Table of Contents
Title Page
The Girl Who Tempted Fortune (The Kingdom of Naples, #2)
THE GIRL WHO TEMPTED FORTUNE | Jane Ann McLachlan
CAST OF CHARACTERS
CHAPTER ONE | March 5, 1346 | Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
CHAPTER TWO | Autumn, 1298 | Trapani, Sicily
CHAPTER THREE | March 5, 1346 | Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
CHAPTER FOUR | Autumn, 1298 | Trapani, Sicily,
CHAPTER FIVE | March 6, 1346 | Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
CHAPTER SIX | Autumn, 1298 | Trapani, Sicily
CHAPTER SEVEN | March 6, 1346 | Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
CHAPTER EIGHT | Autumn, 1298 | Court of King Charles II, Naples
CHAPTER NINE | March 7, 1346 | Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
CHAPTER TEN | Winter, 1299 | Court of King Charles II, Naples
CHAPTER ELEVEN | March 8, 1346 | Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
CHAPTER TWELVE | Autumn, 1299 | Court of King Charles II, Naples
CHAPTER THIRTEEN | March 11, 1346 | Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
CHAPTER FOURTEEN | November, 1300 | Court of King Charles II, Naples
CHAPTER FIFTEEN | March 13, 1346 | Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
CHAPTER SIXTEEN | February, 1301 | City of Naples
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | March 15, 1346 | Castle Capuano, Naples
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | February, 1301 | City of Naples
CHAPTER NINETEEN | August, 1346 | Castle Capuano, Naples
CHAPTER TWENTY | Summer, 1302 | City of Naples
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | October, 1346 | Castle Capuano, Naples
Author’s Note
The Girl Who Would Be Queen
Other Books by Jane Ann McLachlan
Historical Fiction:
The Sorrow Stone
The Lode Stone
The Girl Who Would Be Queen
Memoir:
Creative Writing:
Downriver Writing: The Five-Step Process for Outlining Your Novel
Books by J. A. McLachlan
Science Fiction and Fantasy:
Walls of Wind
The Occasional Diamond Thief
The Salarian Desert Game
Midsummer Night Magicians
THE GIRL WHO TEMPTED FORTUNE
Jane Ann McLachlan
The Girl Who Tempted Fortune
Published in Canada by Kay Crisp Books
Copyright © 2020 by Jane Ann McLachlan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, photocopying or recording, or translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN: 978-1-9993836-7-1
Cover Design by Heather from Expert Subjects
Formatting by Chris Morgan from Dragon Realm Press
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http://www.janeannmclachlan.com
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Philippa of Catania – a young Sicilian girl who is hired as wet-nurse to the infant Prince Charles during his father, Prince Robert’s campaign to reclaim Sicily for King Charles II of Naples.
Characters from Philippa’s Past (1298-1344):
Guilio – Philippa’s first husband, presumed dead by everyone in Naples
Antonio – Philippa’s son by Guilio, also presumed dead by the Neapolitans
Maroccia – Philippa’s mother
Cicillia – Philippa’s maid
King Charles II of Naples – King of Naples with a claim on Sicily, father of Prince Robert
and nephew of Louis IX, King of France
Prince Robert – Crown Prince of Naples, later known as Robert the Wise, King of Naples
Princess Violante – first wife of Prince Robert, mother of his sons Louis and Charles
Prince Charles – second son of Robert and Violante, born in Sicily during Prince Robert’s failed
campaign to reclaim Sicily for his father, King Charles II
Queen Sancia – King Robert’s second wife, who becomes Philippa’s friend and supporter
Raymond of Campagno – an Ethiopian slave freed by King Charles of Naples, rewarded and
promoted many times for his competent and loyal service to King Charles and then King Robert
Characters from Philippa’s Present (March-December, 1346):
Joanna – queen of Naples, daughter of Prince Charles, granddaughter of King Robert the Wise
Maria – Joanna’s only living sibling, second in line for the throne of Naples after Charles Martel
Prince Charles Martel – Joanna’s and Andrew’s infant son and only child, heir to the Kingdom of
Naples, born three months after his father’s murder
Raymond - (seneschal of Queen Joanna’s court) and Robert (grand seneschal of the Kingdom of
Naples under Queen Joanna’s reign) – Philippa’s sons by her second husband
Sancia – Philippa’s granddaughter, married to the Count of Marcone, daughter of Philippa’s son,
Robert, and close friend since childhood of Queen Joanna and her sister, Princess Maria
Robert of Taranto – the Duke of Taranto, Joanna’s cousin, the same age as her. He desires to
marry Joanna to secure the crown of Naples for himself
Louis of Taranto – Robert of Taranto’s brother, one year younger. He also wants to marry Joanna
and raises an army of mercenaries to fight his brother Robert’s army for her hand
Charles of Durazzo – the Duke of Durazzo, Joanna’s cousin, married to her younger sister Maria
Prince Andrew of Hungary – Joanna’s cousin and first husband, wed when they were children
He was murdered on September 18, 1345.
