Childhood dinners

with visiting nobles

were torture worse than

embroidery lessons.

Until, that is,

we received a visit

from the Duke of Anjou

and his wife.

Isabella of Lorraine

intrigued me because of

her age

(older than her husband)

her education

(raised to rule Lorraine)

her conversation

(unconcerned with her role)

The duchess was also

unconcerned with my role.

Girls did not speak

at the dining table

and yet Isabella

directed questions to me.

Mother’s eyes upon me,

I was in a quandary. After all

it would be ill-mannered

to ignore a guest.

The next night I was seated

far from the duchess

but I had been emboldened.

A taste of having my voice heard

and suddenly I wanted the whole pie.

Mother banished me

to dine in my room.

I snuck instead to the stables

to practice footwork

with my makeshift sword.

I jabbed and parried with a bale of hay

dropping the improvised weapon

when Isabella’s voice cut

through the horse’s whinnies.

Widen your stance, darling.

I whirled around, feet still close together

and toppled to the side. She laughed.

But it wasn’t a laugh like Papa’s

or Philippe’s when I’d stumble.

Claim your space.

A wider stance

a stronger base.

Use the strength

in your entire body

not only your arm.

To my amazement

this noble lady, this duchess

lifted a hayfork and

spread her legs wide.

Though Father had taught me

the basics, I somehow believed

my childish world revolving on my axis

myself the only girl in all the world

to ever lift a sword.

Isabella knew sword-fighting.

She said she must

for she loved her husband

very much and what if

someday

he were taken from her

and she had to avenge

his honor?