The next day saw them refreshed and their spirits buoyed, with only a day between them and safety, revenge for their slain loved ones, possible remuneration for lost property. In Siena, much might be made right again. At least Daria hoped it was so.
She made her way to the stables, several blocks from the inn, and watched Gianni saddle her horse, reaching under the mare’s belly and pulling a strap tight with quick, practiced moves. The grim set of his mouth told her he was still on guard. He caught her eye and tried to smile.
Daria cocked her head and looked up to him. “You are still worried that Abramo and Vincenzo might try to intercept us?”
“The only thing worse than having them about is not having them about,” he said, reaching to caress her cheek. “I do not like it that we have lost track of them.”
“Again, might they not be in Paris as we speak?”
“They might. But I think there is a greater chance that they are nearby. They could have traveled up the Rhône to fool us and hopped the first ship back to Marseilles.”
“Then shall we not purchase the services of several mercenaries to help aid our progress?”
Gianni smiled and turned aside, so she could see beyond him. Twelve knights, bearing the Adimari coat of arms, were mounting behind him. “Courtesy of the Nine,” Gianni said, studying her face.
Marco. Marco had sent them aid.
“Shall I send them away out of jealousy?” he asked.
Daria caught his teasing eye. The captain in him would never allow him to send away men-at-arms when he was so ill at ease. But he asked as her husband. She laid a hand on his chest and looked into his eyes. “Husband, Marco was dear to me, for many years, and we must forge the ways of friendship now. But you are my one true love, the man I shall grow old beside, the man with whom I shall raise our child.”
“Children,” he said, with a sparkle in his eye.
She shot a grin up to him, but his smile was fading. Daria turned to follow his gaze and saw Tessa, moving toward them as if in a daze. “Tess . . .”
The girl looked up at her and shook her head, clearly troubled. “My lady, I loathe to be the bearer of bad news, but I believe Lord Amidei is about.”
Daria turned toward her and took her hands. Surely not. Not when they were so close to home. “Tess, could it be something else?”
Tessa searched the ground before her, eyes going back and forth as if looking for a lost key. She swallowed hard and shook her head, drawing her eyes reluctantly upward to look Daria in the eye. Gianni edged closer, holding his breath. “Nay, it must be. Or one as evil as he. He is not here now, but he has been here recently.”
“You are certain he is not here now,” Gianni confirmed, waving the Gifted nearer. Vito and Ugo came at a trot, Gaspare led Josephine forward, and the rest followed.
Tessa was thinking, feeling, searching. “Nay. He is not here now,” she repeated, “or anywhere close anyway. But he was here.”
“Why did you not sense him last night?” Gianni asked softly.
“I wasn’t here, in the stables. I felt the barest whisper of him, but told myself it was a dream, a concern, a memory, not truth.”
Gianni stared at her for a long moment, then eyed the rest of them. “We have no choice but to treat this as God’s own warning for us. If Amidei was here, then he is likely ahead of us. His intent shall be to cut us off from Siena, to keep us from reaching the Nine, from testifying against him.” With a cut of his chin, he sent Vito to go and bring the other knights to join them.
In a short time, all were gathered with them. Daria felt as if she were moving through fog, trying to comprehend that there might be yet another encounter with Abramo Amidei ahead of them. Surely not, Lord, she cried. Surely not! Save us, Father! Keep your enemy from our path and preserve us!
Piero moved forward and turned in a slow circle to look each of them in the eye. He understood the collective panic of the women, the concern of the men. “The Lord has seen this day. He has seen it. He knows what is to come, and none of it is a surprise to him. Should he allow it, we shall trust it, always praising his name. We do the greatest damage to our enemy by keeping to this path, always praising our God, no matter what we face—trial, trauma, or even death. Dulcius post tribulationes.”
“ ‘Sweeter after difficulty,’ ” Daria translated.
“Sweeter after difficulty,” Piero returned. “The greater the trial, the more our Lord can triumph. No matter what is ahead of us, we shall not abandon our faith.”
