I laughed and whispered, “What’d I just say?”
Lia smiled and shook her head, placing the crossbow back on the wall.
“I knew something interesting was transpiring,” Luca said, “when I saw the men five-deep outside the armory, all trying to catch a peek.”
I glanced past him and saw that he was right—we were drawing a crowd. “Oh, brother,” I said in English.
“’Tis best you two finish up so the men can resume their tasks,” Luca said wryly. “Can I help you find something in particular, m’ladies?”
“Nay,” I said. “I think I’m ready now.”
He caught my arm as I edged past. “Why do you look as mischievous as you did the night I caught you heading over the castle wall? The night you were determined to go after Lia?”
“Do I?” I said, giving Luca an innocent look. “My sole goal,” I said lowly, “is to see this battle through and my husband home so we can resume…exploring married life.”
Luca laughed at that, as I knew he would. “Ah, you Norman girls. Simply magnificent, I tell you.”
I glimpsed a flash of prancing horse, golden cloth, and Marcello’s dark hair. “C’mon,” I said to Lia in English. “We have to get to the pep rally.”
So we did what Marcello wanted. When the drums began to beat over at Castello Paratore, Lia and I rode out alongside him, Luca, the twins, and ten others he trusted most, in front of Castello Forelli.
In the last hours two companies of Sienese knights had moved toward the border of the creek bed, and it was there that we cantered, the twins carrying two golden standards, shimmering cloths of gold, basically giant flags that said, Oh yeah? We aren’t afraid of you!
Marcello did his thing, revving up the troops. I stared at him, caught for a moment by the sheer amazingness of him—my husband—looking incredibly fine from the crown of his dark curls down to his boots. He wore a new leather chest plate as armor, as well as plates strapped to his thighs and calves. His muscles bulged beneath his linen shirt as he lifted his sword high into the air. The men cheered, and for a moment, the steady, creepy beat of the Fiorentini drums could not be heard. But then the sound was back, like a bad memory.
Marcello looked to the twins, and they immediately turned to lead us back to Castello Forelli. I frowned as they led us away. We’d not really spoken of how long he’d intended me to be with him, but I thought it would be far longer than this—which hadn’t been much more than a trip around the ring. It was like we’d been reduced to show queens, not She-Wolves. Totally lame.
“Wait!” Marcello called. He kicked his horse into a gallop and was beside us in a second. “Come with me,” he said, dismounting and reaching for me. I took hold of his shoulders and slid down into his arms, but he immediately took my hand and pulled me several paces off, behind a small stand of old oaks. I struggled to find words to express what was boiling up inside. But he was moving too fast, too focused on getting back to the men, as the sun grew lower in the sky. He quickly kissed my hands, then each of my cheeks. “You’ll be safe at the castello, Gabriella. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you. You know this, yes?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, afraid I would say words I’d regret—or utter promises I could not keep. I knew he assumed I would stay in the castle, as was planned. I just didn’t know if I could bear to do it. I guess it depends on how swift and decisive your victory is, I thought.
“Take close care, m’lord. I’ll be anxious for our reunion.” Yeah—that I could say honestly.
“As shall I,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
An hour later the sun was setting, and a messenger arrived at the castello. He walked up to Georgii with a furrowed brow. I sidled closer, chin up, as if I, as Lady Forelli, expected to know about everything that was transpiring. Georgii eyed me and then gave the scrawny messenger a nod, granting him permission to speak.
“I have sorrowful news, sir. A man and woman, servants of Castello Forelli, have been hanged. Thrown over the castle parapets, a noose about their necks. Eight more are on the wall. It looks as if they, too, shall be hanged at any moment.”
I gasped and covered my mouth. Giacinta, I thought, first. Paratore found them out.
“Have you informed Lord Forelli?” I asked.
The messenger nodded, with a Well, Duh look in his eyes, before he remembered his place. “’Tis Lord Forelli who sent me, m’lady.”
“Of course,” I muttered, walking a few steps away. We should never have sent the servants in. Never have sent innocent, simple people to do a knight’s job!
