The Medieval Hearts Series

by Laura Kinsale

  She had no desire to linger until her mistress returned from the king’s audience, having leave to go at once to Guy. He was to take the horses to some castle Cara knew not where, but not too far away; he had a letter commanding that he be given charge of the stables and stud there, a great advancement, he had told her, an unbelievable stroke of fortune. He had said her mistress must think a great deal of her, to give him such an elevated place after so little time in her service. They could marry immediately, thanks to her benevolence, without waiting for him to become established as he had feared.

  Cara was not foolish enough to suppose that Princess Melanthe loved her so very well. Such favor did not come free. Cara had a charge on her—but only one, and not difficult. She was to make certain that, after Princess Melanthe and Gian had left the country, Allegreto certainly freed the poor chained madman in the abandoned brewery. When she saw that it was so with her own eyes, Cara was to write a letter herself to her mistress, and somewhere in it, that letter was to contain three times the words by the grace of God, and then the princess could be sure.

  Cara thought that when she could pen the last "God" of the three, it would truly be by His grace. She made a cross and said a prayer of thanks, begging Him to let her somehow free her sister, too. And she felt a strange certainty that it would be so. Allegreto had promised, and against all reason, Cara believed him.

  But there was the way Gian had looked at her. She knew she had aroused his suspicions. If only he had not mentioned Allegreto to her. But surely, he would only think that she disliked him speaking of love with another, when Guy was so near.

  She finished filling the chest, spread strawberry leaves and rose petals over the top layer of linen, and hastened downstairs to call a page to bind and carry it. The princess would expect the barges to be loaded by the time she returned, but there was nothing to stay Cara now that her part was done. She was to meet Guy at the smith, where all of the horses were getting their shoes set before the journey to their new quarters.

  For a moment, on the stairs, Cara had a moment’s vision of what life might be without the princess and Gian and Allegreto. Without thinking each thought in fear of their response, or listening each moment for some fatal word. At this time tomorrow, they would be gone. She would be almost alone in an alien land, but they would be gone.

  A tremulous joy filled her. She took a deep breath, thinking of Guy with secret pleasure, and hastened down the curve of the stairs.

  At the bottom Gian waited. He stood in the open door, looking out at the barges and the river. His cape swept about him as he turned to her, the golden bosses clinking heavily against one another. "Donna Cara," he said, smiling. "Well met! It is thou I came to see."

  TWENTY-SIX

  She had thought of throwing herself in the river. She had thought of calling out to the one boat they had passed. She had thought of refusing to speak, pretending she did not recognize the place. She thought of everything, but in the end she only wept.

  She could not lie. She had never been able to lie perfectly, and with Gian she was beyond even being able to think. Her sister, he murmured, and she babbled out what he asked to know. Guy, he said, and she went with him when he commanded it, without a word to anyone, without a scream or a plea, a rabbit carried helpless away by the wolf.

  He would kill the poor mad knight who loved her mistress. She did not want to see it, and put up her greatest resistance at the old stone wharf, half-hidden in reeds. But he laid his fingers close about her neck and crushed her throat until she gave in to pain and fear. Gasping air into her bruised throat, she crawled out of the boat and led him up the path through the reeds.

  The wicket door to the brewery passage was unlocked, standing slightly open. Cara had a moment of wild hope. She drew a breath—a scream, a warning—but Gian’s hand came across her mouth. He stroked his fingers over her neck, pressing lightly.

  "Silence," he said into her ear. "Please me. That is thy only hope now. This open door—has he escaped?"

  She shook her head.

  "Then someone else is here. The princess?"

  She wet her lips and made a small shake.

  "Thy Englishman?"

  Cara shook her head violently. Her nose seemed full of the scented oil that he used. Allegreto’s voice drifted from the wicket door, far away and echoing, a faint derisive laugh.

  His father did not move. Gian held her. He turned his head. Allegreto’s lazy tones were beyond doubting, and yet Gian squeezed her throat and hissed, "Who is it?"

