WeWriWa—Ser Folco wants to talk

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 switching back to A Dream of Peacocks, my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. This comes from near the beginning of Chapter XIX, “Beautiful Betrothal.” It’s now late September 1288, and Dante and his much-younger halfsiblings have been staying at the Portinaris’ summer villa in Fiesole since July. They’ve postponed their return to Florence because Beatrice is recovering from a long, serious illness, a brutal beating from her now-deceased husband, and a birth that almost killed her.

Folco Portinari, father of Beatrice

I was reading Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics in an anteroom off of the great hall when I became aware of Ser Folco calling my name. With much reluctance, I closed the book and set it on a small table on my left. Respect for my host came before everything, even my beloved Aristotle.

Ser Folco took a seat on a golden-backed chair with scarlet velvet cushions. “I’ve been seriously thinking about a very important subject for the last few months, which we need to discuss. If you don’t agree with my suggestion, I won’t feel offended or insulted. I also won’t mind if you need some time to think about this before you give an answer. We’ll still be friends regardless.”

I suspected he wanted to talk about money, and began silently rehearsing how I’d politely refuse his charity. It was one thing to stay in his villa and accept some money and other generous gifts every so often, but it would be humiliating to entirely exist on charity.

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

People already talked about how I had to beg for so many loans and the financial trouble my family had fallen into. They didn’t need any more reasons to laugh and disrespect me.

“What happened last November was a tragedy,” Ser Folco began. “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to lose my wife so young and unexpectedly, and to lose a firstborn son before his life began. That obviously deeply affected you, and I’m glad you seem to be past the worst of your grief.” He paused before continuing. “You’re too young to live the rest of your life as a childless widower. It’s not good for man to be alone, and it’s our duty to have as many children as possible. Have you considered remarriage yet?”

Thank God, he wasn’t going to insult me by offering charity. “Of course I’ve thought about it, but I had far more important priorities over the last year, coupled with how I couldn’t leave my house for most of that time. Do you have a second wife in mind for me?”

Ser Folco smiled. “Indeed I do. I’ve discussed this potential marriage with Cilia, and she agrees with me that it couldn’t be more perfect. Would you be at all interested in Bice?”

WeWriWa—The end approaches

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.

This comes from Chapter XVIII, “Merciful Deliverance,” of my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now July 1288, and Dante’s summer holiday with Beatrice’s family in Fiesole was interrupted by the news that Beatrice’s husband Simone is back from Cyprus. All the men of the household went back to Florence (Fiorenza) to confront him for what he did to Beatrice last year.

That violent confrontation ended with de ’Bardi stepping on a nail before he could be dragged to a judge to start the annulment process. Five days later, his cousin came to relay the message that he’s dying and wants Beatrice by his side in his final hours. Though Beatrice’s father suspected this might be an elaborate hoax, he nevertheless embarked on the journey and brought all his sons. When they arrived, it immediately became obvious de ’Bardi is really dying.

“Has he a will?” Manetto asked.

A man in an ugly yellow robe opened a drawer and removed a long, wide piece of paper. “He had no time to amend this after learning of his wife’s infidelity, unfortunately. Most of his money will go to her, and the rest is for his brothers.”

“My daughter never committed adultery,” Ser Folco said in a stern tone of voice as he grabbed the will. “Only gossiping yaps would slander her character and filter her good name. I brought Bice here upon Mone’s request, though he doesn’t deserve her presence at his deathbed.”

De ’Bardi groaned and clutched his abdomen.

“Ser Simone is unable to speak any longer,” the doctor said. “His condition dramatically plummeted after he sent his cousin to summon you.”

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

“Do you have an idea of when the end might arrive?” Ricovero asked.

The doctor looked at him sharply. “Life in the eternal kingdom might be preferable to life in the earthly kingdom, but that doesn’t mean we should gleefully anticipate someone’s impending death. If you want a serious answer, I can only say Ser Simone probably won’t outlive the day.”