“What of Lord Greco’s execution?” Georgii asked.
“No one has yet seen Lord Greco. Nor Lord Paratore.”
“Do the Fiorentini show any signs of dysentery?” Mom asked, edging in to our gathering.
“Dysentery, m’lady?” the messenger asked, hesitating. “Nay, m’lady.”
Mom and I looked at each other. The plan had failed, then. Giacinta…
The gates opened wide, and the three wagons bearing the catapult lumbered out. I knew then that Marcello would order them to fire, regardless of who stood on or hung from the wall above the gates. This was our chance, our opportunity to drive the Fiorentini back and establish peace—there was always a cost to peace, right?
Unless I could somehow make my way in and assist those who remained. Ten discovered, I thought, but there are still five of our people inside, still working on our behalf, ready to assist us.
I ran over to the stairs and up the curving case to the top. I pushed back a guard, who sputtered at me, trying to find the words to order me, his lady, to leave. Then I ran past another who only stared at me, openmouthed. I reached the front wall of the castle and stood beside a small raised portion that would give me some protection, should there be a Fiorentini assassin about.
Vaguely I realized my family had followed. First Lia. Then my parents.
Together we looked out across the valley, across winter-dead trees to the place where great clouds of dust arose, signifying that the battle was underway. We could hear the roar of some men, the cries of others. Beyond it we could see Castello Paratore, one side of it pink in the glow of the setting sun, crimson flags waving. And atop it, barely visible, were the tiny figures of our people standing on the wall. As we watched, a man in a brown robe was pushed to stand at the top, in the center, directly above the gates.
Mom gasped.
“Tomas,” I breathed. “They’ll all die,” I muttered. “Die because they wanted to help.” I glanced at Dad. “Marcello will take down those gates, regardless of who is up there. He told them that. This is his one chance.”
Dad nodded once, his face gravely serious. “Acceptable losses in an effort to win the greater good. Such are the ways of war.”
I focused on Tomas, wishing I could teleport over there, whip out my sword, and show Paratore what it was like to take me on armed, again. Jerk, using women, a priest as some scummy human shield…At least Rodolfo wasn’t there. Had Marcello and his men reached him? Freed him before Paratore’s horrific impaling had begun down by the creek?
But that was when a tenth figure was lifted to the top of the wall. It was impossible not to recognize the dark black, wavy hair, the straight shoulders as he forced himself upright after a moment’s hesitation. “Rodolfo,” I whispered, leaning forward, sudden, angry tears in my eyes.
“Oh no,” Lia moaned.
He’d tricked us. Paratore. Pretended to plan to execute Rodolfo down on the platform to draw Marcello and his men out to him. And all the while, he was back at the castle, ready to kill Rodolfo at his leisure. Where he was certain we could see. And where he would remain safe.
It was then I knew. This display was meant for me. This particular form of pain. My people. My friend. Even my priest…since when did I have a priest? But there he was, in the distance, his round, brown-robed form taunting me, making me shiver with fury. And Rodolfo, who’d saved me, freed me—
I could almost hear my enemy whispering in my ear…You thought you could take my ears without retribution, She-Wolf? Behold, the price…
We all stood there a minute longer. The temperature was dropping rapidly as the sun slipped over the horizon, sending five rays up in what could’ve been a Tuscan tourism photo—if you didn’t realize that men and women were dying beneath it. I thought about the servants on the far wall, shivering as the chill penetrated their bones.
“So,” Lia said. “You need this?” she asked, pulling aside her cape and showing me the claw and rope beneath.
“Or this?” Mom said, letting me peek at the crossbow beneath her cape.
Dad gave me a tender look. “Marcello has a fine network of men, brothers to ride to his aid. But I think it’s time we show him just what kind of family he married into, don’t you?”
Chapter Thirty
We went wide, riding hard around the far side of the tumuli hill, to come at Castello Paratore from the back. Of course, there were about eight patrols of twelve continuously jogging the road around the perimeter of the castle. We huddled beneath a cliff, behind some brush, and counted it out. It wasn’t like clockwork, but we seemed to have about two minutes between patrols.
