had willingly abdicated in favour of his son and had left Naples for a monastery, in order to do penance for his many sins. Meanwhile, we waited to hear from the Pope and the Spanish King, hoping for promises of more troops; Ferrandino and the brothers hoped the barons might be swayed by the decrees and send a representative, promising support. What Alfonso did not say-but which was clear to me-was that such expectations were founded on the deepest desperation.
With each passing day, the young King’s expression grew more haunted.
In the meantime, Alfonso and Jofre engaged in swordplay as a method of easing the nerves that afflicted us all. Alfonso was the better swordsman, having been schooled in the Spanish fashion as well as being naturally more graceful than my little husband; Jofre was immediately impressed and made fast friends with him. Wishing always to please those in his company-which now included my brother-Jofre treated me with more respect and gave up visiting courtesans. The three of us-Alfonso, Jofre and I-became inseparable; I watched as the two men in my life parried with blunted swords, and cheered for them both.
I treasured those few pleasant days in the Castel Nuovo with a sense of poignancy, knowing they would not last long.
The end came at dawn, with a blast that shook the floor beneath my bed and jolted me awake. I threw off my covers, flung open the doors and ran out onto the balcony, vaguely aware that Donna Esmeralda was beside me.
A hole had been blown in the nearby armoury wall. In the greyish light, men lay half-buried in the rubble; others ran about shouting. A crowd-some of them soldiers, wearing our uniforms, others in commoner’s clothing-stormed into the armoury through the breach in the stone and began to hack at the startled victims with swords.
I glanced at once at the horizon, anticipating the French. But there were no invading armies here, no dark figures marching across the sloping hills towards the town, no horses.
‘Look!’ Donna Esmeralda clutched my arm, then pointed.
Just below us, at the Castel Nuovo walls, the soldiers who had for so long guarded us now unsheathed their sabres. The streets outside the palace came alive with men, who emerged from every door, from behind every wall. They swarmed toward the soldiers, then engaged them; from beneath us came the sharp, high ring of steel against steel.
Worse, some of the soldiers joined with the commoners, and began to fight against their fellows.