Ser Folco eased himself into a chair. “Then we’re staying here until the end arrives. My sons and I need confirmation that he’s been sent to Hell and will never hurt my daughter again.”

“You’re not God to decide who’s going to Hell,” the lady said. “What kind of Christian are you?”

Ser Folco glowered at her. “Mone never repented of the sins he committed against Bice. On the contrary, he continually defended his monstrous behavior.” He pointed to de ’Bardi. “That man beat my daughter almost to death, destroyed her medicines and forbade her to use them again, falsely accused her of committing adultery with someone I trust as much as one of my own sons, and admitted he committed adultery himself. I’m disgusted at my poor judgment in arranging this marriage.”

“We won’t attend the funeral,” Ricovero said.

The doctor shook his head and sliced into de ’Bardi’s left arm with a sharpened blade. I immediately looked away when his hateful blood began spurting into a basin. This long nightmare might finally be almost over, but we still had to reach the end of its concluding chapter.

WeWriWa—Horrors upon arrival

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.

This comes from Chapter XVIII, “Merciful Deliverance,” of my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now July 1288, and Dante’s summer holiday with Beatrice’s family in Fiesole was interrupted by the news that Beatrice’s husband Simone is back from Cyprus. All the men of the household went back to Florence (Fiorenza) to confront him for what he did to Beatrice last year.

That violent confrontation ended with de ’Bardi stepping on a nail before he could be dragged to a judge to start the annulment process. Five days later, his cousin came to relay the message that he’s dying and wants Beatrice by his side in his final hours. Beatrice’s father isn’t entirely sure this story is true, but nevertheless decides to go back to Fiorenza.

The closer we drew to Fiorenza, the more knotted and bitter my insides felt. After this obligation, I never wanted to see de ’Bardi’s face again as long as I lived. By the time the carriage stopped and Ser Folco opened the door, I was once again immersed in dark fantasies of stabbing de ’Bardi over and over again as he begged for mercy.

“We’re going to go in that house and drag Mone to the judge,” Ser Folco said. “As soon as our business here concludes, we’re returning to Fiesole. I can’t believe all the trouble he’s making us endure.”

I prayed for moral courage as we proceeded into the imposing house de ’Bardi had relocated to. The knots in my stomach tied ever tighter with each step I took. Finally, after a miniature eternity, the door loomed in front of me, and I was obliged to enter. I lagged behind the others on the way up the stairs.

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

A noxious smell choked my nostrils the moment I stepped into the bedchamber indicated by a maidservant. The closer I drew to the bed, the stronger the stench grew. De ’Bardi was curled up on his left side, his breathing abnormally rapid and his heartbeat audible. His legs and arms were swollen to a grotesque degree, and his eyes bore a glassy look. I stood as far back from him as possible and kept my eyes down.

“He just received Last Rites,” a lady in a green dress informed us. “This dire condition came on so swiftly, and it progressed more and more each day. The doctor isn’t quite sure what caused this, unless Mone got a severe infection from that nail he stepped on. All the usual symptoms associated with wound infections are absent, like muscle spasms.”

The doctor grunted. “What does a fool woman know about medicine, diseases, and infections? I’m the one who studied at the University of Montpellier and has been treating patients every single day since I graduated. Passively observing maladies and attending to the most basic of nursing obligations are no equivalent to my training and experience.”

Ser Folco glanced at de ’Bardi. “This doesn’t appear to be a hoax. I’m sorry I assumed the worst, but Mone should’ve sent a message much sooner than today to appraise me of this development.”

WeWriWa—An unwelcome journey

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.

This comes from Chapter XVIII, “Merciful Deliverance,” of my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now July 1288, and Dante’s summer holiday with Beatrice’s family in Fiesole was interrupted by the news that Beatrice’s husband Simone is back from Cyprus. All the men of the household went back to Florence (Fiorenza) to confront him for what he did to Beatrice last year.

