Waterfall

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  He sighed heavily as he stared at me. “Nay. You shall wait for my physician.”

  A maid arrived then, casting her eyes hurriedly from me, with my bare waist, and Marcello close beside me, to the table. She set a pail of steaming water, a knife and bandages there, bobbed a curtsy to Lia and fled.

  I glanced up to the ceiling and sighed. “Fetch Fortino,” I said to Lia. She turned and left the room immediately, probably glad to escape the tension between us as much as the maid before her.

  Marcello looked at me, hard, then. “He won’t do this for you.”

  “Yes, he will. After all I’ve done for him, he will do this for me.”

  “Why must you be so stubborn?” he cried, rising fast and flinging out his hands toward me. “What is the matter with you? Why must this be done now? The feast is upon us. Where will you be? In here, in agonizing pain!”

  “Trust me,” I said, looking away from him. “I know it is time.” Itd be good, if I couldn’t go to the feast tonight. I’d have a legitimate excuse.

  He paced, beginning to speak, thinking better of it and stopping, time and time again.

  Soon, thankfully, Fortino arrived. Seeing my bare waist, his eyes moved to the wall. “M’lady?”

  “Lord Fortino,” I said, waiting until he dragged his eyes to meet mine, carefully hopping over my exposed skin. “I need you to remove my stitches.”

  He frowned. “The physician-“

  “Will not arrive until the morrow. I need them out now.”

  He swallowed, visibly, and then looked into my eyes. “I will do as you have asked me,” he said. He moved to the pail and the knife, then to our tiny fire to place the blade in the coals.

  “Fortino!” Marcello barked.

  But Fortino shook his head at his brother. “She knows what she needs, Marcello. Hold her hand.”

  Marcello paced twice more, then reached for a small flask on the table, uncorked it, and brought it over to me. “Take a long drink of this,” he said, begging me with his big, brown eyes. I turned obediently and took a look swig, then another, ignoring how the liquid burned all the way down my throat and inside my gut. He took the bottle from my hand and poured a liberal amount on my wound, making me gasp for breath at the sting and burn. Then he took my hand in his, clasping it as if we were about to arm wrestle. Not that I was any match for him; I was already weak with fear.

  “Clip each loop,” he said to his brother. “Then move quickly, pulling the threads out. That will be the worst part.”

  He spoke as if he had gone through this before. I stared into his eyes. Where were his wounds? Evidence of his own stitches, long removed and healed. On his back? His thigh? Thoughts of scars, purple and healed, gave me strange comfort. If he could do it, so could I.

  I winced when Fortino cut the first loop. There were about eighteen, in total. Staring into Marcello’s eyes, I found strength in them. I thought of having but a minute left with him, forever, and how I’d want every second I had, regardless of the pain. He stared at me, seeming to count in his head too. It was then that Fortino paused, and I knew what was to come.

  “Fast,” I panted, my heart racing. “Fortino, don’t stop, no matter what happens. Just get them out.” I turned and eyed him. “Understood?”

  He nodded once, his eyes still on the threads, now crazy white snippets rising from my side like a sad, sparse, white patch of grass.

  I turned away and saw that Luca had arrived. Lia brought her fist to her mouth, staring at me. Luca reached out for her, and in spite of her hesitations, she turned into his chest, clearly wishing not to see what would come next. He wrapped a hand around her head and stared hard in my direction.

  “You hold on to me,” Marcello said, drawing my attention again.

  “Do it,” I said to Fortino, still staring at Marcello.

  I was able to hold my tongue through the first two. He moved so fast, my mind barely had time to capture what was bringing me the searing pain, even though I knew what was to come. But then my brain caught up and I started to whine with the third and fourth, wail with the fifth.

  By the time he reached the sixth, I was in a full-fledged scream, biting into my blanket to muffle the noise, no longer able to look into Marcello’s eyes and be the strong heroine. It was about the thirteenth that I passed out instead of throwing up, giving in to the blessed, black tunnel that closed in around me.

