They shared another word above me, then Marcello climbed down the rope. I wanted to reach up to him, touch him, but my strength was gone. “Mar…cello,” I whispered.
He stared down at me, his handsome face now visible in the faint light of a torch far below us. “Lower us down,” he said, speaking to Lord Greco but still staring at me as if I were dying in his arms, like that fateful night I almost succumbed to the poison. “I came as quickly as I could,” he said.
We lurched, and I gasped, feeling what I had now dreaded for two days—falling. But we came quickly to a stop again. Marcello looked up and then nodded. We resumed our descent, this time more steadily.
Distantly, I worried that he might fall, but he appeared as strong as ever.
I saw the torches the night watchmen carried, along the far wall, before Marcello did. But I didn’t have the strength to try to warn him. They paused, obviously catching sight of my lowering cage and the form atop it, and hovered, staring across the acres of cobblestone, as if to make certain their eyes did not deceive them in the dark. My eyes met Marcello’s, and I let my head fall to the right, trying to point with my head, but he did not get it.
The bells rang then. “The prisoner! Someone attempts to free her! Knights to arms!”
Marcello swore under his breath, jumped to the ground before my cage hit it, and worked furiously at the knot that held the door shut.
I let my head roll right again, watching the knights run toward us as though I were watching a movie unfold.
“Gabriella,” he said urgently, “can you move?”
I tried—really put my mind to it—but was only able to lift one hand.
“It’s all right,” he said grimly, finally drawing back and ramming the knot with his sword, taking out a branch at the same time. He threw open the door and dragged me out, then lifted me into his arms. I looked past his shoulder to the knights, now just twenty feet away, heard the singing of arrows flying toward them, and watched the first two fall. The others charged on, two remaining behind with their fallen comrades.
They all shouted.
So much shouting. It rang through my head like a pained echo in a deep canyon.
But then we were through the arch, Marcello hurrying as fast as he could, with my dead weight in his arms. Behind us, I could see two archers dressed from head to toe in black, fending off those who pursued us. Was one Lia?
“She shall catch up,” Marcello grunted, reading my mind. “Do not fret.”
He turned a corner, then paused and whipped around the corner again, his back to the wall, panting.
I could hear them then, another group of guards, coming our way at a dead run. Marcello glanced around, looking for a place to hide, then set me abruptly on the ground as the boots drew nearer. He yanked a skin from his belt loop and hurriedly uncorked the mouth of it, pouring some precious water into my mouth. Then he set it on my belly, rose and drew his sword at the same time, turning around the corner to strike the first knight in the midsection, the second at the shoulder.
His archers were there, then, taking more down in rapid succession.
I thought I heard Lia’s voice, then Luca’s, but I couldn’t be sure. There was a distinct possibility that I was imagining all of this, I assessed distantly. Hallucinating.
In minutes, I was back in Marcello’s arms, with no signs of pursuit, even with the bells of alarm still ringing in the plaza. We slowed and dipped into a covered alley, arches crisscrossing above us. Marcello lowered me to the ground again and gave me more to drink. I felt the water run through me like rain through sand—I could actually feel it flowing through me—making me believe it all might be real. My body screamed for more. “Easy, easy,” he said soothingly. “Not too fast.”
Lia and Luca pulled off their black robes, and I saw that my sister was in a pretty gown, Luca in a nice tunic. “Just four young people out past curfew,” Marcello said with a wink.
“With the Bride of Siena in our midst,” Lia said, staring down at me in consternation. “That dress won’t draw any attention.” She knelt beside me. “Are you injured, Gabi?”
I shook my head. “In need of food and water,” I said, my voice still croaky but at least working again.
“Your thigh, ribs?”
“Still as they were,” I said. The headache was back, throttling my brain from one side to the other, as if complaining that the meager amount of water was not enough. It made me forget about my other ailments.
“Can we make the river?” Luca asked Marcello, peeking around the corner. For the first time, I got a good look at him. I squinched my eyes up tight, and then opened them again, staring at him, wondering if I was seeing things. He’d been so sick, and now he seemed—
He whipped back. “Hide,” he growled.