That violent confrontation ended with de ’Bardi stepping on a nail before he could be dragged to a judge to start the annulment process. Five days later, his cousin came to relay the message that he’s dying and wants Beatrice by his side in his final hours. Beatrice’s father isn’t entirely sure this story is true, and makes sure to take precautions before setting out.

Ser Folco stalked upstairs, muttering under his breath. A significant amount of time had elapsed by the time he reappeared with Beatrice. He gathered up his sons and son-in-law, who all had some very choice insults for de ’Bardi, and then we went outside to the horse pasture. Several grooms saddled up our horses, while two other manservants hitched up a carriage.

“If this is an elaborate hoax, Mone will pay for it.” Ser Folco pulled out his dagger for a servant to sharpen. “I don’t like making Bice travel before she’s been churched, but she’s probably much safer now than she was just after the birth. This also isn’t a pleasure jaunt or a long, arduous journey.”

I didn’t have to be asked to know he expected me to accompany her in the carriage. After a servant opened the door, I climbed inside and helped Beatrice in.

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

Once the door was firmly shut and the carriage began moving, we joined hands.

“No matter what he says to me, I’ll never go back and live as his wife,” she said. “I married him out of duty, the same reason most people marry. What other choice did either of us have but to wed the people our fathers chose for us? But once I’m free, we might be able to contract our own marriage. I can’t imagine my father and brothers objecting to you becoming my second husband. They’ve loved and trusted you like family for years.”

“I don’t care if anyone disapproves or if they try to make you remarry someone else. We were too young to object to our betrothals before, but now we’re adults and can stand up for what we want instead of obediently doing whatever we were ordered to do.”

“May God’s ears be attentive to the voice of our supplications.”

WeWriWa—Summoned to Fiorenza

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.

This comes from Chapter XVIII, “Merciful Deliverance,” of my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now July 1288, and Dante’s summer holiday with Beatrice’s family in Fiesole was interrupted by the news that Beatrice’s husband Simone is back from Cyprus. All the men of the household went back to Florence (Fiorenza) to confront him for what he did to Beatrice last year.

That violent confrontation ended with de ’Bardi stepping on a nail before he could be dragged to a judge to start the annulment process. Five days later, no word has come from ’Bardi one way or the other.

I looked up from a game of chess with Francesco in the great hall with a start when I heard an unfamiliar male voice drifting nearer. My stomach turned to ice when I noticed how strongly he resembled de ’Bardi, and I prayed the villain himself wasn’t in the vicinity.

“Is Madonna Beatrice here?” the stranger asked. “Her presence in Fiorenza is urgent.”

Ser Folco abruptly stopped petting his favorite sparrowhawk. “Who are you, and how did you get inside my home?”

A hulking manservant stepped forward. “He explained his purpose in visiting before we admitted him. This is Giosefo de ’Bardi, a cousin of your son-in-law. All he wants to do is relay an important message, and then he’ll return to Fiorenza.”

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

“Does this concern the annulment? I don’t understand why it took Mone this long to send word to me about his intentions after he hurt his foot. The entire matter could’ve easily been settled within two days.” Ser Folco sneered. “All this from a man who shuns medicine and pain relief. What a hypocrite.”

“I don’t know anything about his previous opinions regarding that, but he’s been in the care of a doctor for the last four days,” Ser Giosefo said. “It appears as though he’s dying.”

“Genuinely dying, or pretending to be dying so he can weasel out of appearing before a judge to have his marriage annulled?”

“You don’t have to take my word for it. We can ride back to Fiorenza together. Mone particularly wants his wife by his side in his final hours.”

Ser Folco crossed his arms. “I’ll ask my daughter if she wishes to accompany us, but she won’t be allowed with Mone alone. He completely destroyed my trust in him.”

“As I said, I have no vested interest in either side of this feud. All I know is that my relatives dispatched me to convey this message.” Ser Giosefo adjusted his belt. “I’ll wait outside while you summon the lady.”