Page 27 of Thus with a Kiss I Die
Eight-year-old Emilia sat at the foot of the table between Princess Isabella and Dion; she had been boosted up on her seat, too, and she looked around as if amazed to find herself in such a position of honor.
She settled back and, with her own particular insouciance, took command of the discussion, with special care to speak clearly and toward Nonna Ursula. “Papà brought one of our special wines to celebrate this evening, a full-bodied blend of Sangiovese and Barbera grapes set down in the year of Rosie’s birth.” From the cradle, the Montague family trained in wines. We grew grapes at our vineyards north of the city, and there processed them into wines revered throughout Italy and beyond.
Papà signaled to Tommaso, who stood guard by the door, and the youth disappeared and returned lugging a small wooden cask. Papà rose and together the two men pulled the cork plug, and Papà, with a small hammer, gently tapped in the spigot. Tommaso presented him with a glass, he sampled the wine, and pronounced, “Strong, flavorful, aged with dark fruit to perfection . . . like our daughter Rosaline.”
Everyone applauded and smiled at me, and I found myself blushing. I found it uncomfortable being the center of attention, and told myself I’d better get used to it, for as wife to the podestà, I’d be the princess upon whom all eyes would be fixed.
I then assured myself I wouldn’t mind, since under normal circumstances, I’d be busy, not sitting like a scrap-cloth doll on display.
Papà himself served the wines, and on this occasion, I received the first glass. Then Nonna Ursula, then Mamma, then Cal and his bodyguards, then Friar Laurence. The children received their wines well-watered. Everyone waited until Papà had filled his glass and lifted it. “The house of Montague welcomes the joining of Prince Escalus of the house of Leonardi to our beloved daughter Rosaline Hortensa Magdelina Eleanor in matrimony, and may you both be blessed with long years of love and happiness!”
Glasses raised, clinked, and congratulations were exchanged with various amounts of enthusiasm.
Cal rose to answer Papà in like tones—and a man stumbled into the dining room.
“Barnadine,” Nonna Ursula said crisply, “how good of you to join us at last.”
Barnadine. I recognized that name: faithful bodyguard to Elder, the servant who failed to protect his master.
That would explain his distressing appearance.
That, or guilt. Had this man been the one to assassinate Elder?
CHAPTER15
Aman of great height and formerly great muscle, Barnadine now carried scarce enough flesh to stew in a pot. He wore once-expensive clothing, worn thin with use and crumpled as if he’d slept in them. Nervously he finger combed his thinning brown hair, and he bowed to Nonna Ursula, then the prince, then my father, then my mother, then me . . .
He couldn’t seem to stop bowing until Nonna Ursula snapped, “Sit down, Barnadine, you’re making us all weary.”
Cal frowned. “Did you not bring your protégé, Barnadine?”
“I did, indeed. He’s shy. He lingers in the great walk.”
“Bid him come in so I may welcome him.”
Barnadine hustled back to the entrance and gestured, then followed the young man into the room. “This is Friar Camillo, friend and blessing to our family.”
A solemn Franciscan monk of less than twenty years entered, and on seeing Friar Laurence, he broke into a smile. Friar Laurence hefted himself to his feet and ambled around to greet the young man. They embraced, and Friar Laurence turned Friar Camillo to face the group. “This youth is most pious and excellent in his service to the sick and poor, and as well he speaks kind words and witty, when he chooses.”
All murmured greetings and beamed at Friar Camillo, for he was one of those blessed people who when they smiled, the whole world experienced his joy.
I know one should never gaze upon a man of the cloth with the eyes of a sinner, but Friar Camillo had a noble visage, unmarked by disease, with strong features and wide eyes, and a manly structure that had benefited from much prayer, walking, and labor.
Cal bade him sit, and Papà commanded, “Tommaso, give the good brother and Barnadine each a glass so they might join in our celebration.”
Friar Camillo accepted his glass with thanks and sipped, and praised its contents.
Barnadine took his glass, drank it down, and passed it back for more.
Cal didn’t wait, but answered Papà’s toast. “The house of Leonardi welcomes this alliance with the house of Montague, and—”
Barnadine lurched to his feet. “I have a toast, too.”
Everyone paused in that awful, cringing moment that waited to see if this drunken speech would cause embarrassment to all, or merely to the speaker himself. Thankfully, Barnadine rose to the occasion. “Let us toast Verona, that beating heart of our adoration whose walls enclose the greatest, most prosperous, and most beautiful city of all the lands on God’s green earth!”
He had redeemed himself, and in gratitude and enthusiasm, we proclaimed,“Cin, cin!”and“Salute!”
Friar Camillo came to his feet. “May I offer a blessing on this union, beseeching Jesus that it will bring continued peace and prosperity to the families and churches and businesses of Verona?”