Up on the wall were other knights, pacing back and forth, peering down at the forest growing deep with shadows as the last of the sunset faded. My family and I could see them far better than they could see us, given their torches. In time I hoped we’d meet up with some of the Sienese knights or some of Marcello’s secret groups of men. But at this point it was best it was just the four of us. It’d be tough to get a larger group up and over the wall.
“Here,” Lia said, handing me and Mom two strands of leather each. She bent and gathered her skirts, tying one side, then the other, leaving her calves exposed and her pantaloons showing.
“I see London, I see France…” I muttered.
“Dresses are not the most convenient attire for battle,” Mom said, bending to work on her own gown.
“Dresses are not the most convenient, period.” I looked up the wall. This side of the castle wall was higher, since it had been built on a small cliff face. “How tall do you think that is, Dad?” I asked, tying the left side of my gown in a knot.
He considered it. “A good forty feet. Think you girls can manage it?”
“Oh, we can manage it,” I said. “The question is, can the old man?”
“Bring it,” he said with a grunt, lifting his chin.
I smiled. But then I saw the next patrol was coming. “Ten seconds till launch,” I warned. “Ready?”
All three of them nodded. Lia pulled back the crossbow until it clicked into place. The massive claw was at the end, making it so heavy that Dad had to help her hold it steady. The group of men passed, chanting some song like a medieval Marine’s sound off, and our eyes went to the knight who walked along the top of the wall. “C’mon,” I moaned, wanting him to hurry away.
I drew an arrow across a regular bow, intending to hand it to Lia as soon as she was done. Mom stood ready with two more arrows across her arm. If this didn’t go perfectly—
I heard the dull clang of metal on metal and glimpsed the claw sail through the air, like a football toward field-goal posts, glinting in the torchlight. Even before it landed, Lia had grabbed the bow and arrow from me and was aiming at the knight who’d just passed, waiting for him to turn, see what the noise was, show the breadth of his back.
Dad held on to our end of the rope as the claw arced and began racing down on the other side, the loops disappearing at our feet. At last it stopped, and I held my breath. We could not hear the noise inside. But the guard obviously did. As soon as he peered over the far edge, Lia let the arrow go.
It sailed faster and surer than I’d ever seen, striking the man in the back. He bent over with the impact, rose, then crumpled out of view.
“Go, Gabi,” Mom grunted, handing Lia another arrow.
Dad was madly pulling on the rope, bringing in the excess as if he were hauling in a shark, while I was running to the small cliff face. We had maybe forty seconds until the next patrol rounded the corner. I rammed my toe into the clumpy clay and climbed, pulling myself up and over the six-foot cliff, rolling to my side. I went to the wall and heard another guard cry out above me. Quickly I cut the rope, allowing Dad to pull the rest toward him and out of the path of the next patrol.
Twenty-five seconds. I leaped up on the rope, found my footing against the wall, and began hauling myself up. There was no time to cinch it around my waist or form safety knots. Lia was a far better climber than I, but we needed her down below, picking off the guys who’d try and pick us off from above. Eighteen seconds, seventeen…I counted, glancing back. I was still too close to the ground. No way will they miss you, Gabs! I put everything I had into it, up fifteen feet, then twenty. But then I was out of time.
I held on with one arm and pulled up the rest of the dangling cord so it was out of their way, so it wouldn’t alert them. And then I prayed. That their attention would be out toward the woods. That God would make me invisible. That my family could take down any man who aimed an arrow at my back. I heard them coming, another chant on this group’s lips. My legs were shaking as I struggled to stay still in my odd position. I closed my eyes and squinted, unable to watch their approach, just wanting it over with, one way or another. C’mon, c’mon…
They rounded the corner, the beat of their boots on the loose gravel a new kind of rhythm in my ears. I braced, listening, trying to detect any variance in the beat, any hint that I’d been spotted, hovering halfway up the wall above them.
