Dear Heart, How Like You This (17 page)

CONTENTS

“I was unhappy, and that I prove,

To love above my poor degree.”

Last time, I savoured almost every moment of my journey to Italy. However, understandably, travelling to Rome this time felt more an experience of facing utter shambles. Most people, other than men-in-arms, were escaping from, rather than travelling to, the Holy City. Thus, Sir John and I, not long after we began our journey, decided that it was best and safer to take roads other than the main ones, especially after listening to the dreadful tales being told by other travellers.

We eventually arrived at the port of Civitas Vecchia, almost exactly a month after we had departed from the shores of England. By the time we arrived there, we were in great need of good horses, so I spent two full days searching for reasonable, and affordable, horseflesh.

We were very fortunate in that we were able to obtain the services of an Italian captain and his men, and, with their assistance, we soon found good mounts. This band of Italian soldiers even went so far as to offer to accompany us to Rome for our protection along the way. With gratitude, we readily agreed to this, also requesting that the Captain send one of his men post-haste to inform the papal court of our imminent arrival within the next two days. Thus, when we reached the outskirts of Rome, we were met by one of the Holy Father’s grooms. He had for us, even for the captain and his men, a change of horses. And what horses! Such splendid horses! The groom told us with great Italian gusto that they were horses given to the Pope recently as gifts by the Turks, and were much valued by the Pope for their beauty and intelligence.

Sir John gave to me a long look, as if to say:
Take note of this Tom, and wonder what else can be in store for us.

Indeed, we were soon to find out. We were swiftly escorted to comfortable lodgings: a two-room, stone building with a stable behind to house our mounts. These buildings, obviously owned by the Vatican and used to house “guests” of the Pope, were built on the
Via Aurelia Antica
, close to the
Villa of Belvedere
, and within easy walking distance from the court of the Vatican. Having now been received in the protection of the papacy, we gave our sincere thanks and farewells (and some well-earned gold coins) to the soldiers who had made the last leg of our journey to Rome so agreeable and untroubled.

Even I, who had embarked upon this journey with the idea I would gain some satisfaction from the excitement of travel, was thankful to be at last in Rome, safe and still in one piece. Forsooth, Sir John was still expressing to me his annoyance that the King had given him this task.

I could only sympathise with him. I too have enough liking for my skin to wish to stay in it without violence hastening the day of my death. Indeed, I freely admit it is not in my character to overly tempt the fates to rid me of my skin sooner than I would like. Nevertheless, the dominant memory of my recent visit to Italy was how much I had enjoyed my travels, and all the sights I had been able to see in the brief time available to me. I had no idea how the situation had changed with the passing of only a few months.

The Pope, we soon discovered, still resided at his papal residence at St. Peter’s; resisting all attempts by his officials who would have him moved to the safety of the
Castel Sant’ Angelo
, a fortified castle placed close to the Vatican.

The sound of gunfire constantly assaulted our ears (not real battle yet, but Roman citizens using this lull to practice and improve their aim). As well as gunfire, I had Sir John continually clamouring in my ear too. Sir John was, at this time, beginning to be not just annoyed with his superiors, but very angry—angry he was sent on a mission to Rome at such a topsy-turvy time.

Having presented our official papers to the papal representative and been told that the Pope would see us the following day, we decided to take the opportunity for respite and rest.

The first evening was spent in care of our horses. Then unpacking, and organising our belongings in the tiny rooms we had been given for our stay, though I also admit, compared to the many places we had slept in on the way, these rooms appeared to be the height of luxury. For certes, the building was snug and well built, and there were various pieces of well-made furniture in our apartment to make our stay more comfortable.

Before we knew it, the dark of evening had settled over our abode, and, as Sir John was utterly exhausted by the journey, we decided not to go in search of food, but eat what remained of our travel supplies. We were in no hurry to explore our new surroundings; Rome would still be there on the morrow. After eating, we took ourselves to our hastily arranged bedding, and laid ourselves down for an early night.

I awoke as morning broke, the sunlight peeking into the room via a partly opened window shutter. I could tell by the loud snores almost trumpeting in my ears through the door-less next room—where a thin curtain slung across the entrance gave the illusion of privacy—that Sir Russell was still asleep there. I had lain out my sleeping pallet on the floor near the cooking hearth. Yesterday, on our arrival, I had lit there a fire, and stacked it well before night had finally taken over from day, thus had been able to revel in the fire’s warmth which had done much to take the harsh chill off the February evening. Sir John’s chamber had its own fireplace, which, when lit, had taken no time at all to warm his tiny space. I am often astonished how the simple act of having a fire ablaze in a hearth will speedily give a neglected dwelling a sense of homeliness and heart.

Now fully awake, I decided to leave my older companion continue his much-needed sleep while I went to look for fresh food with which to break our fast. I did not have to venture far. For certes, I had only to follow my nose to discover we were located near an inn with a bake house affixed to its rear. Very soon I was returning the way I had come, bearing “great gifts” back to our lodgings—freshly baked bread, soft cheese which looked fit to simply melt in your mouth, and a goatskin full of sweet wine.

Sir John was still abed when I arrived at the dwelling, so I put the food onto the table placed against the wall, and restocked the dying fire, putting a large pot of water fetched from the well outside our dwelling over the flame. Sir Russell and I had not washed since we first arrived in Civitas Vecchia, and I felt it was important that we groom ourselves, as best as was possible, before we paid our respects to the Pope. When the water had warmed, I stripped myself of my filthy and now stinking travelling clothes and washed myself with some soap that I had packed amongst my gear. I then trimmed my beard, and sorted out cleaner hose and the silken garments I had kept for our meeting with the Pope. I had recently bought myself a new green doublet in the latest style, stiffly quilted and slashed with scarlet silk at both arms. The final touch was a gold ring adorned with a hanging ruby, placed in the lobe of my right ear.

