He turned toward her and reached out, grimacing when she flinched, swaying weakly on her feet. “Mother Mary, what did they do to you?”
Celso paused just ahead, glancing over his shoulder at them. “He beat her. He wished it to look like she had suffered by your hands. Or the Forellis’. And he left her with me, to make it far worse. That is when we made our escape.”
Rodolfo shared a brief look of fury with Luca, then turned and swept Alessandra into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him in a manner that melted the anger within. She was an innocent. Played as a pawn in far worse ways than he feared.
They reached their horses and Rodolfo lifted Alessandra up and into Luca’s saddle. “Do you have the strength to hold on?”
She nodded. He mounted his horse, while Luca and Celso silently took up the front and rear guard. They ran, as best as they could, spooked that they no longer saw bits of light behind them. Either their adversaries had given up, or worse, they’d elected to try and go around, cutting them off from the road south.
At last, they emerged at the far end of the wood. Rodolfo thought he knew where they were, but couldn’t be sure. It simply was too cursedly dark, the stars too feeble. There would be no way to ride the horses, not if they didn’t wish to break their necks or simply let them pick their way forward. He dismounted and pulled Alessandra back into his arms.
Luca stopped beside them. “Send off the horses? Use them as a distraction?”
“Agreed. ‘Tis far too dark for them to be of much use, especially if we need to move quickly.”
Luca slapped one horse on the flank, then the other, sending them trotting away. The group continued to make their way.
“I can walk,” Alessandra said. “Please. Let me try.”
“You have no slippers,” he whispered back, making his way down a path as quietly as he could, hoping it led to a creek bed that should be dry, if he had the right place in mind. Luca and Celso were right behind them.
They reached the bottom, and by the feel of the rounded rocks, Rodolfo grew more confident in his surroundings.
“Down,” Luca growled, and immediately, Rodolfo turned and sank against the soft, eroded bank, Alessandra still in his arms. The bank was just a bit taller than his head, but formed a small alcove. Loose soil crumbled over his shoulders. He tried not to move, well aware of the swiftly approaching torches and hoofbeats. Luca and Celso were to their left and right.
“Four men,” Luca whispered, closing his eyes, hands on the hilt of his sword.
Rodolfo glanced down at Alessandra. She was plainly terrified. And in the growing light…He pulled her closer, desperately trying to provide some sense of comfort.
A horse paused above them, and dirt crumbled over Luca’s head and shoulders. Rodolfo feared the whole bank might give way, burying them alive.
Stay still, he told himself. We must stay still.
Flickering, bright light flooded the creek bed.
“Any sign of them?” hissed one.
“They had to have come this way, sir.”
“Unless they went East.”
“Sir! Tracks from two horses, this way. Fresh.”
The men wheeled their horses away and more dirt rained down on their heads. Two counts later, Luca and Celso disappeared, chasing after the men as stealthily as they could.
“Where are they going?” Alessandra whispered.
“To overtake them.” He rose and gently set her down. “When they find the horses, they’ll guess it’s a ruse and come back for us. Best for us to surprise them.” He took her hand. “Come. I think I saw a small pool of water, just over here.”
He made his way across the rocks, reaching down again and again, until his hand met cool liquid. He urged her to bend down beside him, placing her fingers in the pool. She drank, eagerly, while he kept watch, willing Luca and Celso to return. The minutes were sliding by, and if they tarried here much longer, another patrol was liable to come hunting.
“’Tis too dark for us to make it to Castello Forelli before my father arrives at her gates,” Alessandra said miserably.
“Indeed. The battle shall be upon them, justified or not.”
“And if you arrive with me in hand, looking as I do…”
He let the silence stand.
“And yet, I cannot go back there,” she said, her voice crackling with fear.
“Nay,” he said, seeking her hand, finding it. “You cannot.”
“So…Barbato has won. The battle shall be upon the Sienese, swords raised to defend my honor. Honor compromised by none but my Fiorentini brothers.”
