No, not the Roman lady, Iunia, wife of the Saxon geographer. She is one of the best things that have happened to me here in Ravenna. No, I am talking of Bertrada, the ringleader of Frankish handmaidens that my brother Clovis saddled me with when he sent me away from Paris to be married to Theodoric, the Gothic king of Italia.

They had been following me like a gaggle of geese all my life, but at least in Paris I had my hideaways to take refuge every once in a while when their chatter became insufferable. When I was sent to Ravenna I was stuck for weeks inside a wagon with Bertrada, followed by a train of handmaidens and mules (not that much of a difference) with my luggage. I believe it was one of the most awful experiences in my life, short of family deaths, ilnesses and war.

You see, Bertrada took it upon herself to "prepare" me. And Bertrada is a person who cannot conceive of a ray of sunshine piercing the bleak clouds she forever sees ahead. Back in Paris, not only I could find shelter in my private places, but I had my brother to rely on and tell me that, according to him, the future could not be but the brightest possible, especially for him and the Frankish people. And here I was, alone, far from Clovis for the first time and possibly forever, and this woman was filling my head with the most awful fears.

"It is the sad duty of a king's sister," she repeated mournfully. "Your husband-to-be is a great man: you should take comfort in this, provided, of course, he does not beat you - men sometimes do that for sport, they have to be understood, they are only men - or repudiate you because you are not as young as Clovis made you to be. Remember, he is the one who cut harmless Odoacer in two because he (Theodoric) would not share the power. He is a cruel, merciless man. You have to be prepared for everything."

Then Bertrada - never married, probably never even kissed - proceeded to explain to me in detail the revolting and painful circumstances of the wedding night and of wifely duties. Combined with the wagon's motion, I had to exert all my regal self-control not to throw up all over her. Not that I was eating much. "You have to pray to God for strength, dear child, and hope you get pregnant as soon as possible. Then he will take a lover and leave you alone. It will not be so bad after that, if you do not die in childbirth."

If I thought it could not get any worse, it did. Before we crossed the Alps we met Frankish sentries who led us out of the kingdom with well-wishes and all the honours due to my person, expressing their amazement and joy that I was going to marry such a famous hero.

"Indeed," Bertrada said while we were negotiating the passes, luckily in high summer, "Theodoric has been fighting glorious battles for decades. His name resounds for all the West and the East. He surely is an old man by now, but you will have the honour of being married to one of the greatest men of our time. He will probably die soon, and your life will be worth little after that, but you will enjoy a brief summer of glory."

An old man! I tried to tell myself she was exaggerating, but it had to be true: since I was a child I had heard of his successes in the Balkans and how he had brought Constantinople itself at bay to get the emperor to agree to his terms. My eyes filled with tears and I had to pretend I was blinded by the snow upon the peaks. I had briefly known the warmth of the heart with some young man who had been deemed an unworty match by my brother. Now that would be all the love I would ever know. It was to be expected for a woman: still it hurt sorely.

Once we were on the other side of the Alps, a large contingent of Goths came to greet us and join our escort. It was led by a finely dressed old man - a handsome warrior with white-blond hair and moustache, but still he could have been my father, nay, my grandfather. His large hands were like gnarled roots. I pictured them on my body and almost fainted. Then he introduced himself: he was Master Hildebrand, commander of Theodoric's personal bodyguard, and he was there to escort me to Ravenna.

My face remained still, but my relief must have been like a beacon in the night. Hildebrand was far from stupid: he had seen the change in my countenance. That night, while we sat around the fire, he bluntly asked me in a rough Latin what I knew of Theodoric. I told him, and his laughter boomed in the night, startling Bertrada and all my handmaidens.

He said that whoever had told me such bollocks was a great fool or a very cruel person. Theodoric had been famous for years, yes, but he had become king of the Goths when he had left Constantinople, still a lad. He was a strong, handsome man of about forty winters, cultured and intelligent, and he had never mistreated a woman in all his life: his daughters were the pearls of his eyes, and his mother was recognized as Queen of the Goths. He was aware that this marriage was only for the sake of peace, but he was a thoughtful man, and he did everything with care. If he treated me like he had treated conquered Ravenna, I would be the most revered queen of all the West. Hildebrand spoke with the pride of a father, so maybe he erred on the other side, but that night for the first time I ate heartily and slept well on my pallet. And that was the moment when I began to hate Bertrada, just a little.