Daria looked to her priest. “If we do not reach Siena, justice shall not be served. We must reach Siena.”
He eyed her calmly. “If we do not reach Siena, God shall have other things for us to accomplish. We must leave justice to the Lord, trusting that when and if it is wise, he shall allow us to take part in his plan. Ultimately, our enemy’s fate is in his hands, yes?”
Daria stubbornly said nothing. His words were truth, but she did not have to agree to them. Aloud, anyway.
Piero turned away from Daria and looked to the knights of the Nine. “Well are we thankful for your arrival, good knights. Please know that if our enemy obstructs our passage, if he engages us, his intent shall be to kill every one of us.”
The captain of the twelve, Ruggero, took a step closer and eyed Tessa, the boys, Agata, blind Josephine. “Surely you overstate your case.”
Piero raised his eyebrows and sighed heavily. “I assure you that is incorrect. If we are attacked, you must defend us as if we are all people about to die. There is good cause for the Nine to send twelve of you to watch over us. Our enemy is very real and his intent, deadly. Do you believe this?”
The captain stared at Piero, sizing him up. He undoubtedly saw what Daria did—a small man, with the shaved head of a priest, no chin, small shoulders—but a wisdom behind his eyes that could not be denied. “You have my word that we shall defend you unto death,” he said solemnly.
“I shall have your prayers,” Piero returned, smiling at the captain. “Come, brothers and sisters. Let us huddle here together and ask for God to set his angels before, behind, and beside us, and to get us yet to safety.”
They prayed together, no doubt drawing curious stares from passersby, but ignored them, aware of only their God, his cause, and his intent for their lives.
Afterward, Captain Ruggero drew a hasty map in the hardened mud of the street. “If Amidei is ahead of us, he shall hope to draw us into this valley here,” he said, tapping a segment with his stick.
“Before we cross the pass,” Daria said.
The knight looked up to her. “Indeed.”
It was the main passageway, south of San Gimignano, and the fastest route to Siena. But it was true. From the hills that pervaded the region, it would be easy to lie in wait for them and ambush them. There were frequent patrols that made their way across the road, intent on ridding the area of robbers, but it was notoriously difficult, because of the terrain.
“We could follow the Cecine,” Vito said. “My brother and I know those valleys well. We grew up hunting there.”
Ugo nodded. “We might make Massa Maritima before nightfall.”
“Then approach Siena from the southern route,” said Gianni.
“It is a good plan,” the captain said, cocking his head to one side. “Unless your enemy is aware that you have passed by and gives chase. A group with women and children will quickly be overtaken by men in that rough country.”
Daria waited for Gaspare to notice her stare, the question in her eyes. He nodded.
“We shall pray that our enemy doesn’t recognize people of the light, moving in shadow among the mountains. Or at least until we are well past them,” she said with a grin. “And we shall pray that our steeds are fleet of foot, making up any difference in man versus woman or child. You, Ruggero, and your men, are in the company of the Gifted. That means that our God shall go before us, beside us, behind us, and never abandon us, no matter what enemy we face. Now let us be on our way. The sun gai
ns on the horizon.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“IT is not possible that they were more than three days behind us,” Abramo said, standing beside Ciro and Vincenzo, looking out to a setting sun.
“Mayhap they tarried, celebrating with Les Baux before resuming their journey here.”
“That would put them overland to Marseilles, adding another two days,” Ciro said.
Abramo paced back and forth, hands behind his back, eyeing the horizon again and again. “Send two scouts. One back to Volterra, to Pisa, if necessary, to find out if they have been seen. The other to San Camano.”
Vincenzo stared at him. “You do not believe they would go the southern route. That would add two days!”
Abramo cocked a brow. “If they knew we laid in wait for them, yes. I believe they would.”
Vincenzo shook his head. “That is a treacherous road. Difficult for men, let alone women and children.”