First it was one—near the back? Then a second. The dreaded skid and stop. A shout. I turned and began hauling myself upward, aware now that it was a race. A race between me getting to the top and the patrol below aiming the first arrow and letting it fly. My technique was panicked and sloppy, which in turn made me more lame-tastic. I wasn’t making better time; I was working against myself—
I heard the whirr of oncoming arrows and braced for them to enter my back. Wondered what would hurt worse—the initial strike of an arrow piercing my back, or my fall to the ground beneath me. Neither close enough to reach the top, nor low enough to survive a fall. Then I heard the sickening sound of arrows entering flesh, the anguish and surprised cries…but they were not my own. They were below me. I turned and dared to glance down for the first time and saw all twelve men, dead or dying. On the far hill, above where my family was hidden, I saw the brush move and then become still. Movement beyond it on the rocky slope. The Lerici archers.
They were running northward. Probably to intercept the next patrol before the soldiers turned the corner and spotted all the dead men beneath me. Giving me some time, some space.
Man, those dudes rock, I thought, turning and trying to climb again with trembling hands. I’m gonna give them all kisses when I see them. And all my gold. I seriously love those guys.…
Somehow I made it to the top, saw there were no guards still alive on this portion of parapet, then threw my leg over the edge and rolled over and onto the floor. I lay there, panting, my heart thundering, before I forced myself upright to stare across the courtyard, to where the servants, Rodolfo, and Tomas stood on the far wall.
Still there, I saw, closing my eyes in relief and sinking back, trying to catch my breath again, gasping. When I could finally breathe evenly, I peered over the edge, saw Lia coming fast. Her proximity strengthened me. I wouldn’t be alone for long. I forced myself to a crouch, hurried over to the first dead knight and bodily lifted him to a standing position, leaning him against one of the small towers and wrapping a rope around his chest to keep him upright. He looked awkward, but at first glance, he might fool anyone into thinking all was well.
Like Paratore.
Lia was doing the same with the next knight, struggling with his bulk, while trying to keep an eye out for Mom and Dad. I stole over to help her, scanning the perimeter for our enemies. So far they all seemed unawa
re of our presence.
Dad rolled over the edge of the wall then, with a grunt. “Man, glad I haul rock for a living,” he quipped between breaths. He peeked over at Mom’s progress and then came back. “I’ll wait here for her. You two’d better move out.”
We nodded at each other and went in opposite directions. Why weren’t there more men on guard? Where were they?
Maybe the poison had reached a good number of them before they’d figured it out. Or maybe they were all up front with the prisoners, enjoying the spectacle, trusting the safety of the far walls to the patrols below.
Whatever the reason, I was glad for it. Our goal was to get to the prisoners and cut their hands free, if not cut the nooses themselves, before they could be pushed to their deaths.
Or before Marcello began firing the catapult.
Chapter Thirty-one
All we needed was about five minutes. Five minutes without being seen as we took down a dozen more guards and reached the servants on the far wall. I knew it was a stretch, but a girl could dream. I pressed on and soon saw Dad stealing toward me.
“Duck, Gabs,” Dad said, and I instantly obeyed as he threw his dagger.
I turned around and saw the man who had just come up and over a small staircase that crossed a lookout tower. The man gripped the dagger in his chest, as if he intended to pull it out, and then fell to his knees and down to his face. We pressed onward, entering the wider space of the lookout platform, backs to either side of the far entrance as we caught our breath.
I dared a peek over the wall to my right. Across the courtyard, above it, I glimpsed Mom and Lia making their way too. I couldn’t believe it. We were getting closer. Paratore’s men seemed to be entirely focused on the front wall.
And then I heard it—the drum beat. A Sienese drum beat. The catapult would soon be in place, and rocks and hot oil fired…
Wait, Marcello, I said in my mind, willing him to hear me. I edged my cheek around the corner, peeking at the parapet ahead. Would seeing Rodolfo there, too, make him pause just long enough? Could he truly order the death of his friend along with Tomas and the servants?
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