* * *

Hildebrand was exaggerating, but Bertrada was exaggerating even more. I have said elsewhere I do not wish to speak of my private life as Queen. We got married in summer, and the Princess was born the following summer. It was a very difficult delivery and I do not believe I will be able to have another child. I think they had to cut some chunk of flesh off me. I thought my husband would go crazy at the thought of another female offspring; but he took it in stride. He carefully took the baby in his hands, lifted her towards the sky, and said: "You shall be Amalaswintha - the Strength of the Amals".

But I am running ahead of myself. Probably because this red-haired little girl has become the center of my world, my very life, in a way that Bertrada's views on maternity had not prepared me for. But other things happened after my wedding. I had grown increasingly bored with the Frankish ladies, and the king sought to lift my spirits by putting by my side a completely different kind of woman: a Roman lady, about my age, the wife of geographer Aelfwine. She would keep me company and help me practice Latin, and later she would help the other ladies with the baby. She was a perfect choice. For some reason, despite the obvious attachment between her and Aelfwine, they were still childless after almost two years of marriage.

I came to learn in time that this had not been an entirely peaceful arrangement. Aelfwine was happy, of course, because now his wife could live with him at court. I liked Iunia at once: she was an old-school Roman, no nonsense and no frills; I could always expect her to tell me the truth, and the fact that I valued this so much probably endeared me to her. The king was pleased with himself at seeing me more relaxed: as usual he had charmed and pushed and manipulated his way into getting what he wanted - it was much more fun to him than simply giving an order. The only one who was MAD about it all was Iunia, and months passed before I understood the truth she could not speak. She hated Theodoric with a vengeance and swallowed her hatred for my sake.

Iunia mellowed after the birth of the baby. She still would not speak to the king beyond due courtesy, but she seemed to recognize he had had some merit in the creation of such a sweet little girl, even though it had almost killed me.

So you might think life was going on peacefully for me in this mosquito-riddled, smelly city, pocked with construction sites by my husband's ambition. One can grow fond of the most unlikely things. But we are forgetting Bertrada. Even seeing with her own eyes that I was doing well did not abate her gloominess. She fed onto every possible rumour of war, to wail about our imminent destruction. And some unsettling events made me more and more edgy around her.

Of course, it was all a coincidence. It had to be Anyway, Thiudagotha, Theodoric's eldest daughter, had a boy child, named Amalaric: even though the boy is the heir to the Visigothic kingdom, his name echoes the glorious Amal name and promises peace and the success of Theodoric's marriage politics. I had never met her because she had left to marry Alaric before I came to Ravenna, but Theodoric missed her and gave a great feast for his first grandson. I have to admit that, young as he was when he had his daughters, he makes a fetching grandfather.

But I keep running ahead of myself. When we received the news of the birth, I remember I came into my rooms a little upset, because by then I had not given birth myself yet. So I said without smiling: "Have you heard about Queen Thiudagotha?" and Bertrada, promptly, her eyes terrified, her hand on her heart: "Is she dead?"

I whirled on her. "Of course not! She has had a baby! Why should she be dead?"

"Ah, dear child, because the first pregnancy is always the hardest." (I embraced my belly). "But if the baby survived, she will have done her duty."

"Do not let my husband hear you say that," I replied sharply, and we spoke no more of it. Until the other news came. Thiudagotha had felt poorly for months after the birth of Amalaric. Puerperal fever took her away silently, as the new letter said - she was almost recovering the day before, and she never woke up to the calls of her bereaved young husband.

Her father was shattered, even though few knew of it. Outwardly, he fully accepted Bertrada's point of view - that it was the sad destiny of a royal princess, and that at least she had done her duty to the dinasty. But he was not himself for months. Master Aelfwine, just as heartbroken, was more outspoken. Through Iunia I came to know the devotion he had developed towards that girl in the few days he had met her; an attachment which was in no way carnal. Thiudagotha had been the portrait of her father, in spirit even more than in looks - strong, bright, passionate, a laughing warrior. If only she had been a man... Now the king, still in his prime, would have an adult heir to help him and grow into a successor. But no. Thiudagotha had been a charming, spirited, red-haired girl, doomed to die like most women are.