We pressed against the wall as a contingent of knights came trotting past. More bells were ringing. We had to get out, now, before the entire city awakened and took to arms.
They made it sound like Firenze was being attacked, not like a trapped girl sought to escape her cage.
“Come,” Marcello said, helping me to my feet. “Better?” he asked, looking at me with his sad, handsome eyes.
“A bit,” I lied, blinking wide eyes against the searing pain in my head.
“Good girl. Can you run?”
“That…might be a bit much to ask.”
“I’ll hold her from one side, you the other,” Lia said. “We’ll make better time.”
Marcello immediately did as she asked. Luca went to the door, arrow drawn, and then nodded, pointing, encouraging us onward.
We moved out, toward the river, I decided, getting my bearings again.
Two blocks from it, we heard another group of knights approach at a steady run.
We again huddled in the deep recesses of a tunnel, hearts hammering in our chests as they passed by. Marcello grunted. “Rodolfo has pointed them in the wrong direction. But take care, the entire city is liable to be peering out their windows, aiming to see what the fuss is all about.”
We moved out, hurrying along as best we could, Marcello and Lia dragging me between them.
When we finally reached the river, Marcello pulled up short and quickly lifted me in his arms. “Laugh,” he directed. “Giggle. Pretend you’ve been deep in the sops.”
He lifted me higher. “Where is my threshold?” he said, stumbling backward as if drunk. “’Tis around here somewhere!”
“Just another groom anxious for his marriage bed!” cried Luca behind us.
Lia burst out in hysterical giggles.
I saw them, then. Four men, commoners, but with axes on their shoulders, staring at us, half in irritation, half in amusement.
“Good gentlemen,” Marcello said, as I curved my face into his neck like a blushing, embarrassed bride. “Too much wine, I confess. And those bells! The bells! They have me all confused. Would you be so kind as to point out Calle Lorenzo?”
We paused before them, and Lia and Luca kept giggling behind us.
“’Tis but three more blocks, Sir,” said one man at last.
“Good man, good man,” Marcello slurred. “Now go and see what that fuss is about, will you? Sounds like all of Firenze is afire.”
They set off beyond us, running again, and we hurried forward—me between Lia and Marcello—but then dodged left at the next street, toward the river docks not far from Ponte Vecchio.
Marcello quietly gave a whistle, and another came in response. In seconds, a large skiff drew alongside the dock. Marcello tossed a small bag of coins to a dockman, who appeared to be dozing in the corner. His only movement was to reach out, grab hold of the coins, and hurriedly tuck them inside his coat.
Marcello picked me up and handed me to Luca, who had climbed aboard.
“Luca,” I breathed, so glad to see him on his feet, his strength regained. My eyes had not been deceiving me.
“Ahh, m’lady,” he whispered happily, setting me in the front of the skiff. “This what they’re sell
ing now in the markets of Firenze?” he asked Marcello, reaching for Lia. “Beautiful women ready for their wedding day?” He held on to Lia until she smiled and squirmed away.
“Apparently they have so many, they’re free for the taking,” Marcello returned. “Come, let us be away.”
Luca was already plunging his pole down into the dark waters, easing us away from the dock. I could feel the pull of the current, hear the lapping like a gentle lullaby, dulling the constant pricks of my headache.
Marcello handed me the skin of water. “Slowly, beloved. Slowly,” he reminded me in a whisper. “I’ll give you a bit to eat once we’re safe.”
Once we’re safe. I remembered how vast Firenze was. There were miles of river ahead of us yet, a couple of bridges, and a guardhouse at the edge of the city, before we were clear.
He turned to Lia. “Evangelia, ready your bow,” he said, pushing down on a pole at the back of the skiff, directing us into the center of the river, away from either bank, where it was darkest.
He and Luca dug in with their poles, and when it grew too deep, they reached for long paddles.