He sighed heavily. “Now you understand what I tried to tell you.”
“I…I simply couldn’t…” She coughed and pulled her hand away, rising. “I have created nothing but trouble, m’lord. You must loathe me.”
He rose and wished he could see her face. “Nay, signorina. I feel nothing but kinship toward you. Understanding. I have walked your path, have I not?”
It was her turn to remain silent. Where was Luca? He cast an anxious eye down the creek. They should have returned by now.
“If I could only speak to my father—”
He shushed her with a quick sound, crouching and cocking his head to try and hear better. Then he bit back a curse word, pulled her back into his arms and scrambled for the far bank. Horses approached. Far too many to be Luca and Celso. He stumbled and Alessandra yelped, but he was on his feet immediately, as aware of the oncoming horses as if they were reaching out to nip his back and neck. They reached the far side and he swiftly made his way up the silty, crumbling soil, entering the trees just before the patrol pulled up right across from them.
Rodolfo kept moving, aware that if their path was discovered, the search party would reach them in seconds. He winced every time his boot met a pinecone or branch, cracking like an alarm bell, but he had to keep moving. He paused to listen, panting, when they reached a small meadow. Behind them, they still could see the dim glow of a torch outlining the trees in silhouette, but no shouts rose. He clenched his teeth and gazed cautiously around. Something was not right. Someone was near. Luca? Celso?
Slowly, he set Alessandra down. She was quiet, clearly recognizing his fear. She stilled, inches away from his chest, recognizing him as her protector now. How long had it been since he’d felt protective of a woman who trusted him?
A very long time. Gabriella…she’d never trusted him completely. And for good reason…
He saw the light to the right, first, and moved to pick up Alessandra. But when he did, he saw other torches coming from the left. He rose, slowly, looking across the small meadow. Two more. And from the back. They were surrounded.
Two men on horses entered the meadow. Then two more.
Alessandra clung to Rodolfo’s tunic and he wrapped his arms around her as the eight men closed in. They would not take her away again, only to abuse her, use her. Not if he yet still lived. Mayhap he could make a way for her to run, to escape at least. “When I shout,” he whispered. “You run, Alessandra. No matter what happens. Run and hide. Make your way back home. I pray your father can protect you.”
She looked up at him, her big, pretty eyes round with fear.
But the nearest knight was upon them. “You disappoint me, daughter of Firenze,” he said, dismounting and glowering at Alessandra. “Lord Barbato saved you, and you flee from his protection?”
Slowly, Rodolfo unsheathed his sword. But Alessandra stumbled toward the knight before he could move, sinking to her knees and clinging to his hand. “Brother, please, you must hear me. It was Lord Barbato who abused me, cut my hair. All to ignite war between Siena and Firenze again.”
He shook off her hand. “Nonsense. Lord Barbato would never stoop to such things. He is far too powerful to use a mere woman to accomplish his goals.”
“You are wrong,” Rodolfo said. He stepped forward, and six knights all raised their swords, making certain he made no further progress.
“
And you are?” asked the knight.
“Lord Rodolfo Greco.”
The men all paused. One turned to his companion, eyes alight.
“’Twas Lord Barbato who proposed I force Lady Gabriella Betarrini to marry me in order to weaken Sienese morale. So you see,” he said, tipping his sword into the soft soil and placing his hands on the hilt, “Lord Barbato is quite adept at using whatever resource he has to accomplish his goals.”
The knight stepped forward, closer to Rodolfo, roughly hauling Alessandra alongside him. Rodolfo clenched his teeth, but forced himself not to react.
The man looked up at Rodolfo, feeling brave, backed up by seven others. That was when Rodolfo heard the owl call. There was a chance…a small chance…
“You abused this girl yourself,” said the knight, looking her over.
“Nay,” Rodolfo said, staring back into his eyes. “’Twas your lord. Think, man. Why would I—or any other man in Castello Forelli—bring harm to the woman? ‘Twould only invite your wrath.”