“Again, if it circumvented battle with said women and children, would you not take it yourself?” He paced back and forth, his frustration lessening as a plan formed in his mind. “It is what they have done. I am certain of it. If they passed us, they might have done so within hours. Vincenzo, take eight men and two of my archers and head out. If you find them, send back a rider to tell us, and find the means to get ahead of them, trap them, until we can join you. If they are still a day away, I shall send word to you when and if we encounter them here.”
“But m’lord, darkness is soon upon us.”
“Yes,” Abramo grinned. “Which means they shall soon set up camp and light a fire, making them all the more simple to find.” He stared hard at Vincenzo, daring him to question him further.
“As you wish, m’lord,” Vincenzo said with a tip of his head. He immediately moved toward his horse, calling to eight of the men, two of the archers to make ready. He tied his satchel and bedroll to the saddle, then swung upward, feeling the pain in his hips, and slid his sword into the saddle sheath. He stared at it. So the moment was at hand. Abramo, and the master, had made it clear that Daria and everyone dear to her was to die. He had killed her loved ones before. But could he truly kill her?
“Baron?” Abramo asked, suddenly beside his horse, looking up at him as if he could hear his thoughts as dialogue in a play.
Vincenzo started and sat straight up in his saddle. “Yes, m’lord?”
“This will soon be at an end. I understand it is taxing. See it through, and we shall avoid the trauma of a trial and regain what we are already losing. With the Gifted out of the way, we will experience new heights. There shall be nothing to stand in our way. All, all, Vincenzo, shall be ours. The master wishes it.”
“And we shall not disappoint him,” Vincenzo said, trying to give him a smile. But his heart was not in it, nor was his mind. He looked to the west, to the setting sun, and tried to think about the task at hand, his mission.
But all he could think of was his younger days with Ermanno Adimari and Giulio d’Angelo, when all three men had new marriages, none of them older than twenty-two. That year Daria and Marco had been born, and the fields produced an unseen bounty and business moved at a frenetic pace, coming nearly faster than any of them could manage. Food had tasted well in those days, and wine flowed. There had been feasts and celebrations. He had known clerics and nobles as friends. He hadn’t been wealthy. But life had been rich.
Vincenzo sighed and turned down the road that would lead them along the Cecina River and the numerous mountain villages. It was so long ago. All so very long ago.
GIANNI glanced back at Daria, seeing what she had seen. The children were hunched over, falling asleep in their saddles, nearly falling from their horses. Dusk, so short this time of year, was soon gone, and they were miles yet from Massa Maritima. A recent flood had taken a high, narrow bridge, sending them on a circuitous route about a valley, costing them precious hours.
Her husband sighed and whistled using two fingers, bringing back the knights who were half a mile ahead of them, and bringing forward those who guarded their rear flank. When all had gathered, he said, “We shall make camp here.”
He turned to eight of the Sienese knights. “Go in groups of four, and make camp on either ridge, to our west and to our east. If you see anything”—he paused to look intently at each of them—“anything at all, even if it’s a horse without a rider, I want one of you to come and tell me. Take turns at rest, never allowing yourselves to sleep when it is you who must guard our flank through the watches of the night. It is imperative you not fail us. Understood?”
They agreed and set off, bushwhacking their way up the hillsides, with the agreement to return at sunup. “Captain Ruggero, I respectfully ask that you and the remaining three set up camp a quarter mile behind us. It is up that valley that I most fear we shall be pursued. I’ll send Vito and Ugo ahead, to guard our southern flank.”
“It shall be done.”
Gianni reached out and clasped the captain, arm to arm, then with Vito and Ugo. Suddenly the Gifted were alone.
Daria got down off the horse, her thighs aching with the effort. Was it bad for the babe within her to be riding so much? Were her mother alive and with her, she knew any horseback riding would be banned. But as Piero had said, God had seen this day before them, and knew of her pregnancy as well. She would have to trust the child’s life in the hands of her God, just as she did her own.