I looked to the left as we drifted, closer to the piazza and the wall where I had been perched. The city had more torches alight here, their light reaching toward us in craggy waves on the water, as if they meant to betray us.
“Trouble ahead,” Luca said over his shoulder.
A group of knights had spotted us.
CHAPTER 25
“You there! Come ashore!” demanded the head knight, stepping down onto the dock and shielding his eyes for a better view of us.
We could see him fairly well among the torches his men held high. But we had to be little more than a dim form on the black river to him. I frowned down at my gown and tried to make myself lie more flat at the bottom of the low-sided skiff, ignoring the cold puddle of water seeping into my skirts.
Lia knelt next to me, her bow at her side, arrow in hand, ready.
“Come! Now!” the man demanded as we drifted past him, not fifty feet from his dock.
“Nay, m’lord!” Marcello called, regret in his voice. “We cannot. We’ve been sent by the grandi of Firenze to deliver precious cargo to the front. And we must make haste. The Sienese have breached the gates and even now flood across the Rubaconte.”
The captain faltered and gazed upriver. Given the activity behind him, I could tell that the alarm had reached this part of the city. More and more torches were lit ahead, making it appear that something indeed might be transpiring up there.
He peered at us as we eased down the river. “You men alone?”
“Only a dock wench to help us pass the time,” said Luca with a laugh.
I could feel Lia shaking her head, even in the dark.
And I could feel Luca’s grin.
“Well, be on the lookout for the Lady Betarrini,” the captain said uneasily. “The foul dogs have freed her and escaped!”
Marcello sputtered, as if shocked by the news. “Indeed! I’ll kill any man myself who dares steal our prize!”
I bit down on my lip, wanting to laugh at his double meaning, even as my heart continued to pound.
The knight gestured for his men to enter a skiff. “I must send my men to check your cargo,” he said apologetically. “Protocol and all.”
“Understood. As long as they do not force us to tarry upon our mission.”
“They shall not,” the man promised.
I peered over the edge and watched the knights load into their skiff.
“Do you know how to swim?” Marcello whispered to me.
“Yes.”
“She’ll sink like a stone in that heavy gown,” Luca warned, eyeing the skiff with the knights leaving the dock.
“All she must do is stay hidden and hold on. We have little choice,” Marcello said grimly. “Forgive me, love.”
“No, you’re right,” I said. There really was no option; it was our only chance. I only hoped I had the strength to hold onto the edge.
Marcello handed me a knife. “Move quickly. Mayhap you can shed some of that fabric before they’re upon us. We’ll buy you a little time.” He turned and dug into the water with his oar. Luca did the same.
Across from me, Lia unpinned her hair and tossed it about, playing the part of a dock maid. I turned and handed her the knife. She took off the short train first, leaving a ragged edge. Then I took out a length from either side. Yards of fabric were at my feet.
“You there!” called the knight behind us. “Pull up!” We could clearly see them, with a lamp held aloft, but we knew we were likely still little more than a dark form on the water.
“Ah, yes sir, right away sir,” Luca called over his shoulder. Turning to me, he said, “Time for an evening dip, m’lady. We don’t wish them to find the treasured contraband aboard.”
I didn’t wait. Anticipating the cold only made it worse. I lay down on my stomach at the edge and then slipped over the side, peeking from the far side of the skiff as I made my way, hand over hand, to the front. We were moving at a quick enough pace that the teal gown was apt to spread out, making it more visible than ever. The only way to go unseen would be to let my body float beneath the shallow-bottomed skiff, effectively hiding it. I reached the front and felt my knees bump against the bottom.
“Excellent.” Marcello dared to kneel and kiss my forehead when they were but twenty feet behind us. “Most beautiful mermaid I’ve ever come across.”
“You must not sail a great deal,” I whispered back with a smile.
“I could sail the seven seas and never find another like you, Gabriella.” Casually, he wrapped the fabric we’d cut away around an anchoring stone and let it slip into the water beside me. Then he covered my fingers with the edge of his cape and rose to greet the men on the other skiff, now coming alongside ours.
