Charlemagne's Crown

Lady Felicita startled awake, gripping her abdomen. Running to the washbasin next to her vanity, she vomited into it twice, weakened by the ordeal. As the blood dripped down her chin, she wiped it with the back of her hand, smearing it across her cheek.

“Felicita!”

She turned to find her cousin, Lady Angelina, in her bedroom doorway frowning.

“Are they happening?” Angelina asked.

“They just started again.”

“It’s a shame we cannot consult the physician.”

“I know. Although the King would never do it, the others would insist on a trial. They’d hang me as a witch.”

“I couldn’t bear it.”

“Never fear, it’ll never happen. I’m safe, but I must see my uncle. I’ve had the most curious of visions this time.”

“Oh? What of?”

“I’d rather not say. I prefer to tell him alone.”

“Very well.”

When Angelina took her leave, Felicita followed. Her turquoise dress trailed behind her, dragging the floor as she made her way down the long halls of King Charlemagne’s palace.

At the entrance to the grand chamber, she had to request an audience with the King, which was granted.

“Your Majesty,” she barely managed to get out. Quivering, she dipped down in a low curtsey, head bowed, eyes down.

“Lady Felicita. What brings you here?”

Something about the King always unsettled her, and she could never find her words. While rising, her stomach rumbled and she feared she might vomit more blood.

“I’ve had another…vision, Your Majesty.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Shifting in his throne, he placed his chin in his hand, eager. He was all ears.

“Forgive me if I am too bold, Your Majesty. It’s simply I’ve had a vision of your future. In it I saw Lady Alessia’s coach overturned, with her on the road outside of it.”

The King’s eyes squinted.

“Then it flashed forward. The Pope was placing a crown on your head. He was crowning you Emperor.”

“Emperor? Of what, pray tell?”

“Emperor of the Romans.”

“But what about Empress Irene?”

“Her reign will be over, according to Pope Leo.”

“But that’s ludicrous! I can’t do that to her.”

“You can, and you must, Your Majesty. Forgive me. It’s only the Romans are attacking the Pope, sending him death threats and making attempts on his life.”

“I know, I know,” he said, waving his hand. “I must send the Guard to fetch Lady Alessia. She is traveling, it will have been a fortnight and she has yet to return. I wish to see her at once. See to it she is returned safely. The task is yours.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You have all the resources at your disposal, by order of the King.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Rising, she nodded her head in acknowledgement towards the King once more, smiling a weak smile. “I will leave you with that knowledge, Your Majesty.”

“Very well.”

***

Lady Alessia was brought in that afternoon, her coach overturned and her body flung out of it into a ditch and onto a pile of thorns. The hustle and bustle of the palace was at an all-time high. Her ladies-in-waiting were in tears. Lady Felicita had to get them back in line as the Lady was in worse shape than they had expected. Arriving with a broken leg, three fractured ribs and a concussion, she remained unconscious.

Felicita chastised herself for having forewarned the King. She should’ve known that telling the King of her visions only ensured they would come true.

King Charlemagne was locked in his bedchambers with the guards posted outside. He wouldn’t let anyone in for the past three hours. He hadn’t gone to see Lady Alessia, his mistress, and everyone was puzzled. His wife having died only months prior, the Lady had brought him so much joy after a time of grief.

Felicita emerged from her bedchamber to find Lady Angelina, rushing over.

“Just the one I wanted to see,” Angelina breathed.

“What is it?”

“May I enter?”

“Please.”

Once the door was shut, Felicita gestured for Angelina to begin.

“The King is going to Rome.”

“What? At this time? But Lady Alessia is ill! She just had her accident.”

“I know, but he said Pope Leo III needs his help. He is under attack by the Romans, and the King can help persuade them to let up.”

“Perhaps, but…”

“And that’s not all.”

“There’s more?”

“He’s taking you with him.”

Felicita looked at her, incredulous. “You aren’t serious.”

“You are his niece, after all.”