THE guards to the east were strong and vigilant. Two nearly escaped them, undoubtedly intent on warning the others. Had it not been for a waxing moon and Abramo’s deadly archers, they would have slipped into the dark forest and sounded the alarm, and the Gifted, slumbering below, might have been alerted. One had been crawling forward toward the edge of the cliff, as if he intended to hurl himself over the edge as a last, dire warning, when Vincenzo reached him and slit his throat.
Vincenzo edged forward on the cliff overlook to gaze down upon their quarry. A small fire sent smoke upward. Neither this group of guards, nor the one barely visible in the moonlight on the western ridge, had a fire, intending to blend into the landscape as all good scouts and guards should. But he had known they were there. Abramo had trained him how to smell them on the wind, close his eyes and sense the master’s leading. The Gifted had been easy to find, their scent of oranges and cloves discernible. He had assumed they would have set up guards. He chastised himself for not expecting trained warriors.
On the far side, he thought he saw a knight pause and look their way.
“Walk back and forth, as if on guard,” he hissed to one of the men behind him.
Immediately the man did as he bid, and from the far side of the valley, mayhap an eighth of a mile, he thought the other knight resumed his own pacing watch.
Vincenzo eased back from the cliff overlook, confident now that their presence had not been detected, and moved among the dead knights. Sienese. Marco Adimari’s men. Sent to guard Daria de Capezzana and the others, all in an effort to bring him down. Take away all he had worked so hard to attain.
Try as he might to use this to muster his courage, his desire to kill every last one of them, all Vincenzo felt stirring was a deep and profound sense of weariness. It was as if his heart had ceased beating within his chest, and yet he still moved. He could feel nothing . . . not rage, not joy, not greed, not peace. No hope. No love. Nothing. Hollow. The abyss.
A shiver ran through him, shaking him out of his dark reverie, just as one of the archers moved toward him. “Shall we take them now? We can reach them and escape back up here before any of their guards can reach us.”
Vincenzo turned away, as if to look downward again, but they were away from the edge, out of view.
“Baron? The master would be so pleased to arrive and find his task complete.”
Why not? he asked himself. He cared not whether he lived or died now. Why not carry through this task and hold on to honor, if nothing else?
“Yes,” he said. “We shall move in a few hours, when sleep calls most
to them. But you leave the Duchess to me. I saw her the day she was born. I shall usher her into death myself.”
TESSA, who could only fall asleep directly beside Daria this night, stirred again and again, as if fighting someone in her dreams. As weary as Daria was, Tessa’s constant movement finally awakened her, and she opened her eyes to study the girl, visible in the soft glow of the fire’s embers. The child’s eyebrows lifted high, as if she were staring at someone, then curved into a frown of terror. Tessa pushed back on the bedroll behind her head, as if she could sink into it, escape.
Daria knew that expression. Her heartbeat raced, and a wave of fear washed through her body, sending her upright.
She looked about madly.
Gianni glanced at her, sitting on a rock in the shadows, sword across his knees, and then nodded up the path.
Daria looked that way in confusion. That was where four guards lay in wait. All she could see was an inky nothingness, with the firelight behind them and the moon now gone. They were still an hour away from dawn.
Gianni motioned her away from the fire. Daria looked about. They had lain with their heads toward the fire, alternating men with women and children. But their warriors, other than Hasani and Gianni, were at their flanks. If a flank had been breached . . . how long would it take for aid to come? Hasani stood in the shadows at the far side of the fire, curved sword in hand. He returned her look. It would be a long hour before daybreak came.
Tessa groaned and then sat up screaming, eyes wide. Two arrows came through the forest, but Gianni had already rolled to his left and Hasani dodged right, barely avoiding its deadly track. Gianni whistled, high and shrill, calling in the knights at their flanks, hopefully in time. The sound blessedly echoed through the canyon walls, cresting even the river’s rush.
Daria looked around madly for cover. She had seen, too often, how good these archers were. Surely they would not miss twice. She grabbed Tessa and pushed her to the ground, huddling over her as another arrow, intended for the girl, came whizzing over her shoulder blades. Piero’s words of warning sang in her ears. These were not robbers or kidnappers. They were assassins.
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