  I awakened to the smell of burning flesh. It took me a moment to feel the fresh pain in my side and realize that they had taken up my idea and cauterized the wound in a couple of places where the skin threatened to spring loose. Thank God I was out for that, I thought. The aftermath was pain enough to deal with.

  I opened my eyes, fearful that he had gone, but he was still beside me, holding my hand, tenderly now, not in the death grip of a soldier about to lose a comrade-in-arms.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled. Luca and Lia and Fortino were behind him, all anxiously watching me. They seemed to take a collective breath when they heard me speak.

  “Take another sip of this,” he said, lifting a cup so that I could take another drink of the clear liquid. It floated down my throat, not so hot this time. Without asking, he gave me another. I felt the fog of the alcohol descend, giving me a slight reprieve. Not from the pain, but from caring about the pain.

  “The castle is in an uproar,” he said lowly, wiping my forehead of the beads of sweat with a cool cloth.

  “They heard me screaming?”

  He gave me a small nod. “I must take my leave,” he added sorrowfully.

  “She’ll want to know what’s transpired,” I said. “Tell her I had to have them out. So I could be off. To Pistoia.”

  “To Pistoia?” he asked, frowning.

  “She’ll know what I mean,” I said.

  “You cannot go to Pistoia. ‘Tis deep into Florentine lands and-“

  “And we shall not truly go there. Just tell Romana that, all right? For me? Trust me?”

  He hesitated. “But you are not leaving now, Gabriella. Right? Not for days, yet. You need to remain still. Allow your skin to heal. Be tended to.”

  I dragged my eyes open. “I know. Go, Marcello. You and Fortino. Go and see to your guests. Leave me to Lia.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked, tracing the pad of his thumb over my brows.

  “Never more so.”

  Blessedly, I slept the whole day and through the night, waking only a couple of times when I dared to move. In those instances, my eyes shot open, and I gasped for breath.

  Lia was still mad at me, come morning. “You did it so you wouldn’t have to face them at the feast. Any of them,” Lia said. Her tone was half-jealous, half-accusatory.

  I didn’t turn over to look at her. I couldn’t if I’d wanted to. My flesh was on fire. There was no use arguing. She was mad. Hurt, over something. “What happened?”

  I could hear her rustle out from under her covers. “It was awful. Figuring out what to say…what not to say, when everyone’s looking at you.” She groaned. “We need to get out of here, Gabs. We risk being found out with every hour we’re here.”

  “Did you stick to the rules?” I asked. I closed my eyes, steeling myself for what was to come. I had to move. To pee, if nothing else.

  “As best I could,” she said. But she didn’t sound too sure. We’d agreed to say little about our parents, so we wouldn’t have to spin larger lies than necessary. To say little of home at all.

  “There was one dude who’d been to Normandy.” She paused to sneeze. “He kept asking me about families I might know. Of course, I didn’t”

  “How’d you get out of that?”

  “I started talking about the night Castello Paratore fell, and the men took over from there.”

  I smiled. Smart of her.

  “They’re putting on all sorts of games today, in the courtyard. Jousting. Sword fights. The whole knight-gig, you know? Oh, and get this, an archery exhibition too, for which yours truly is to be the star attraction.”


  “That’s great,” I said.

  Her brow furrowed. “When are we going?” she said.

  “One more day, Lia. I think tomorrow, I might be able to move.”

  “Tomorrow the feast is over. And Marcello and Fortino are totally bringing you to watch the games today, even if you have to be carried in on your bed.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I groaned. She was right, of course. On some level, I had hoped that pulling the stitches, and the subsequent recovery, would keep me out of the mix. “Why can’t they just use this excuse? Leave me here?” I shook my head, feeling the straw beneath my cheek crackle.

  Did Marcello not see? The less we were together, the better.

  “He’s not going to let you out of here without him,” Lia said.

  I closed my eyes, thinking of the pain of saying good-bye to him, as well as the pain of lying to him any longer. There was just no good way out. No simple way out.