“Even so, I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ll be fine. You leave tomorrow. And he wants to speak with you right now.”

Wonderful, she thought.

***

Rome was everything Lady Felicita thought it would be, and more. A city much larger than the one she had lived in all her life. If one were not careful enough, one would be run over by passing coaches with drivers who didn’t care too much for anyone’s safety, not even their own. Market stands on every corner. Many a lady’s flowing gown dragging along in the dirt behind her. Sewage lined the streets thrown out by careless housewives. Butchers discarded the innards in back alleys, the pungent odor floating along the breeze down into the busy streets. To Felicita, it was glorious.

There was business that needed to be taken care of. The King left Felicita at the house of a prominent count where she would reside for the next month as it would be improper for her to stay at the Vatican with the King. However, she would have free reign of the Vatican during the day, as she was to be the King’s trusted advisor during this stay in Rome. She was, after all, his niece.

***

Count Giovanni’s estate was lavish to say the least. He and the countess welcomed her with a luxurious display, much to her surprise. Their son Francesco, they told her, was traveling and would not arrive until later that evening. She would take his quarters which were larger, and he would take the smaller guest rooms, since she had so many travel valises.

Once she was unpacked and undressing, the candlelight fading for it was getting late and the wax was low, she heard the door creak. Turning around, she found a hand clasped over her lips and her eyes grew wide as she stared into the greenest ones she had ever seen below long lashes.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or has an angel slipped into my room?” his low voice asked.

Oh bleh, she thought. She had heard corny words like this, but these were the worst.

“Do let me go, sir.”

“But it is you, my lady, who is in my room.”

“I believe you are mistaken, as your parents have given me use of your quarters during my stay here in Rome. Francesco, is it not?”

“It is I,” he said, a proud smile on his face. White, almost-straight teeth shone back.

Not bad, she thought. He was getting better by the minute.

“Your hands are still on my shoulders, sir.”

“Oh, forgive me,” he said, dropping them. “What brings you to Rome?”

“May I get dressed, at least?” she said, suddenly shy. Blushing, she looked down to find herself still in her undergarments.

As he looked down at her too, he grinned again. “Very well, if you insist.”

Turning around, he began to speak again. “My parents didn’t even make me aware of your arrival. I had no idea you were coming, otherwise I wouldn’t have barged in like this. Do forgive me.”

“Not at all. I’m here with the King on official business.”

“Oh? What business?”

“Official.”

“Very well,” he said chuckling.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a very long day ahead of me tomorrow. I need my rest. I bid you good night.”

She walked him to the door, but before he left, he turned around and seized her wrist.

“Pray, tell me when I may see you again?”

***

Before she knew it, twenty-three days had flown by without Lady Felicita’s realizing it. Rome became like her second home. Between her matters of official business at the Vatican and her outings with the Count’s son, Francesco, she felt like she was in heaven.

“I will ask him tomorrow,” Francesco told her one afternoon.

They strolled through a park, and no one was around, for it was fairly secluded. They seized the moment to sit on a bench to hold hands, and her stomach was in knots. She felt foolish, since she was twenty-five years old, after all. However, this was the first time a man had ever courted her. Courting the King’s niece was a lofty decision and one not to be taken lightly. Francesco, on the other hand, didn’t yet know she was the King’s niece, therefore the weight of that decision didn’t weigh heavily on his chest.

“You shouldn’t ask him yet,” she said. “It’s not a good time.”

“You said that last time, and the time before. When is it going to be a good time, my dear? I fear you will be leaving soon and I will never see you again.”

How true his words rang in that moment, and she knew they might be, for she just had a vision the night before, followed by a fit of bloody vomit.

“Have patience, Francesco,” she said, rising to stand by a tree, pressing her hand to the trunk.

“Don’t tell me to have patience, Lady Felicita. I’m going to marry you. Is that so improper?”

“It might be to the King when he finds out.”

“Why?”

It was now or never. He must know the truth.

“The King is my uncle.”

