Under the Day

Part One

        Lisbon, Portugal

August 1369

The field and sky danced together. Her soft emerald arms embraced his waist as his turquoise hands cloaked her back in fine pink blossoms. They stepped slowly, swaying unseen dreams into the sleeping hearts of creatures below. The blossoms quivered with music nobody heard.

This music curled around the shoulders of two middle-aged noblewomen, sewing under a broad, shady tree. Lady Beatriz da Maia was tall, thin, and red-haired-- constantly wrinkling  her upturned nose at the needle. Lady Orraca Correia was short, plump, and olive-skinned, with a heavy rosary draped over her thick forearm.

"How does this look?" she asked, raising her embroidery.

Thin white fabric billowed with red-gold roses opening and closing under blue-gray raindrops. Beatriz examined it, then looked down at her own tangled nest of colorful threads.

"God's bones, Orraca! I...I...don't know what to say!"

"Good. Then my mother would've approved."

"Wouldn't they all?! My mother would've thrown a ball in my honor!"

Orraca glanced around anxiously, as if expecting someone to overhear.

"I never saw my mother smile," she sighed, "She was always trying to enrich us, even if it meant I had to marry the foulest lord alive."

Beatriz squinted, her small pale eyes nearly vanishing.

"Is that why you were so worried about Isabella marrying my Joao?"

 "I wasn't worried, Beatriz. You must be mistaken."

"Mistaken?! You were sobbing like mad!"

"Forget it. Let's not start any fights today-- we still have that banquet to attend."

"Right! I can't believe we get to meet that handsome king Fernando!"

 Orraca smiled quickly.

"I'm afraid we're not getting any younger."

 "Advice from a woman wearing horns on her head-- ha!"

"Look...." Orraca lifted her horned headdress with two hands, gray-flecked black curls cascading down her arms. "I would love to do this, but gray hair is not meant to be seen hanging like a bad jester ought to!"

"And how do you know what makes a bad jester, Eucharist-breath?"

"I'm talking to one."

Beatriz reached for Orraca's rosary, playfully jangling the shiny crimson beads.

"Now, that's a joke! I never see you pray!"

She jangled it too hard, and the beads rolled off, scattering like seeds. Beatriz jumped. Orraca gasped in horror, her eyes gleaming with tears.

"How many times have I told you-- Isabella gave me that!"

"All I'm saying is, if you think aging is so disgraceful, you're dead wrong!"

"Why, Beatriz...!"

Ignoring her, Beatriz pulled a hat from her bag-- a strange bright-red hat with a long "beak" in front and strange words stitched into the middle. The letters were big and blocky, screaming what had to be an obscenity in angelic white. Orraca's brows shot up.