The knight glanced down at her, looking her over in a way that made Rodolfo again force himself to stay still. “She’s comely enough. Before her hair was shorn off, I daresay she was a beauty.” He turned a fierce stare toward Rodolfo.
Rodolfo nodded. “Yes. She is beautiful. But I belong among brothers who respect and protect women. Not use them.”
The knight circled him, leaving Alessandra behind. “You are a traitor, Lord Greco. You abandoned those who trusted you to aid Lord Forelli. And by order of the Grandi, you shall meet your death this night. Kneel and accept death, at least, with what little honor you have left.”
Rodolfo considered the circle of men. “Is there not one righteous man among you? Not one who shall listen to reason? Why might I have turned away from all I loved, all I had in my coffers—”
“Because of your devil-born brotherhood oath,” spat the knight. “Roll up your sleeves.”
Rodolfo froze.
The knight’s sword came up under his chin. “Your sleeve, Lord Greco.”
Slowly, he pulled up the long sleeve, stained with blood and dirt, until his adversary could see the triangle.
“What does it symbolize?” asked the man.
“Honor. Service. Brotherhood. Things you apparently have forgotten.”
The man struck, punching him in the gut. “I serve my Fiorentini brothers in such a manner,” spat the knight. “Not my enemies.”
“Are you not to take me back to Firenze for a public execution?” Rodolfo asked, when his breath returned enough to speak. The knight tossed his sword to another beside Alessandra.
“Nay, the Grandi demand summary execution. Your head shall suffice. Kneel.”
“Please! Mercy!” Alessandra cried, as Rodolfo sank to his knees. But they ignored her.
“How many of you are there, Lord Greco? In the brotherhood?” asked the knight.
Rodolfo remained still, lips closed. He considered the distance between him and each of the others, calculated who might react first…
“No response?” the knight said with a scoffing laugh. “No matter. We shall eventually find every one of you. And then we shall kill every living family member. Our men began the process after the battle. We shall complete their task.”
Rodolfo closed his eyes a moment and then looked back to the knight. “May God have mercy on your soul. For I certainly wouldn’t.”
“’Tis you who should consider what it will be to meet your Maker,” he said, raising his sword, preparing for a death strike.
The arrow came then, singing through their group, striking the knight in the neck. Another right after it, hitting the man holding Alessandra.
Rodolfo rose, taking his gurgling, falling, accuser’s sword in hand, and turned to meet the charge of a man behind him. He flipped the sword in his hand and rammed it through another man at his side. “Go, Alessandra! Run!” he shouted in her direction. But it took a few more parries and strikes for him to glance back and see that she remained, choosing to fight rather than run. She took down one—who still looked surprised as he fell to his face—then whipped around to meet the heavy sword of another, narrowly blocking it from her head.
Luca and Celso arrived then, and together, they first took care of the man who threatened Alessandra, then formed a wall between her and the rest of the Fiorentini, alongside Rodolfo, moving outward, taking on the remaining knights. Torches lit their small arena, smoldering in the green summer grasses. A man fell atop one and his clothes ignited. He screamed piteously until Alessandra turned him over and over, putting out the fire. But he was dead. She sat on her haunches, staring at him, at the other dead about them, tears streaming down her face.
Rodolfo clasped arms with Luca and Celso in thanks, then quietly moved toward her, sinking to his haunches. “Alessandra,” he said lowly.
Her pretty eyes, wild and wide and distant, briefly focused on him, her long eyelashes fluttering in confusion. He thought her beautiful. And utterly lost. “What have I done?” she whispered.
“What you had to,” he returned softly. “It will be well. Trust me, Alessandra,” he said, catching her trembling hands in his. “In time, it will be well again.”
***
~EVANGELIA~
“It’s all right, Dad,” I said. The four of us—me, my sister, Mom and Dad—were riding together, two by two, surrounded by twenty knights of Castello Forelli, closing in on Siena, at last, in the dark.