I lowered my head as deep as I could, just keeping my nose and ears above water.
The water was perhaps sixty degrees, and I was already shivering. Given my hunger and weakness, I didn’t know how long I could hang on. But Marcello knows, I thought, trying to comfort myself. He’ll hurry them along as fast as he can.
One knight clambered aboard and paused, now within my view. “Never seen you on the docks, woman,” he said to Lia. “Do you serve at the tavern near the bridge?”
“Nay,” she said, with a hint of flirtation. “I favor another.”
“Lord Calidori’s inn,” Luca put in.
“Ahh. I shall have to relinquish some of my coin in that establishment, on occasion.” He leered at Lia and turned toward Marcello. “Sir, I need to see your papers for transit of cargo. Or a letter of passage?”
“Yes, about that,” Marcello said. “You see, we have no official papers. Our sole mission is to deliver this lovely lady to the front, to a Lord Paratore. Apparently, he won a key battle today, and the grandi of Firenze wish to reward him. Unofficially, of course.”
The knight guffawed, and so did the men behind him.
“I see,” he said, his two words heavy with meaning. I could just imagine him leering over at Lia again. “He shall be most gratified. Nothing like a victory on the battlefield and a woman to warm a man’s bed come night.”
“Indeed.” I could hear the tightness in Marcello’s voice. Could the soldier hear it?
“I still need to have your name, sir.”
“Sir Antonio Fernandini,” Marcello said, “of Umbria.”
The knight paused. “Forgive me, Sir. Since we have not yet met, I need to see your letter of passage, at the very least. As you heard, there has been an escape this night—”
“Does this look like the bride who was put into your cage?”
The knight paused and then laughed. “Lady Betarrini was a lady, every inch of her. This one is clearly a harlot in a lady’s gown.”
“Well, then…”
“Forgive me,” said the knight with a small laugh. “I shall not keep you any longer.”
I waited, but did not feel the rock of t
he skiff, telling me the enemy had unloaded. Everyone was quiet. He’d edged out of my view so I couldn’t see what kept him from moving.
Come on, I urged silently. My hands ached with the cold; my entire body was trembling.
“Is there something wrong, sir?” Marcello asked.
I wanted to peek over the edge so badly. But I made myself stay down, out of sight.
“This bow and quiver of arrows. To whom does it belong?”
“Me, sir,” Luca said. “Though I’ve yet to pierce a Sienese scoundrel myself.”
The knight paused again. I glanced up at Marcello’s back. Was he tensing?
“Why, this is a bead.” Beads. From the bodice of my gown. They must have popped off when we cut the fabric—or when I slipped over the edge. I tensed. From the direction of his voice, I guessed he’d picked it up from the bottom of the skiff. “And here is another. From your gown, miss?” He looked over at Lia, obviously took in her unadorned skirts, and then looked to Marcello again. His voice grew more strident. “There was another lady this day, in a gown heavy with beading. All of Firenze spoke of the gown’s magnificence.”
Marcello laughed. “Well, as you can clearly see, we have no ladies in beaded gowns present,” he said. “Though I’d welcome a maid of my own this cold night.”
The knight of Firenze did not laugh. I could tell from the reflection on the water that the other two were now standing in their own skiff.
I closed my eyes in frustration then looked to the side, trying to get my bearings. We were nearly clear of the last bridge outside of town. So close…so close!
“It is them!” the knight cried. He pulled his sword, as did the four others directly after him. “’Tis Lady Evangelia Betarrini, and I’d wager this is Sir Marcello Forelli,” he said over his shoulder. “Knights to arms!” he screamed into the dark sky. “Knights to arms!”
“Now that will not do,” Luca said, leaping forward, his sword clanging against the interloper’s. The skiff rocked crazily, and I gasped, nearly losing my grip. “You offend me, not knowing my name too.”
Marcello left my line of vision, entering the fray. Someone fell into the water between our skiffs, and the boat rocked again. Lia shrieked and then yelled. I heard the thrum of her bow and a cry from the other skiff.
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