King Louis of Hungary – Prince Andrew’s older brother, bitterly determined to avenge the
murder of his brother, and convinced he is the rightful heir to the crown of Naples
Charles of Artois – King Robert’s acknowledged bastard son, strong supporter of Queen Joanna
Bertrand of Artois – Charles of Artois’ son
The Count of Terlizzi (marshal of the realm) and Nicholas of Melizanno – two of Joanna’s
councilors and supporters
Hugo del Balzo – a courtier in Joanna’s court, in league with the Dukes of Taranto and Durazzo
Bertrand del Balzo – Hugo’s cousin, chief justice of the kingdom. Authorized by Pope Clement VI
to prosecute those guilty of Prince Andrew’s murder in order to placate King Louis of Hungary
Maroccia – Philippa’s great-granddaughter, daughter of Sancia and the Count of Marcone
Note: The characters Guilio, Maroccia, and Antonio in Philippa’s past, (her husband, mother, and son in Sicily) are fictional. Philippa was hired as wet-nurse to Prince Charles, so she must have been a young mother. It’s unlikely an unwed mother would have been considered an appropriate wet-nurse for a prince, but nothing is known of her family in Sicily. The ladies’ maids, including Cicillia, are also fictional; records were not kept of maids, unless they rose to the heights of court life, as did Philippa. All other characters are real historical people, depicted as accurately as I am able based on their recorded letters and actions and on my research into the period they lived
in.
CHAPTER ONE
March 5, 1346
Queen Joanna’s Court, Naples
I peer through the carriage window anxiously as it rattles down the steep road toward Naples’ busy center. Even up here away from the city center the streets are crowded, forcing the horses to curb their gait.
“Can you not hurry?” I call to the driver.
His back stiffens. He turns with a tight-lipped smile, forming a respectful reply.
“No matter,” I say, restraining my impatience. “I see you are doing your best.” I pull my head back inside the carriage.
The crowd has unnerved me. I am used to crowds at market, though I have not done my own marketing for many years. Naples is always full of people, unlike the small village where I was born. But this is a different kind of crowd altogether. As if to prove the point, my carriage curtains are pulled aside and a man’s face peers in. I lean away, startled. One of my guards riding beside the carriage shouts and the curtain falls back, but it does not silence the angry voices outside. I would cover my ears, but even alone inside my carriage I refuse to show fear.
“Death to the king-slayers!”
“Why have the culprits not been brought to justice?”
“Who is so base as to shelter a murderer?”
Those comments in the last vein rattle me most, for they are aimed at Queen Joanna herself and everyone knows it, though none of this rabble would dare name her directly.
The carriage has been creeping along the streets. It stops entirely now. I sit still, waiting for it to start again as it has twice already, afraid to look outside my window. When the curtain is pulled back again I gasp, covering it with a cough.