“Don’t you see?” he said quietly, even though we spoke in English. “It won’t be all right. Every time some new battle is incited because of our presence here, history takes a slight turn.”
“Or a big one,” Mom put in. “What happens if Galileo’s great-great-grandfather dies in a battle he was never meant to be in?”
“But what if Mussolini’s great-great does?” Gabi countered. “Boom. Hitler has no ally in Italy. Maybe.” She groaned. “We could go crazy, thinking of all the changes we could set into motion. We just can’t go there.”
“These people would find any reason they could to go to battle,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t see how we can fight that—other than do our best to keep from inciting those battles. I swear, they need their own version of the ‘60s to change things up.”
“Maybe we can get that rolling with a few bell-bottom jeans and fringed vests,” Gabi said with a smile. “Give peace a chance, man.”
“Big muumuu dresses with no waistband,” I said, cocking my brow at her belly. Not that she had one yet. I was just teasing her.
She narrowed her eyes at me, apparently not quite ready to share any hint of the Big News with Mom and Dad. I didn’t see the point. It wasn’t like the longer she waited, the more ready for it they’d be. But then, maybe this wasn’t the best night to lay it on ‘em, when they were already feeling the weight of history on their shoulders.
“In time, with the Renaissance upon them, fighting will ease.”
“And that’s in what? A hundred years?” I asked.
“A couple hundred,” Dad said.
“God chose to send us here,” Gabi said. “He’ll figure it out. We can’t.”
“Yeah, we can’t,” I echoed. “No matter how brilliant you two are, you can’t think your way through this. It just…is.”
“We can still make wise choices,” Mom said, after a moment.
“The best we can,” Gabi said. “Of course. But we also have to be free to live our lives…and fight for those we love. Lia’s already tangled in so many knots she can’t shoot an arrow. I don’t need you two putting glue in my sheath, making me second-guess every enemy coming my way.”
“Gabriella,” Mom said in astonishment. “I didn’t intend—”
“I know, I know,” she said, lifting her hands. “You don’t intend to do that. But you have, Mom. And that might put us in danger too. If we pause. You know how it is…when…” Her eyes swept toward me. She obviously didn’t want to say too much, bring up too much. Make me relive our battles.
“We all know, Gabs,” I said with a sigh. “And I get it. I have to get my fighting game back. I’m just not quite certain how to do that.” Truly, the idea of me shooting anyone seemed like a distant memory. Like I was another person or something.
“Maybe you won’t ever have to, Sweetheart,” Dad said. “Maybe Marcello will think of a way out of this. Maybe Luca and Rodolfo will get back in time, hand off Alessandra, and all will be well again.”
I looked north, beyond the torches of our party, then out into the deep dark night, and shivered. It was good Siena loomed in the distance, a late-night, faint glow about her, like the last vestiges of the sun. I gotta paint that someday, I thought. Because right then, settling into the armed palazzo, behind armed gates, far away from any battle this night, sounded just about perfect.
Just about. I looked north again. Luca, be safe…
I was still feeling that way as I sank beneath the lovely, soft covers of my bed at Palazzo Forelli in Siena, aware that there was a guard at my door as well as more on the roof and tower above me, and still others outside the front gates…and at the city wall…and still more beyond it. If I wasn’t safe here in Siena, I wasn’t safe anywhere. But thoughts of Luca kept me tossing and turning through the night, wondering where he was, if he was all right. If he’d reached Alessandra in time...
I kept telling myself he was safe, and would doze off.
Then I’d dream that his head was about to be chopped off by an enemy sword. I aimed at his enemy. I knew I could save him if I could simply let my arrow fly, but I felt immobilized, stuck, powerless as I watched the sword swing down, down, down toward his neck—
And woke up panting, sweating, a scream dying in my throat. I’d seen that Fiorentini’s head roll and imagined it as Luca’s. No, no. You didn’t see it happen. It didn’t happen.
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