  Then he suddenly shoved her down through the door. She fell onto her knees in the sloped passage with a yelp, her palms scraping. Gian had already passed her, dragging her up with him.

  "Allegreto!" he shouted, a sound of savage anguish that reverberated down the passage and rolled back from behind them. The brewery door hung a little open; he hurled it wide and stood upon the landing, staring down at the huge chamber: Allegreto beside the well, the mad knight with his fettered arm resting against the wall. The last of Gian’s voice still muttered frenzy back from the hollow spaces.

  "Allegreto," he whispered.

  In her desperate hope Cara had been glad to see the doors ajar. Allegreto, who could frighten demons—but he did not move. He sat on the edge of the well, his eyes on the water. An orange rind dropped from his motionless fingers. It fell far down below his feet and hit the water with a faint plink, a bright patch floating on the surface of a huge black moon.

  Gian said softly, "Look at me."

  Still Allegreto did not move. He closed his eyes.

  "Not even this?" Gian said. "Not even this that I ask thee? My son." His teeth bared. "My son. Look at me."

  Allegreto turned his face upward. He saw Cara. A faint sound, like a dreamer’s whimper, came from his throat.

  "Now stand up."

  "My lord—"

  "Do not speak to me. I do not wish to hear thy voice. Stand up."

  Allegreto raised himself. He wore a sword and dagger, but he touched neither. He stood up, and then, as if his limbs failed him, he fell onto his knees.

  Gian turned to Cara. With a courtly gesture he directed her down the stairs. She went in helpless tears, the only sound in the great chamber. He brought her before his kneeling son.

  "Donna Cara—look upon a great love," he said. "For thou, he has betrayed his father. For thou, he has slain himself."

  "Oh, no," she mumbled. "No."

  "No? Is it not for thee? But it must be. He looks at thee—thou art somewhat fair, no great beauty, but such sweetness, such innocent light—and his heart turns to treachery. But what has he bought with it? Thy safety, thy life...ah...those poisoned mussels, that he told me you were so clever as to save your mistress from. By hap you did not save her? I have been a little stupid. I have loved my son, and been stupid."

  Allegreto was silent, his eyes glazed dark and empty.

  "But haps I will forgive him. Perhaps someone else has been more false even than he. My betrothed was in such concern to haste me toward home." Gian turned his back on his son and walked to where Princess Melanthe’s knight stood watching. "I may thank what wit I retain, I suppose, that I am not chained up like this poor hound, to await her pleasure. Does she love him?"

  He observed the knight, who looked back with a grim and even stare.

  "Does she love thee?" he asked in French.

  "She is my wife."

  "Nay, but does she love thee?"

  "Ask her."

  Gian tilted his head. "She denies thee. And yet—thou art here, instead of under a pile of dirt where I would have thee. She forgives Donna Cara for poisoned mussels, because she can buy my son’s service by it. She has lain in bed beside thee, and feared for thee, and lied for thee!" He put his fists to his head. "Melanthe!"

  The knight moved. His steel fetter caught light, a flash and slam, the chain hitting the end of its length a bare instant before it would have struck Gian’s temple. The sound went around the chamber in discharges like hands c
lapping.

  Gian recovered from his recoil, standing beyond the other man’s reach, his hand on his sword.

  "He is mad," Cara said desperately. "My mistress says that he’s mad. She is to marry thee. Don’t kill him."

  Gian’s attention came to her, and she regretted speaking. She thought of the stairs so close behind her, of Guy at the smith, waiting for her, and new tears blurred her eyes.

  "Why, Allegreto, what a kind heart thy maiden has. Did I say she was not worthy of thee? She is too good for thee."

  His son said nothing. He stayed on his knees, his gaze on the stone pavement. Gian walked around the well and stood before him.

  "There, I will not run the poor hound through, dost thou see, Donna Cara? I cannot resist a lady’s pleading. Verily—verily, thou art far too good for my black-hearted son."

  Allegreto was trembling, breathing as if he would weep and could not.

  "Look at him. So frightened. Shall I forgive him, Donna Cara? His life is in thy hands."

