‘He is weak,’ Federico countered. ‘Accuse him of treason, show him the rope, and he will break.’
Alfonso shook his head. ‘You saw him-you two will only come to blows again. It is time for a different approach.’
‘It’s true, Federico.’ Francesco spoke up, in a rare display of disagreement with his older brother. ‘That was no pretence-he has gone mad.’
At that instant, Madonna Trusia emerged from the chamber and quietly shut the door behind her. ‘Don Francesco is right. I have calmed him sufficiently, but I think it would be wise for you brothers to remain outside.’ She looked at my brother and me. ‘Alfonso, Sancha…If you go to your father, and tell him the treasures are necessary to save the kingdom-the kingdom he believes he still rules-perhaps he will give them to you. He trusts you.’
I shook my head. ‘Let Alfonso go. Father trusts him-but he will not listen to anything I have to say. He despises me.’
She jerked her head slightly, as if my words themselves were a slap, then gazed at me with a disbelief that outweighed my own. ‘Your father has always admired you. Why, he has always told me that, had you been born a man, you would be the man he would want to become.’
Anger laced with longing rose in me.
My emotional struggle must have shown on my face, for my mother came to my side and gently took my hand. ‘Come,’ she said, in a tone that comforted and conferred courage. ‘I will lead you and Alfonso inside. Let your brother do most of the speaking, and all will go well.’
We three returned to the chamber.
‘Your Majesty,’ my mother said, ignoring my discomfort at her use of the term. ‘Look, your children have come to visit you.’
The former King Alfonso II had been regal and controlled when all of us had entered together. But now, as he sat in his phantom throne staring out at Messina’s harbour, his shoulders, once so straight, were slightly hunched, and in his eyes was a disturbing vagueness.
‘Vesuvio,’ he remarked, frowning at the vista. ‘This window has a dreadful view; I can’t see Vesuvio. We will have to hire an architect to remedy that.’
‘Certainly,’ Madonna Trusia said. ‘Your Majesty, Don Alfonso and Donna Sancha have come to see you.’ And she stepped back, directing a nod at my brother.
‘Your Majesty,’ Alfonso stated, his voice distinct and loud. ‘I must speak to you regarding a matter of extreme urgency.’
My father grunted, and at last took his gaze from the window and turned it upon his youngest child. ‘Alfonso. You seem to have become a man.’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Have you married yet?’
‘No.’ My brother paused. ‘There is great trouble in Naples, Father. The barons are in revolt, and the French have invaded. Our troops have desperate need of funds; we must borrow from the Crown treasure. It is the only way to keep the throne safe.’
My father’s gaze swept over me. ‘And Sancha. You married the Pope’s little bastard. Tell me, has he yet grown a beard?’
I felt a rush of temper, but guarded my tongue; I also felt sorrow, to see the man reduced thus. My father’s cold, unyielding cruelty had destroyed his kingdom, and separated him from his family and his sanity. Only my mother remained loyal.
‘He is older,’ I replied softly.
My father nodded, then stared back out the window at the foreign coastline. ‘How much of it is required?’ he asked suddenly.
‘A great deal,’ my brother replied. ‘But I will take only what is needed.’
‘There is the matter of a key…’ My father murmured. He gestured for Alfonso to approach him-then took notice of me and my mother standing nearby. ‘The women must leave,’ he commanded.
My mother bowed; I followed suit, then left with her to join the brothers, who waited anxiously out in the corridor.
‘He trusts Alfonso,’ Trusia told them. ‘I think we will meet with success.’
Her instincts were correct. Only a moment later, my brother emerged from the chamber, alone and smiling. In his hand, he held a golden key.
The key did in fact unlock the closet where my father had hidden the treasures; and I reflected on how my mother’s and brother’s gentleness and patience had led to our salvation, when anger and demands had failed. Once again, I resolved to be less headstrong, to be more like my sweet-natured brother.
Ferrandino and Uncle Federico argued over whether or not to leave sufficient funds to keep my father comfortable in his madness; Federico wanted to leave nothing, but in the end, the King’s wishes were obeyed. Ferrandino turned over a reasonable sum to my mother, with instructions to use it frugally.
We spent only a few restless weeks in Messina. During that time, the Spanish ambassador brought us three separate pieces of amazing news. The first, which we had both expected and dreaded, was that our exhausted forces in the Castel dell’Ovo had finally surrendered to the French: Virgil’s egg had cracked.
The second revelation was one that gave Jofre great relief, and put us all in good humour. I had never forgiven Pope Alexander for surrendering to King Charles so easily, or for handing over his son, Cesare, to ride with the French as a hostage. Cesar e and Alexander were cunning, however; before the army ever entered Naples, Cesare escaped the French army one night, taking with him as much of the stolen spoils of war as he could manage. This he did by bribing a number of Charles’ soldiers to help him.
The third message followed with surprising swiftness on the heels of the second. Hearing of the formation of the Holy League-with its formidable army far outnumbering his own-Charles VIII took fright, and retreated from Naples several weeks after invading it, leaving a single garrison behind. (This news revealed even more of the Pope’s and Cesare’s shrewdness; the latter had taken care to absent himself before King Charles learned of the League.) It brought Ferrandino no small amount of pleasure to learn that
This inspired Ferrandino to make plans to join his encamped forces, commanded by Captain Don Inaco d’Avalos, on the island of Ischia in the Bay of Naples. Ischia was a short distance from the city’s coastline, easily allowing the King to launch attacks on the mainland.
I was determined to go with him, and Jofre dared raise no objections-I was so filled with optimism that I expected we would return home, triumphant, within days. Alfonso also decided to go to Ischia, in case his skill as a fighter was required; Francesco and Federico, chose to remain behind in Sicily until Naples was freed.
The night before we were to set sail, I called upon Madonna Trusia. We sat together in her small antechamber while my father sat in the darkness in his imaginary throne room, staring out at the lights reflecting on the dark waters of Messina’s harbour.
‘Come with us,’ I urged. ‘Alfonso and I have missed you terribly. There is nothing here for you anymore; Father is not even aware of who surrounds him. We can hire servants to care for him.’
Wistful, she shook her head, then lowered her face and stared down at her pale, graceful hands, placed one atop the other in her lap. ‘I miss you both as well. But I cannot leave him. You do not understand, Sancha.’
‘You are right,’ I said curtly. I was furious with my father, for the spell he had cast over her, for the fact that, even insane and seemingly helpless, he was able to make such a good person miserable. ‘I do not understand. He has betrayed his family and his people, yet you remain loyal to him. Your children adore you, and will do everything possible to make you happy; all he can give you is hurt.’ I hesitated, then with great emotion, asked the question that had troubled me my whole life. ‘How could you ever have loved a man so cruel?’
Trusia lifted her chin at that, and regarded me intensely; her voice held a trace of indignance, and I understood that the depth of her love for my father transcended all else. ‘You speak as though I had a choice,’ she said.
We reached Ischia in the fullness of spring; it was round and rugged, covered with olive trees, fragrant pines,
