Rose Red

by Speer, Flora

  “The bear ran out of the trees right into the path of my horse,” she said. “When I pulled hard on the reins, the bear ran off again, back into the forest. Only then did I notice that the path just ahead had crumbled away in a rock fall, so there was no longer a path there at all, but only a dangerous gap that opened into a deep ravine. It was almost as if the bear intended to warn me and, having done so, he then left the vicinity.”

  “How very peculiar,” said Eleonora when she heard this tale.

  “Even stranger was my horse’s reaction,” Rosalinda said. “It did not rear up in fright as you would expect a horse to do when it suddenly comes upon a bear. It simply stopped when I pulled on the reins and then stood there quietly until the bear was gone from sight.”

  “An angel must have been watching over you, keeping you from harm,” Eleonora said. “Or perhaps it was your dear father’s doing. You mentioned seeing an eagle.” Eleonora’s gaze moved from Rosalinda’s face to the portrait of her husband. Girolamo Farisi had been painted with an eagle perched upon his wrist. He had insisted on the inclusion of his family emblem, though certain people at the court of Monteferro, criticizing the picture when it was finished, had whispered most unkindly of ambition that soared as high as an eagle.

  *’Oh, Mother, please,” Rosalinda said, laughing at this notion, “do you imagine that in heaven Father has obtained the power to command the eagles as they fly?”

  “I can think of no other explanation for what happened,” said Eleonora with a sniff of offended dignity. “I trust you will have the good sense not to ride that way again.”

  “I think it’s far more likely the bear was an angel in disguise,” Rosalinda said gently. Well aware of her mother’s undying devotion to the memory of Girolamo Farisi, Rosalinda hid her amusement at her parent’s romantic notion as best she could. And she did not say she would not ride the dangerous path again. She was not going to make a promise she could not keep.

  * * * * *

  Luca stayed at Villa Serenita for two days more, resting from his long journey and holding private discussions with Eleonora and her faithful companions, Bartolomeo and Valeria. Rosalinda did not overhear anything they said on those occasions. She suspected her mother of taking extra care to be sure that Rosalinda, and especially Bianca, would not be privy to conversations that might cause them distress.

  On the day after Luca departed, Rosalinda again went riding alone. At this time of year, each such excursion was precious to her, for the weather was growing steadily colder. Soon snow would make venturing into the mountains impossible. Rosalinda chose the route she had taken on the day when she had seen the bear. Just before she reached the curve in the path where the ground had fallen away, she dismounted and walked to the edge to contemplate the ravine below.

  “I was right,” she said aloud. “From the direction in which I was coming, I could not have seen the rock fall until I was on top of it. Until it was too late for me to stop. That bear saved my life. It’s a good thing I told Bartolomeo about the break in the path, so he could warn the men-at-arms, though I don’t think any of them is likely to come this way.”

  Clutching her horse’s reins more firmly and still on foot, she led the animal from the dangerous spot. Soon the path widened again and Rosalinda remounted, springing onto the horse’s back with ease. A little farther on she paused, listening intently and peering into the wilderness of gray rocks and almost leafless trees.

  “I thought I heard something,” she told the horse. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now. Perhaps it was only the wind, or the sound of running water from a nearby stream.”

  A short distance farther down the path, she stopped for a third time.

  “What was that I saw, moving through the trees? Could it be my friend the bear again? If only I knew where his cave is, I think I might take a pot of honey to him there, to thank him for what he did for me. Oh, how Bianca would shiver if I were to tell her about that idea!”

  Seeing not the slightest trace of a bear, Rosalinda continued homeward without further incident. In fact, she saw few animals or birds. The small creatures were already burrowing in for the winter and most of the birds had flown south to warmer climes. Coming out of the hills and nearer to the villa, Rosalinda could see that the tilled fields across which she was riding were stripped of their harvest as humans, too, prepared for the long, cold months ahead. When she glanced back at the mountains she noticed a banner of icy-white cloud streaming across the sky, and she knew the snows would not be long in coming.

  That evening, when Bianca asked where she had gone on her afternoon ride, Rosalinda took care not to mention the mountain path or the bear.

  * * * * *

  The wind howled around the mouth of the cave where Andrea had taken shelter. Leaves and dust blew into the cave, forcing him to move farther back into the damp interior. Even with the skin of the bear he had slain wrapped around him for covering, he was miserably cold, but he dared not light a fire for heat. Darkness would fall soon and then a fire might be seen.

  He was terrified, not so much for himself as for the companions from whom he had become separated during the first hours of their desperate flight. He thought he had continued onward in the direction upon which they had all agreed. He had tried his best not to get lost while hiding from those who were pursuing him. He prayed he would meet his absent companions again at their designated rendezvous. But he was no longer certain they would be there. In the cruel world he had recently entered, he could not be certain of anything.

  Cold and fear and hunger were taking their toll on him. And loneliness. Never before in his twenty-five years had he been completely alone. He found he did not like the feeling. But then, he had known in his soul that he would not. If the others were dead… He could scarcely bear to think of that possibility, but the thought came without bidding, and grimly he forced himself to complete it. If the others were dead, then he would be alone and only half a person for the rest of his life.