  "Oh, yes! Forgive him!"

  "Come, rise, my sweet son." Gian touched his shoulder. Allegreto jerked as if he’d been pricked. He rose to his feet, but there was no reprieve or relief in his face. He seemed to have gone beyond any thought at all, closing his eyes when Gian took him by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to each cheek.

  Gian stepped back, shoving his son hard away. Cara screamed, watching in disbelief as Allegreto reached and failed and fell, his arms outstretched toward his father. He disappeared at the edge. A moment later the water broke in immense echoes.

  She ran forward without thinking, looking over the edge. His head came up, his shoulders, the water surface shattered into silver and jet. She grabbed for the bucket and rope that hung from the huge crane, but Gian jerked her back. He crushed both her wrists together in his hand.

  Allegreto held his head out of the black water, pushing his hair from his eyes. He looked up at them. The blankness was gone from his eyes. Water plashed softly as he kept himself afloat.

  Gian walked to the edge, still holding Cara. She struggled, terrified that he would throw her in, too, but he did not. He only stood, looking straight down the wall into the water. Allegreto swam toward them. His upturned face looked deathly white against the dark liquid. He put his hand on the wall, searching it.

  Gian shook his head. He pulled Cara with him, walking around a quarter of the well, still staring down the edge. Allegreto followed, as if a magnet drew him. His hands slid on the well-dressed stone, finding no hold.

  She realized that Gian was making certain he could not. Slowly he circled the whole well. When he came to the water bucket and rope, he picked up the bucket and set it beyond reach of the knight, who watched them from his bolted chains.

  No one spoke. Cara thought it must be a nightmare, but for the pain as she pulled and twisted to free her hands. When Gian forced her to the stairs and up, she tried to look over her shoulder. Allegreto seemed a ghost in the huge well, his wet face already confused with the shining black water in her eyes. His father closed the door, and the one beyond it, driving down the bars.

  * * *

  The bright morning outside burst upon her. It seemed for a moment that it could not be summer, and day, but should still be that dim cold twilight they had left behind. The numb burn in her hands was like the speechless horror in her brain. It was day; there were birds and grass and the river sparkling.

  Down among the reeds Gian stopped, loosing her hands. "Now, Donna Cara," he said reasonably, "for the sake of thy sister, and thy Englishman, thou wilt forget this morning, and this place forever."

  In the summer warmth it already seemed a dream, and his calm voice seemed part of it. She was stricken with dumbness, like a sleeper unable to speak.

  "Thou hast been a brave child, and done well for thy sister. We will have her safe from the Riata for thee. And thou hast helped thy husband, too." He led her up onto the wharf. "For coming with us, I’ll make him a greater man than he dreamed of being."

  The boat waited, tied. Cara stood on the stone quay, her toes over the edge. Gian let go of her and pulled the boat closer.

  She heard her name. Caraaah—faint and hoarse and distant, a howl of fear and pleading.

  Gian heard it, too. He straightened, looking at her with a faint concern, as if he worried for her. "Come. We all must make our choices, Donna Cara."

  She jerked away from him. He grabbed, catching the liripipe on her sleeve as she flung herself toward the path. She felt the fabric part, tearing loose, freeing her with an unexpectedness that made her stumble. He shouted; there was a great plash behind her, and suddenly she had a chance. She scrambled, not looking back, not thinking, only running.

  Oh hurry oh hurry oh hurry, the sound of her own breath obscured anything else. She did not know how long it took him to get onto the wharf, how close he came behind. She hiked her skirt and slipped and ran hurry hurry her mind on nothing but the bucket, the door—could she bar it behind her? Allegreto must have the key to the knight’s fetters—if he would not fight his father, the mad knight surely would.

  * * *

  Ruck strained against his steel bonds with impatience as he watched the weeping maid fumble the bucket and the crane.

  "Give it to me!" he snapped. "Give me the rope! God’s blood, you can’t raise him on that thing!"

