The Godwin family are introducing their daughter to the mother of the king, whom Edith is to marry.
“Tell me about your education.”
“She’s very highly educated, your majesty, and…”
Emma stopped him. “I would hear it from her.” She pointed at Edith.
Edith’s eyes widened but she quickly gained control. She heard her father’s breathing just behind her and imagined Sweyn’s scowl. Surely Emma must know all of this, everything about her would have been investigated before this meeting.
Her throat was suddenly dry. Why hadn’t anyone thought to offer her a cup of wine when they arrived? That sort of rudeness, or oversight if she was being kind, would stop once she was queen. Hiding a smile at the thought, she straightened and spoke.
“I was educated at the abbey of Wilton. I can speak five languages, do figures, and converse on many subjects.” She quickly added, “your majesties.”
The queen’s eyebrows were raised when Edith had finished, and she wondered if she had spoken disrespectfully. Emma remained still, quietly observing.
Godwin, his voice panicked, tried to speak again. He was silenced by a look from Emma.
“You’ve been in an abbey for most of your life. Sheltered, protected. How do you possibly think you can last one day as the wife of a king?”
Edith couldn’t stop herself, and laughed cynically.
“Your majesty, there is more than enough intrigue in an abbey to prepare anyone for a life at court.”
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Noblewoman Caterina talks to her husband, ruler of the town he received as a gift from his uncle, the Pope.
“What do you want?” Girolamo had his head down over a paper, his quill scratching angrily on the surface.
“Can’t a wife visit with her husband, my lord?” Caterina removed a book from a chair and sat.
He looked up at her. “As you can see, I’m busy. What do you need?”
Sighing, she got to her reason for being there. “Come out with me tomorrow when I visit the market.”
Girolamo’s eyes widened. “Why would I do that? If I need something, I’ll send you or a servant.” He returned to his page.
“The people need to see their ruler.”
Looking up at her again impatiently, he waited.
Caterina continued. “You made yourself loved before you even arrived with your concessions and tax gifts.”
“The people adore me.”
“They adore your money,” she replied flatly. Seeing Girolamo’s narrowed eyes, she hurried on. “They want to see their ruler,” she repeated.
His voice low, the count replied. “You’re doing a good enough job for us both.”
The way her husband’s words were delivered grated on Caterina. She stood.
“Someone has to.”
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An artist’s father tells his artist daughter that he still runs the botega (studio).
“Your reputation will suffer as a result. You’re not some young lovelorn girl painting away her pain, you’re a representative of the Sirani studio and should act as such.”
“A representative?”
“Yes. It is still the Sirani bottega, is it not?”
“It is. But I am the only Sirani painting in it, aren’t I?”
Elisabetta’s anger finally broke free.
“When you return to the studio full time, and produce works worthy of being sold again, then you can state I am ‘a representative’. Until that time, if it ever comes, I AM the Sirani studio. Me. Elisabetta Sirani. The studio I work and teach in and manage. On my own.”
Andrea looked at her for a moment, then spoke. “I arrange your commissions.”
“Do you think I need you to do this? Both Don Malvasia and Signor Cospi would gladly deal with me alone. You are no longer needed here!”
Kelly Evans - Author 