  And that might not be for much longer. He knew he could not remain in the rude shelter of a cave, without food or adequate warmth, for many days more. If he wanted to survive, sooner or later he would have to descend to the valley, there to seek a place to stay for the winter.

  Braving the wind, he stepped outside the cave entrance to look down and across the mountain slopes to where a villa sat in a wide, pleasant valley. It was no very grand dwelling, but Andrea did not care about grandeur. He had seen more than enough of the treachery that lurked in grand palaces.

  The girl lived there, in the villa. Each time she rode to the mountains, she returned to that snug place. She was no great lady, but Andrea had seen – and heard – enough of great ladies, too. This girl had a fresh, innocent face, a sense of humor, and a generous heart. He knew as much from overhearing her whimsical comments to her horse. He wished she would find his cave and bring that pot of honey to him, along with a loaf of bread and a large skin of wine. A warm blanket would be appreciated, too, he thought, pulling the smelly bearskin more closely around his shivering form.

  She would never find his cave. It was too high in the mountains and too well hidden, which was why he had chosen it. He would have to go to her. He would do it soon, once he was absolutely certain the others would not be coming to meet him….

  Chapter 2

  Early each morning, the guards made their reports to Bartolomeo on their patrols of the estate during the previous day and night. Only rarely were there intruders on the private lands surrounding Villa Serenita, and those were always local folk who had wandered too far in search of brushwood for their fires. Occasionally, someone was caught poaching rabbits or fishing in the streams. By Eleonora’s orders, any game or fish was confiscated from these miscreants before they were escorted to the boundary, there to be turned off her land with a stern warning never to trespass again unless they wished to receive severe punishment.

  Actually, Eleonora did not want to punish anyone. She had seen enough violence for one li
fetime, and she was pleased that no poacher, once warned, had ever been caught a second time. Thus, it was with open dismay that she listened on a frosty morning in late autumn to Bartolomeo’ s account of a disturbing incident.

  “One of the men-at-arms has discovered signs that someone is living in the old gamekeeper’s cottage,” Bartolomeo said.

  “I know that place,” Rosalinda spoke up at once. She and Bianca were at the big, round table in the sitting room, working on their Latin lessons under their mother’s direction. Ever ready for any distraction from boring declensions, Rosalinda had been listening to what Bartolomeo was saying. “Who would want to live there? The house is falling down. The last time I rode past it, the roof had collapsed.”

  “You are right.” Bartolomeo sent a conspiratorial wink in her direction, as if he understood her impatience with her lessons and her eagerness to be out-of-doors on such a fine day. To Eleonora, Bartolomeo said, “There has been no gamekeeper here since the time of your father, and that cottage is no longer fit for habitation. I was planning to suggest to you that it be torn down next spring. Now I think we ought to do something about it sooner than that. The man-at-arms who spoke to me reported finding the remains of a cooking fire and the bones of small animals.”

  “This is a serious matter,” Eleonora responded, frowning. “How could an unknown person be living on my land? I thought our guards were dependable.”

  Rosalinda could tell that her mother was deeply distressed and that she was trying to hide it from her daughters. Her effort was not succeeding. Bianca was positively white with fear. Seeing Bianca’s pale face, Rosalinda tried to allay her sister’s concern.

  “Perhaps it was some lone traveler who only stopped for a night or two before continuing on his way,” she suggested. “Bartolomeo, could your man tell if there was more than one person?”

  “More important, did he actually see whoever is living there?” Eleonora asked.

  “He saw no one,” Bartolomeo replied. “Madonna, allow me to assure you that Lorenzo, who discovered the evidence, was puzzled to think how such a thing could happen when our sentries patrol the boundaries of your land so thoroughly. Acting as my deputy, Lorenzo ordered extra guards out before he even reported to me. If the intruder is still in this area, he will be found before the day is over.”

  “I want that cottage pulled down at once,” Eleonora commanded. “I don’t care how many men it takes. Level it. And if you do catch the person who has been living there, bind him and bring him to me. It must be a man. No woman would dare to live off the land in such a way.”

  “I understand. The cottage will be gone before nightfall. With your permission, madonna, I will leave you now and give the order.”

  “Wait a moment, Bartolomeo,” Eleonora said as he headed for the door. “I have another order for you. I am certain Bianca will have the good sense to remain at home after hearing this troubling news, but I am not so sure of my overly curious Rosalinda. Until this stranger on my lands has been caught, I specifically forbid Rosalinda to ride alone, or to ride out of sight of the villa, even in the company of a pair of men-at-arms.”

  “As you wish, madonna.” Bartolomeo bowed and left the sitting room.

  “Mother, no!” Rosalinda protested. “I will go mad if I am forced to stay at home all day.”

  “You will soon be forced to do so in any event,” Eleonora responded, “since you cannot ride in the ice and snow that will arrive before much longer.”

  “Please,” Rosalinda begged.

  “I gave the order to Bartolomeo with your safety in mind, child. If you insist upon arguing with me, I will send you to your room.”