  She ceased trying to work the heavy machine and ran to him, panting, with the bucket. He did not need the bucket—what wit she had appeared to have completely deserted her—but for escaping Navona and barring the door against him, Ruck blessed her with every blessing that he knew. He tossed the bucket into the well and braced the rope across his steel boot, taking a loop around his arm fetter.

  "Now!" he exclaimed.

  The girl was down on her knees, crying and urging Allegreto in Italian. The rope strained, slipping a little as it took the youth’s weight. Ruck heard water surge and plash.

  He held firm with the boot and his arm against the hard jerks of Allegreto’s climb.

  The boy’s black head appeared. He grasped the rope above the edge and heaved himself up. With a grimace he thrust onto the stone on his hands and knees, water spilling off his dragging clothes.

  "Where is he?" Frenzy edged Allegreto’s words as he looked toward the door. "Where is he?"

  "He fell in the river! I ran, but he’ll be here any moment!"

  Allegreto stood with his eyes on the door. "Mary, oh, Mary—save me."

  "The key!" Ruck slammed his arm against the chains. "Dost thou have it?"

  The youth was so gone in terror that he stared at Ruck without comprehension for an instant before he looked down and fumbled the key from his soaked wallet. His hands, dripping and white, were shaking hard enough that he could not get the iron in the lock.

  "Keep thy head, whelp," Ruck said, gripping the boy’s arm.

  Allegreto nodded wordlessly. He stabbed at the lock twice, and at last got it free. Ruck pulled the key from his fingers and opened the boot himself.

  "Give me thy sword." Ruck reached to Allegreto’s belt and swept the light weapon from its sheath. He made for the door, threw off the bar, and flung it open without caring what was behind it. Released from seven nights and a hellish death chained in this pit, he was willing to slay anyone to get out of it, and more than pleased to make Gian Navona the first.

  * * *

  All three of them saw it at once, in the reeds at the edge of the current. Donna Cara made a garbled sound.

  "I heard him behind me." Her voice was shaking. "I didn’t stop."

  Allegreto said nothing. He stood for an instant, and then threw down his dagger, plunging into reeds and water up to his waist. He caught the white cape and pulled frantically.

  It was too late. Ruck crossed himself and helped haul the body up onto the shore. The pale velvet dragged in the grass, heavy with golden coins and besants. Allegreto dropped to his knees. He clutched his father’s hand and squeezed it convulsively between both of his.


  Navona’s half-closed eyes stared at nothing. Ruck was still full of battle blood, his teeth clenched as if he would swing a sword at the enemy at any instant.

  "Take Cara away," Allegreto said. "You must go, both of you."

  Ruck hesitated, scowling down at the body. He knelt and pushed the man over on his side, with a thought to pressing the water from his lungs. But there was no motion, no struggle or life beneath his hands.

  "Go to the princess, before she leaves." Allegreto’s head was bent, his voice muffled. "Go to your Englishman."

  Donna Cara plucked at Ruck’s shoulder. "Let us go, sir," she whispered. "Please. I’ll show you where your horse and gear are hid."

  Too sudden it was, too brief and effortless a thing to embrace. The river lapped softly at Navona’s feet, glittering in sun and shadow between the reeds. Ruck thought of the black well behind him, and looked at Allegreto’s wet hair, and marked the cross on himself again.

  "Go!" Allegreto looked up fiercely, his eyes drowning. "Leave me with him."

  * * *

  Melanthe stood in the screen passage of the near-empty house. "My books?"

  Old Sodorini pulled at his sleeves gravely. "On your own bark, your grace, but not where you may reach them. I am sure, your grace, if we only had another week—"

  "Thou dost not have another week. Nor another day."

  Sodorini clung to the notion that he was directing the move instead of his nephew, but Melanthe had been no such fool as to suppose that he could have the household packed and leaving on close notice. The hall was already cleared and the chests aboard only because his nephew, who had been displaced from his position as steward for the journey to Bowland, was back in authority. But Old Sodorini was loath to give up his moment of glory.

  "I fear for the hurried way things have been packed," he said ominously. "My lady’s grace will find nothing at her convenience."