“Pardon, my Lady, but the driver says he cannot go further. The crowd is too thick for people to move aside even if they wanted to.” Giovanni is sweating though it is not yet summer. He has been my faithful guardsman since he was a lad. His hair is graying now, but he is still strong and quick, trained by my husband and loyal to death.
I think a moment, listening to the ugly rumble of voices outside the carriage. This is no time for Queen Joanna’s councilors to be walking the streets.
This is also no time for her chief advisor to be absent. “Dismount and walk with me. Tell the other guards, also.” I rise and climb stiffly out while they tie their horses to the carriage. They surround me for the walk through Naples to Castle Nuovo, three strong, armed men. I hope it will be enough.
The walk takes twice as long as it should. We are jostled and pushed in the narrow streets despite my guards’ attempts to shield me. They would like to be up on their horses ploughing through this mass of commoners, I see it in their faces. They are accustomed to fighting from above, if it comes to that. But I have hated horses ever since my first wild ride on one and Giovanni has been with me long enough not to suggest we ride.
We pass the magnificent Duomo, contracted by King Charles I. A few streets later we reach the Basilica San Lorenzo Maggiore, commissioned by his son, King Charles II. I stop there to rest. My guards look about constantly. Their nervousness affects me. As soon as my breathing calms and my legs cease to tremble we continue, passing the Basilica San Domenico Maggiore under the Dominicans’ benevolent watch, and on to the Franciscans at the Basilica Santa Chiara, where King Robert the Wise, my beloved prince, lies at rest. The basilicas and monasteries built by the Angevins lie along the streets of Naples like stepping stones leading me to Castle Nuovo.
In the Piazza del Gesu, in front of Santa Chiara, I stop to rest again. We are only a dozen streets away from the royal castle. The square is thick with milling people, citizens from as far away as Salerno and Capua, from the look of their clothing and worn footwear. All demanding justice for Prince Andrew—whom they hated and feared while he lived. What has riled them so? The blackguard prince has been dead six months now. Tommaso Mambriccio, Prince Andrew’s chamberlain and a victim of his vicious nature, has been convicted and executed for the crime, although no one believes he acted alone. But a semblance of justice has been done, and a healthy heir is now lying in the royal nursery. The royal line will continue smoothly, which is all these tradesmen and merchants should care about.
I look around the square. This unrest is the work of others, preying on the people’s baser natures. I know those behind it, subtle and sly and ambitious men: Robert, Duke of Taranto, Queen Joanna’s cousin, who wants the crown for himself and means to frighten Queen Joanna into marrying him; and Charles, Duke of Durazzo, another scheming cousin, who wants Joanna destroyed so he and his wife, Joanna’s younger sister Maria, can inherit. Villains both! Robert of Taranto is the more vicious, an arrogant, cruel bully, no better than Joanna’s dead husband. She will never marry another such. But Charles of Durazzo is more treacherous, a man who changes his loyalty as easily as he does his garments. Did I not support his marriage to Maria? He has forgotten that debt, for now he publicly links my family with those accused of the conspiracy to murder Prince Andrew. As if we would be so stupid as to participate in regicide, no matter how appealing the thought in Andrew’s case. But anyone who stands beside Queen Joanna against either of those two ambitious dukes is likely to be accused of the crime.
“My Lady,” Giovanni whispers. He is as tense as a drawn bow, examining the congested square we must cross. Have I misjudged the danger? Well, I have no choice but to continue now. I nod to Giovanni and walk briskly into the crowd.
Angry voices assault my ears and the heat of bodies packed together presses on me. I bend my head, praying not to be recognized. Behind me I hear the thunder of horse’s hooves. My guards pull me into a doorway, their faces tight, scowling. A dozen mercenaries ride by, careless of the people dodging out of their path. Lord Louis’ hired soldiers. I wish them a speedy victory for Joanna’s sake and an even quicker departure for the sake of Naples. Behind them the people surge back, their voices more bitter than ever.