  “But, Mother-”

  “Oh, Rosalinda, do be quiet,” Bianca hissed across the table. “Can’t you see how upset Mother is? Must you always add to her worries?”

  “Why can’t you and Mother understand that I feel like a prisoner here?” Rosalinda hissed back at her.

  “You are not a prisoner!”

  “I am! We all are!”

  “You are not! We are not!”

  “Girls, be silent,” Eleonora interrupted the building dispute. “Return to your lessons. Rosalinda, you will decline the following Latin verbs.”

  Rosalinda’s heated protests had their desired effect of making an irritated Bianca forget her fears. However, Rosalinda’s continued pleas that she be allowed to ride were useless against her mother’s firm insistence that she must not venture out of sight of the villa. In any case, her arguments proved unnecessary, for that night a rainstorm broke over the valley and continued into the next day. When the sun reappeared, it was accompanied by cold and windy weather, which lasted for a mere two days before the snow began and the issue of Rosalinda’s desire to ride was resolved by Nature. Soon both mountains and valley were buried under several feet of white, and the snow kept falling.

  In the villa itself and in the outbuildings where the men-at-arms and their families lived, as well as in the other buildings where the livestock was sheltered, all was prepared for the winter, so humans and animals were as comfortable as they could expect to be.

  For Eleonora and her daughters, the winter routine was soon well established, with household duties in the mornings, lessons in the afternoons, and in the evenings, the quiet pleasures of games in which Bartolomeo and Valeria also joined, or of reading aloud from one of the books in Eleonora’ s library.

  Bartolomeo reported the gamekeeper’s cottage had been destroyed and no further signs of the mysterious intruder had been noticed. Rosalinda thought she was the only person who wondered from time to time whence that unknown person had come and where he had gone. She knew she was the only one at Villa Serenita who remembered a bear she had once encountered, who had done a good deed for her. She hoped the bear would find a snug cave in which to keep warm through his winter hibernation.

  * * * * *

  Andrea knew he was going to die. He had known his death was inevitable since the moment when he realized he was alone, that he had somehow lost the others in the darkness and confusion of that first, frantic night. Against all the claims of logic and good sense, he had struggled to keep hope alive in his breast, telling himself that he would see his missing companions again. But they had failed to appear at the agreed-upon meeting place. Their continued absence finally destroyed his fragile optimism. If it were in any way possible, he knew they would have met him. That they had not done so meant they were most likely dead.

  Sunk in sorrow too deep for weeping, Andrea had left the meeting place and wandered back into the mountainous area where he had spent the recent autumn. By now, weeks later, even the loss of closest kin and dearest friend scarcely mattered, for Andrea was about to join them in death.

  He was numb from the cold and so starved that when he put his hands to his armpits to try to warm them, he could feel his bones jutting through the skin. Were he a less stubborn man, he would have just stopped where he was, dropped to the ground, and let the cold and the never-ending snow have him. Everything had been taken from him. His family and friends and all his worldly possessions were gone. Even the rude shelter he had found and used for a few days had been torn down to drive him away from it. And now his very life was to be claimed by Fortune’s cruel whim.

  “But if I die,” he muttered, voicing his disjointed thoughts in a growl scarcely recognizable as issuing from a human throat, “then they have won – the liars, the traitors, the assassins. Vanni, where are you? What has happened to you? God in heaven, at least let me know what has befallen Vanni before I die! And Francesco, too. What a trial we have been to him. Dear God, I pray they are not in my condition – or worse, imprisoned and tortured. Though I shall die, if they by some unexplainable chance are still alive, then I pray that they are safe. And warm.”

  He stood in several feet of snow, weary unto death, swaying on feet he could no longer feel, with more snow piling up on his shoulders and his ragged beard with each moment that passed, his fortunes and his life force at
their lowest ebb. The light he was trying to reach was barely discernable through the heavy crust of snowflakes that stuck to his eyelashes. Surely, he could never walk as far as that light.

  Through the fog of failing consciousness, he remembered the girl. The memory of her had kept him from giving up even as his strength had waned and his hopes had faded. He had glimpsed her only a few times, when she rode into the mountains alone, but her energy and her exhilaration at being young and alive and free had communicated itself to him. Once he, too, had been that young, that enthusiastic.

  With the girl’s bright image in his confused mind, Andrea forced himself to lift one foot, to drag it forward through the obstructing weight of the snow, to place it in front of the other and then, after an agonizing pause, to lift the other foot. She was there, where the light was. If he could but reach her, she would help him. That girl would give honey to a wild bear. She would not turn away a freezing man. If he found her, he would find himself again. And then he might learn Vanni’s fate…

  “‘How dared you make your way to this high mountain? Do you not know

  that here man lives in bliss?’”

  In her warm sitting room, Eleonora was reading aloud from Dante’s Purgatorio, reciting in a low voice throbbing with emotion the words of Beatrice, the poet’s lost love.

  Valeria moved quietly, filling a Venetian glass goblet with wine and setting it on a table next to Eleonora. Nearby, Bartolomeo sprawled in his chair, entranced by the images evoked by Dante’s beautiful language.