He stared at her, silent. Springing to his feet, he rushed to her and seized her shoulders. “And you didn’t think to tell me this the entire time?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t want to court me if you knew!”

“How could you think that? Give me some credit.”

“Forgive me.”

Shaking his head, he walked back to the bench and placed one foot upon it, resting his elbow upon his knee. “So what now?”

“Now, we wait.”

“For what?”

“You’ll see.”

***

“My Lady! My Lady! It’s gone!” the maid hissed.

“What is?” Lady Felicita asked.

“The crown!”

Sweat gathered at her nape as she gathered her skirts to run as fast as she could to follow the maid to the room where the crown resided; it had been there the entire time leading up to the Pope’s secret coronation of King Charlemagne. Only the Pope, Felicita and the King knew of this coronation, and the Pope hadn’t told them of it; Felicita told the King after her vision. Now the crown was missing; she must find it and quick before the ceremony, or else someone would pay.

“Discreetly, and I mean discreetly, dispatch a search party for this crown, and find it!” Felicita barked.

“Yes, My Lady.”

***

A half hour before the ceremony was to begin, and without Pope Leo’s knowing it, the crown was returned to its rightful place. Felicita didn’t know who had taken it, and decided against a witch hunt, for it was to be a time of celebration instead.

It was a private mass; the day was December 25, 800. In a show of gratitude to King Charlemagne for his service to the Vatican and Rome, his own kingdom and the Church, and for helping him this past month of December that he was in Rome to stave off the Romans from practically ripping him to shreds, he crowned him Emperor of the Romans.

The King acted surprised, but he wasn’t. Felicita had warned him a month prior, and he was dreading it ever since.

The celebrations that ensued were in abundance in Rome and all throughout the Holy Roman Empire. Felicita wondered how Lady Alessia was faring, but didn’t mention it to the King.

“So this is it?” Francesco asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And I’ll never see you again.”

The look in his eyes said it all.

They had removed themselves from the celebratory city streets to their secluded park again.

“Then will you let me just…”

Gently placing his hands on her waist, he pulled her close to him. Looking down to her shoes, a single tear dropped before he lifted her chin to force her eyes into his. They smiled like they usually did.

“I do love you, you know,” he said.

“I know.”

“You know? That’s all?”

Giggling, she rubbed her tear-stained nose against his. “I love you too, Francesco.”

They shared their first kiss that night. It was not the only one; they shared two, three, four, a dozen. But eventually it was time to head back to the house, for in the morning she and the King were to return home.

***

The palace was quiet. Too quiet. One could hear a mouse scurry, it was so quiet. Felicita entered well before the King only to be met with ghastly news: Lady Alessia had died.

The King would be a wreck. She decided to tell everyone not to tell him until he was settled into his quarters, as she would be the one to tell him.

She requested the audience from outside his private chambers once she knew he was settled in. After receiving her, she decided to come clean once she knew they were alone.

“Your Majesty, forgive me. I had no visions of this. If I had, I’m not even sure I would’ve told you about them, for it would’ve ruined your stay in Rome, and…”

“Be out with it already, Lady Felicita.”

“Your Majesty, Lady Alessia has died.”

Seconds passed before a vase was seized and hurdled across the room, smashing into the wall and smashing. The vase was like his heart, Felicita reflected. Shattered.

Moments later he was in a heap on the floor, bawling. His face buried in his hands, sobs escaped from his chambers as the guards stood motionless, knowing full well why the King cried. Lady Felicita hurried to the King and knelt beside him, holding him in his arms.

“She was all I had left,” he mumbled. “All I had left.”

“That’s not true, Your Majesty. You still have me.”

The sobs stopped for only a moment as he looked up into her face and smiled weakly, then kissed her forehead. She thought she would faint from the mere gesture. Never had he shown her affection in their entire relationship.

“I’ll always have you.”

When the sobs started again, she cried too, not for her King, but for her uncle who grieved for the woman he loved.



(Word count: 2,446 words) Entry into "Monthly Calendar Contest" , December round.