I felt completely refreshed by the end of my wash, and took the dirty water to the door to throw it out in the cobbled lane that led us out to the road. I then went back to the well, refilled the pot, and carried it back inside so Sir John could also wash when he awoke. When the water began to steam, I decided it was time to awake my companion. Thus, I went to his room, knocked hard on the wall, and entered. The knight of the realm was curled upon his bed, sound asleep with his arm flung across his face, as I had often seen my little lad and lassie sleep. I could not help smiling to myself that this aging man could remind me of a child—except the noise emitting from his person could not be described as anything childlike.

I went to his bed and gave his shoulder a hard and quick shake. Sir John instantly awoke, confounded and bewildered by his surroundings. At last, as his eyes focused upon me, he visibly shook himself before he arose from his bedding. Sir John was dressed only in his dark hose and a white, drawstring shirt, and he now took the cloak from off his bed and put it around his thin shoulders.

“What hour in the morning is it, Tom?” he asked me drowsily.

“The sun has been up for two or more hours, Sir John. I have water prepared for you to wash in,” I replied quietly in turn.

He straightened up his tall form, and pulled his cloak more around his scantily clothed body.

“Good thinking, Tom! I suppose ’tis best to tidy up.”

I followed Sir John as he made his way into the next room. When he arrived at the fireplace he pulled the large pot of water away from the flame and then stripped, as I had done, and began to wash his face. He then looked up at me and asked: “Tom, can you do me the great favour and search amongst my gear for my shaving razor and towel?”

I returned to his chamber, and found his saddlebags flung casually to one side. I opened one of the bags and easily found Sir John’s wash bag, in which was his razor and a piece of large towelling he used to dry his body when he washed. I decided that while I was there I might as well grab the clothes he would likely choose to wear for our meeting with the Pope. I had been his companion for over a month now, so possessed a firm idea of what his desires would be. So gathering his best hose, doublet and codpiece in my arms, I returned to the next room and put them on a chair near where Sir John was washing.

I next turned my attention to our morning meal. Drawing out my dagger from my belt, I cut up the fresh bread and cheese into more manageable chunks and put it all on a large wooden trencher for my knight and I to share. At last, my companion stood beside the fire clothed in all his fresh clothes. Now that he had cleansed himself, and clothed himself in his rich clothes, he looked more the acceptable picture of an English diplomat.

“I must say, Tom, that feels good, to rid myself of all that grime and filth.” He walked over to stand across from me at the table.

“Aye, the last few days have been dust and more dust,” I replied. “Come and eat, Sir John. The food is too good to waste.”

Myself, I could wait no longer to begin my breakfast, so took up a piece of bread and folded it around a chunk of cheese. I began then to eat hungrily, enjoying to the full the taste of freshly made bread, and the moist, creamy taste of cheese. Sir John gave a short laugh, moving quickly to take some food.

“Leave me some, Wyatt! You do not have to act as if you have starved upon the journey!” Sir John smiled at me with an amused glint in his blue eyes.

Our appointment with the Holy Father was set for the first hour after midday, thus, Sir John and I felt we could linger a while and enjoy our meal in leisure.

We could hear the bells chiming the eleventh hour somewhere in the near distance, and were partaking of a second cup of wine when the door of our dwelling was loudly knocked upon.

I looked at Sir John, and he at me, wondering who it could be; then Sir John gestured with his head for me to attend to our caller.

I opened the door and stood suddenly transfixed, for before me bowed an Italian courtier, revealing behind him two utterly beautiful women, all dressed richly in garments that seemed to make our surroundings feel both colourless and shabby.

I recovered my voice, bowing deeply to our visitors, saying: “I am Thomas Wyatt, esquire and equerry of Sir John Russell. How can I be of service to you?”

Again, the man before me bowed back with a deep flourish, and replied: “Good morrow,
Signor
. I am
Michelangelo Oddo
, emissary of his most Holy Father, the Pope.” The man paused, and looked over my shoulder into the humble room that was barred from him by my body.

“May we come in?” he asked, returning his attentions back to me.

The Italian spoke good and clear English, but I could not help wondering what his visit and the visit of these two beautiful women could mean. However, I nodded my assent and moved aside to allow our callers clear entrance to our abode.

The ladies closely passed me, and the sweet fragrance of perfume followed in their wake. Even close up these two women were nothing less than visions of loveliness. One girl—she must have been in her early twenties—was dark haired and had the most alluring dark eyes. Indeed, for a brief second of time, I could have imagined this girl to be my Anna, firmly entrenched into adulthood.

The other woman, her beautiful red hair carefully arranged around a well-shaped head, enhancing her clear, pale skin and large green eyes, seemed her elder by several years. I glanced at Sir John and saw he stared open mouthed at the red-haired woman. I hid a smile at the picture he must represent to our visitors.

The Italian bowed slightly to Sir John, giving him some sealed papers.

“I bring you the most sincere apologies from the Pope, Sir Russell. He will not be able to see you today as arranged. However, he sends, with his compliments,
Signora
Beatrice and
Signora
Angela to help you pass this day in comfort and great pleasure.” Giving a short laugh, the courtier now winked at both of us. I glanced aside at the girls to see that they both had a fixed look on their face, as if their thoughts had swiftly taken their minds elsewhere.

The courtier briefly bowed again, and moved towards the door that he had just entered.