  I shoved myself upward then, barely stifling my scream. It was animal-like, I admitted to myself. And Lia was immediately beside me.

  “That bad?”

  “That bad.”

  She carefully pulled up the edge of the old white shirt I had slept in, and peered at my side. I couldn’t bear to look. She shuddered and quickly let the light silk fabric fall. “Better than yesterday, but not good. You are a walking infection waitin’ to happen. We gotta go home, Gabs. Fast.”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” I said.

  “If these people discover holes in our story, we might go from being the belles of the ball to the bombs. You should see ‘em, Gabs. Most of them look at me like I’m some sort of celebrity. But there are some that look at me suspiciously. Like they want to take me down. Like that Romana chick. She has some serious issues.”

  “I can’t ride a horse today, Lia. It already feels like my side is about to rip loose. That’d do it for sure.”

  “What if I found a wagon? Something you could lie down in?”

  “Not today,” I said, ending the debate. I lifted my hand to my head. I was sweating-just from the effort of sitting. It was going to take everything in me to squat and go to the bathroom, and she wanted me to travel?

  To her credit, she didn’t leave me then. Usually, when we got into arguments, she’d run away, go someplace to be alone. But then, I supposed she thought it worse outside our room’s walls than inside them.

  Far more dangerous. Far more conflict.

  As she thought he might, Marcello appeared after we finished lunch in the privacy of our quarters. He hovered in the doorway, shifting his eyes about the room as if ill at ease. “M’lady, how does the day find you?”

  “As well as can be expected,” I said, looking away, embarrassed at the memory of my desperation the day before.

  “I have brought the physician,” he said. I looked back, and he stood sideways to allow a small man to enter. “Dr. Macchione, these are the Ladies Betarrini.”

  The man nodded, but said nothing, just strode over to me. He peered at me with narrowed eyes as if he couldn’t see properly. “May I examine your wound, m’lady?”

  Slowly, I lifted my shirt to expose my side, praying there was no infection. My worst fear was that the man would want to put leeches on me, or maggots in the wound to eat away at dying flesh. They did that sometimes. Really. I’d heard all about it from Cook. Totally disgusting.

  He lifted his head and looked at Lia. “You stitched her back together, m’lady?”

  “I did,” Lia said.

  “Where did you learn such prowess?”

  I looked away from her, not wanting her to see the grin in my eyes. Because the nearest answer was elementary school projects with Grammy. She mumbled something about watching a doctor in our own land do the same, and after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. He stood again, this time moving to the head of the bed to examine my eyes, tongue, and then the beds of my fingernails. Looking for what? Signs of fever, infection, dehydration? Oh, or that body humours thing? I was surprised when he didn’t ask for a urine sample. Apparently, they figured out a lot by the odor, appearanceeven taste-of a person’s urine.

  “You are faring far better than I expected,” he said at last. “I will leave you a bottle of tonic, which should ease the pain a bit.” He bent and pulled a clay bottle from his bag. “Take a mouthful now.”

  “What is it?”

  The little doctor frowned and looked back at Marcello.

  “Gabriella, this man is one of the finest physicians in all of Siena,” he said, looking as if I was embarrassing him. “He has long tended Romana’s own family.”

  Oh, great. I see what you’re saying. If the dude is good enough for ROMANA, then he’s certainly more than okay for me, right?

  I barely kept myself from rolling my eyes as I reached for the bottle. I took a swig and nearly gagged at the foul, grasslike taste in my mouth, forcing myself to swallow. It burned all the way down my throat. The little doctor went back to his bag and rifled through twenty ton of parchment packets, pulling one out. He carefully unfolded the parchment and took a pinch of the powder. “This may hurt a bit, but it will guard against infection.”

  “What is that?”

  His small eyes narrowed in my direction, as if to say, Who are you to keep questioning me? No doubt Marcello had been true to his word and summoned only the best from Siena. But we were in the middle of 1332. I had a right to know what the man was putting on me, even if I had just swallowed some unknown tonic.