Perhaps it was something in my expression as I watched Louis’ mercenaries ride by, or only that I looked up, exposing my face. People in the square are pointing at me. “She is the one who turned our young queen against her rightful lord!” a woman calls.
“She murdered our poor prince!” a man’s voice shouts. Calls of “Conspirator!” and “There she is!” rise around me. My guards circle, their backs pressing against me, swords drawn. Three men against hundreds.
Sweat breaks out under my court gown, and my breath comes quick and shallow. I pull myself up, straight and tall. “Do not be afraid,” I tell my men. “Help is coming.” Maybe it is and maybe not, but a crowd is a wild animal; it can sense fear. The scent of fear is the scent of prey, and I am no prey. I do not intend to die today.
“Seize the whore!” someone shouts. A hand grabs my arm, yanking me sideways. My guard’s sword swings, opening the arm to the bone and spraying my sleeve with blood.
Those near us cringe back, but there are others behind them, pushing forward. The false courage I gave my men will not hold long. I do not bow my head or close my eyes but in my mind I call out to my great-grandmother, a woman of power and prophecy, to intercede for me. I look above the crowd at Santa Chiara, with its spire pointing to Heaven, and there, on the steps of the basilica, I see Hugo del Balzo, the Count of Avellino, Queen Joanna’s seneschal in Provence, surrounded by a dozen men-at-arms. He looks straight at me with his slow, cold smile, and turns away.
The crowd dances back and forth around us, those behind pushing forward and those immediately in front of my guards’ swords holding back. It is only a matter of time before the standoff breaks. My men will die defending me. “Giovanni,” I say softly. He hears me though he continues to watch the enemy. “Giovanni. My husband would not sac—”
A volley of hoof beats approaches from the left. I pause to look up and nearly weep for joy when I recognize royal livery. “For Queen Joanna!” I cry, raising my blood-spattered arm. My men glance up, still watching the crowd. “A la Reigne!” Giovanni shouts, brandishing his sword.
Th
e horses swerve toward us across the square, the soldiers’ swords unsheathed but unnecessary as people fall away before them. I recognize their captain now, my son Robert, seneschal of the Kingdom. His face is a mixture of fear and fury as he thunders toward us. He has heard my call, recognized my voice among so many. No doubt he came out searching for me, alarmed at my delay.
One of my men turns to stare at me, white-faced. I laugh softly under my breath. Help has come! The rumors of my ability to prophesy will continue.
When they reach us my son leans down and swings me up behind him. Giovanni lifts as my son pulls, making my ascent appear effortless, worthy of the queen’s chief advisor. Robert says nothing. He wants to upbraid me but dares not. I am still his mother, and Queen Joanna’s advisor, for all that he holds the highest position in the kingdom. My men leap up behind three of the soldiers as the crowd surges forward again.
Someone yells “Do not let her escape!” A hand grabs my leg and pulls. Perched sideways behind the saddle I feel myself slipping. Robert’s sword flashes, followed by a scream. The hand, no longer attached to its arm, falls to the ground as my son pulls me back and wheels his horse, shouting, “Way for the queen’s guard!” I grab his waist and hang on, my dignity shattered as we gallop for the castle.
Soon the towers of Castle Nuovo rise ahead, with more armed guards at its gates. I would get off here and walk, surely we are safe now, but my son does not slow down. The gates open as soon as he is recognized and he charges through, with me clinging desperately to him. He must always make his point, my son. Nevertheless I take the warning, despite the unnecessary emphasis.
Faithful Giovanni is there to catch me as I tumble down the horse’s side, making it look as though he is simply lifting me down. He does not release his grip until I am steady on my feet. I nod when I am ready, and he steps back.
Robert swings down beside me, throwing the reins to a waiting boy. “Madam Mother,” he enunciates precisely. He bows his head briefly, turns on his heel and stalks into the castle. Giovanni frowns. I raise an amused eyebrow at him before following my son.