WeWriWa—The wedding ceremony commences

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. The rules have now been relaxed to allow a few more sentences if merited, so long as they’re clearly indicated, to avoid the creative punctuation many of us have used to stay within the limit.

I’m currently sharing from A Dream of Peacocks, my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. This comes from Chapter XX, “Miraculous Marriage,” which is set in November 1288. The long-awaited wedding day has finally arrived, after so much anticipation and unhappy first marriages.

The wedding procession is about to start out for the church.

I let go of her hands and slipped my left arm through her right arm. When Beatrice nestled her head upon my shoulder, I was jarred back to last December and the cruel memory of her feverish body radiating heat through my black wool tunic right before she told me about de ’Bardi’s treachery and fell unconscious in my arms. As long as I lived, I’d never forget that night.

Mercifully, the lovely music of the troubadours lulled me back to the present, and joyous, delightful, romantic thoughts once more filled my mind. Nevertheless, I held my lady’s arm as tightly as I knew how during our procession to the basilica. Even without Ricovero riding behind us, I possessed no real fear of kidnapping or attempts to stop the marriage. But after how long I’d waited for this day, particularly since I’d come so close to losing Beatrice to the tomb, not just another man, I had to guard my treasure and remind myself she was now mine forever.

My heart beat faster as the basilica came closer into view. Father Amadore, our favorite priest from Santa Margherita, stood in front of the closed doors. Though we were marrying at a different church than we regularly attended, we wanted a priest we knew, liked, and trusted to perform the ceremony.

The ten lines end there. A few more follow to finish the scene.

Beatrice also was still uncomfortable with unfamiliar men, frocked or not.

After everyone fell silent, Father Amadore asked our names and ages, if the marriage banns had been properly issued, if we were blood related by less than seven degrees of consanguinity, and if we were in good standing with the Church. He also asked if we’d been previously married and had repaid the respective dowries after being widowed. Knowing us as well as he did, Father Amadore was quite well aware of all of these things, but he was legally required to pose these questions of all prospective spouses. Then he turned to Ser Folco, standing a few feet to my right.

“Does the bride’s father permit this marriage?”

“Indeed I do,” Ser Folco said. “I never considered any other man for Bice’s second husband, and wish I’d been able to arrange this marriage years ago. Betrothing her to Simone de ’Bardi was one of the worst mistakes of my life, for which I feel the greatest shame, regret, and remorse. Thank God I was given the perfect second chance to bestow her in marriage to a much better man.”