  “Lady Gabriella has some prowess in the healing arts,” Marcello interceded.

  The doctor sniffed. “It is my own blend of powders, a secret recipe,” he said.

  I studied him. “All right,” I said, bracing myself for the pain.

  But when he sprinkled it on my wound, I didn’t feel anything. My eyes widened. For the first time since I got injured, I didn’t feel anything at all. I was numb from the chest down. It was a little disconcerting. But mostly, it was a relief. I took a deep breath, my first in days.

  Gradually, I figured out that it hadn’t been what he’d sprinkled on top of me; it had been the tonic.

  “Please, Dr. Macchione. I am most curious. What was in that tonic?”

  “I cannot tell,” he said with a wink. “One doesn’t become the finest physician in Siena if one shares all his secrets, right?” He placed his envelope back in his bag and then looked at me. “It is easing your pain?”

  “You could say that.”

  He smiled an eensy smile, just a half second of a tiny upturning of his thin lips. “I shall be within reach, m’lady. You only need summon me. I shall return this evening to administer more medicine to your wound.”

  “Thank you,” I said, watching him scurry past Marcello and out the door.

  Marcello looked back at me with a grin. “Fortino and I would be in your debt if you would allow us to bring you out to the games. The people-” He paused to look over his shoulder, as if he could see through the stones-“they shall not rest until they lay eyes upon you. There is much concern over the wounded she-wolf”

  “Oh, m’lord, I do not know if I can bear it,” I said. Though seeing him here made me want to watch him out in the games. To see him wield a sword one more time. Do his man thing. So I could remember, when I got home. Maybe I could even get Lia to sketch him.

  He took a step into the room, lifting a hand as if beseeching me. “We’ll carry you in. You’ll watch, like Cleopatra, lounging upon her settee.”

  I lifted a brow. “That would be quite dramatic.”

  “Evangelia has agreed to give a demonstration of her archery skills,” he said, looking to my sister.

  “I hardly had a choice,” she said, raising her hands.

  “Nay,” Marcello said with a smile. “Indeed, I believe it will be the most interesting part of the games. Everyone is dying to best her.”

  I smiled then, too. “I must attend, then. But only if I may wager a small fortune before the ev
ent takes place.”

  His smile grew wider-because I agreed to go? Or because of my dare? “You shall have a difficult time finding takers. Most want to place their hopes on Evangelias shoulders.”

  “Except one,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  “Pay Lord Foraboschi no mind,” he said. But I think we both noticed his smile disappear. “He has long been the champion when it comes to archery. He needs to learn how to gracefully abdicate his position when faced with a more skilled challenger.”

  I flicked my eyes in Lids direction. She was nervous.

  Lord Foraboschi. The creepy, tall guy who hung out with Romana and her entourage. The guy who shot our prisoners while they were tied up. I shuddered involuntarily. But Marcello had looked away, dismissing my concern. “Your days of fear are over. There are only friends among us. Loyal Sienese.”

  I glanced at Lia again. She clearly didn’t agree with him.

  “You will attend?” Marcello asked, his eyes on me. It was more of a command than a question. And I felt powerless to say anything but yes.

  Light filled his eyes, and he dared to finally cross the room to my side. “I’ll send servants in an hour for you. There will be shade, and if you grow weary, simply lift this,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, “and I’ll have you returned to your room immediately.” Staring down at me, he rubbed the side of my cheek with the back of his hand.

  I nodded, breaking our intense gaze, and then closed my eyes as if falling asleep again.

  He started, as if shocked out of his reverie, and turned to go. “The gown?” he whispered to Lia.

  “I shall attempt to get it on her,” she said. “But I make no promises, m’lord.”

  He left then, without another word, and I opened my eyes to look at Lia. She was staring at me, chin in hand, shaking her head. She came over to my bed and sat on the edge. “It can’t happen,” she whispered, looking over my shoulder to the doorway and back. “You realize that, right?”