Page 19 of Much Ado About Mistletoe
Needless to say, Nurse was in her element.
By the time she was done bossing around her staff, aka the Montague family, we were exhausted and more hungry than we had ever been, and we were all foodies.
It was late evening and the Montagues and the Leonardis crowded into our third-floor kitchen. We sat around the long plank tables to eat stale bread soaked in beaten eggs and fried in oil and butter, glistening crimson jams and golden honeys, and ruby wines heated in spices and rich with slices of lemons and oranges.
“Enough is as good as a feast,” Mamma declared.
Indeed it was, for we Montagues knew the value of love, and this day and this season made it especially significant.
When Prince Escalus rose as if to leave, I ran to my bedroom and extricated his gift from its hiding place. When I returned I found him speaking to Papà who gave us permission to be alone in a shadowy corner of the atrium…although Tommaso followed us and hovered near, deliberately watching everything but us.
In that corner, I presented Cal with a quilted and velvet bag embroidered with his family crest and tied with a small gold string. He opened it and withdrew a miniature oil painting on wood of his nearest Leonardi blood kin: his father, his mother, him and his sister, smiling, happy, and together as they had never been in life. Behind them posed the Leonardi lion, a treasured gold statue that served as the symbol of the mighty and royal Leonardi family. The lion had vanished years ago. No trace had ever been found. I knew its loss must weigh heavily on Cal, and so I sought to alleviate his anguish with this representation.
Obviously, I’d managed to astonish Cal, for he knew I’d taken lessons. “Did you paint this?” He sounded awed. Or maybe disbelieving.
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” He examined me from the corners of his eyes.
I admitted, “More specifically, no. The art lessons I took had been so I could learn to paint this tableau myself.” This was part and parcel of theI’m a failure at craftsthing I discussed at the beginning of this story. “That said, I seem singularly unblessed with artistic talent, so my teacher, Gentile da Fabriano, begged I allow him to paint the miniature so his artistic reputation would not be linked to mine.”
Cal nodded as if that made sense to him.
“I did do the embroidery.” At least I could claim that, and if he knew how much I detested needlework, he would be gratified. But I left that for him to discover at a later time.
Cal critically studied the painting, and I now recognized his expression. At the time, I’d been clueless, but he’d studied me in much the same manner before deciding I’d be a suitable wife. Nothing could stop my anxiety while I awaited his verdict. When he looked up and declared, “This painting is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received. It is you who looked into my soul and saw the one thing I was missing, a portrait of my family, and I’ll treasure it as I do its giver,” I got a little teary-eyed. I drew a breath and nodded, for yes, I had been thrilled when I thought of what such a gift would mean to him, always a sign I’d stumbled on the Right Thing.
From the bag that hung from his belt, Prince Escalus pulled an ornately carved wooden box and, with a bow, presented it to me.
I was first surprised that it was too small for the collection of apothecary jars, weights, scales and the mortar and pestle Ginevra had shown me. Then I thought,Of course, this is his mother’s ring!It seemed like the appropriate moment to slide a magnificent Indian diamond on my finger as a token of our betrothal.
But when he removed the box’s lid, nestled therein I spied a long, gold chain, and on that chain shone a tiny, yellow-enameled bird with sparkling wing tips. Placing the box in my hands, he lifted the bird by the chain and hung it around my neck.
Taking the small creature between my fingers, I examined it in wonder. I’d never seen anything so exquisite, so bright, so lovingly constructed. I could see the outline of every feather and every toe. Yellow sapphires decorated the wings and polished amber had been inset to create the shining eyes. In its beak, it held the stem of a red rose, each leaf created of bright green enamel, each petal created of dark red enamel. “Exquisite,” I breathed.
“The last time I was in Venice, I had it made for you, my symbol of light.” He hovered over me as I’d known him to do in previous days, to observe me from a tall vantage or to breathe the scent of my hair.
“I’m a bird?” I looked at him sideways. “A yellow bird?” I looked like my mother: dark hair, dark eyes, glowing complexion, curvy frame. In all truth, I didn’t even look good in yellow.
“A small, singing, sunshiny, breath of bracing air that wafts into the darkest night on a dream.” He tucked a wayward strand of my hair behind my ear, then left his finger there to caress the lobe. “For a long time after I was thrown into the dungeon, I was unbearable. I was the prince, I shouted at the guards. I commanded they let me go, to respect their betters, to obey me for I was the future prince of Verona!” Cal struck an arrogant pose. “They jeered, of course. I couldn’t believe it. Then that worm Iseppo…” He paused as if to give me a chance to remember. “Do you recall Iseppo?
“I do. The son of the Acquasasso family. A lickspittle, a sneak, a prancing dandy, a canker on the ass of humanity and a bully who envied you for being older, more admirable, and the prince.”
“Yes.” Cal cleared his throat as if amused. “You describe him well. Iseppo yelled for the guards to hold me and he beat me with his horse whip.”
I, who loved all animals, muttered darkly about anyone who would whip a horse. Catching myself in a totally inappropriate reaction—I mean, the boy prince was being whipped and I was worried about the horse—I tried to save myself by an equally appalled reaction to Cal’s pain and horror.
Cal watched me with that crooked half smile that told me I hadn’t fooled him. “You thought that I was a spoiled lad, no better than Iseppo.”
“No…”
“You were right. Before I was delivered from the dungeon, I was anasino. Privileged, arrogant, expecting the earth to respond when I stomped my petulant foot.”
He still expected to get his way. He worked, managed and finagled to get his way. I didn’t say,Maybe you haven’t changed,but I did deserve an award for refraining.
“When I was down there, in the dark, a remembrance haunted me, of a pretty little girl watching me with a scornful tilt of her lips. While I was the spoiled Leonardi prince, I hadn’t noticed…or so I told myself. But I had, and that little girl taunted me.”
“Me?” I was astonished. “I never taunted you. I didn’t…” Did I?