And Bertrada had been the first to speak the word DEAD. A coincidence. Yes. Nothing more than a coincidence. Until she happened by when little Amalaswintha was bawling with a tummy-ache. "Alas, dear child," (this was for me) "be prepared. Babies die so often. Such a pity that you cannot have another one... but if you are lucky, the king will keep you as official wife and beget a male child from a concubine..."

Now you have to know that to play my role I have to be perfect, silent and invisible. I have had great success in keeping up this facade. Except for that one time. They heard me screaming at her from the other side of the palace. A confused Bertrada saved her life only by running outside into the corridor while I threw a valuable Greek vase after her. When it shattered against the wall she was already out of sight. But I did not stop screaming. I chased away the gaggle of Frankish maids, the eunuchs, the camararius, Hildebrand. Then I sank down on a chair beside Amalaswintha's crib. I did not dare to approach the girl lest she pick up my mood. I just sat there and watched her eat her own fingers.

The only one who managed to tiptoe inside my chambers was Iunia. She said nothing, she simply sat down at my feet and remained there. Then the curtain was drawn once again and a familiar step sounded on the mosaiced floors. Iunia got up wordlessly, bowed to him and was gone.

He approached, looking at me keenly, then he bent over the crib. Now the baby was sleepy, but not enough for him to avoid the grip of her tiny hand on his finger. He smiled, then turned to me: "She is well. Look! Nothing is wrong with her. Will you calm down now?"

Obviously he too was astonished by my reaction. I squared my shoulders, taking a deep breath. I was now collected enough to pick up the baby. She was just hungry. I sat down, unlaced my dress and she latched onto my breast. For a while everything would be well. But I could not forget. That woman had touched the dearest thing I had in my whole life. All the rest I could stand. Not this.

I looked at him. "Grant me one wish, husband."

His gaze was hard. "I shall."

"Send her to Ticinum."

He stared, his eyebrows climbing above eyes getting steadily larger. Then he threw back his head and laughed. "Ticinum? Nothing else? You do not want me to cut her to pieces, or burn her alive, or..."

(to be continued)

INTERLUDE

Me: I've changed my mind, she must die.
Aude: But what about my grand gesture of forgiveness?
Me: There's no forgiveness. Kill her painfully.
Theo: Excuse me, I believe this is for me to say.
Me: I bet you won't have any difficulty. *chants* She must die she must die she must die...
Aude: Please, not in front of the baby.
Me: Right. *writes* "Audofleda got up and carried the baby in another room. Then she came back with a rocket launcher."
Aude: And don't make me act out of character either.
Me: That's not out of character. Plant a big one on your husband and THAT would be out of character.
Theo: Please, not in front of the Franks.
Me: If you two won't comply, I'll have to do it myself. *writes* Bertrada walked out of the palace, tripped on a rocket launcher and blew herself up. And they all lived happily ever after. The end."
Theo: You used to be subtler, you know. Now it's obvious that Bertrada is a projection of someone you know in Real Life.
Me: NOW it's obvious? You used to be brighter, handsome.
Theo: Must be the long exposure to your stilted prose. "Looking at me keenly", indeed.
Aude: Stephen King says...
Me: Let's not turn this into a writing workshop.
Aude: I thought that's just what it was.
Me: Now it has a much more immediate purpose. *writes* "They both looked keenly out of the window and saw Betrada's severed head sail across the sky with a befuddled expression on her cocker spaniel face."
Theo: Oh no. Dogs are nice. So are horses. Hawks, too. *catches Aude's glare* Women have their qualities but they are entirely useless when hunting.
Me: OK, sorry. *scratches out and rewrites* "... with a befuddled expression on her squashed frog face."
Aude: My, you must really hate her.
Me: No. I just want her dead.
Gandalf: Do not be so quick to deal out death and judgement. Even the very wise cannot see all ends.
All: ...?