by Speer, Flora
“I do renounce Giovanni Sotani,” Bianca said in a loud, ringing voice, speaking to trees and rocks, to the waterfall and the clear blue sky, as well as to Rosalinda. “From this hour onward, Vanni is no part of my life. I hereby dedicate myself to my beloved sister and to our mother, to good works and a circumspect life, until the day I die.”
“I don’t think you have to go quite that far, Bianca,” Rosalinda said in a softer tone.
“I want to,” Bianca replied. “I meant every word.”
“I know you did. But you will discover, as I have, that it isn’t so easy to tear love out of your heart and never think again of the one you love, especially in the middle of the night, when you are lonely and wakeful and he isn’t there to comfort you. The best you can hope for is to put love aside during the daytime, so you are able to go on with the way of life you have chosen.”
“And what of the night?” Bianca cried, looking frightened. “What shall I do then if, in spite of my honest efforts, I cannot rid myself of this love our mother has forbidden?”
“At night, pray for courage,” Rosalinda said. “It’s what I do.”
They stood hand in hand, both close to tears, gazing at the clearing one last time until, on a mutual sigh, they turned to go.
“Rosalinda?” Bianca said, her gaze on the falling water.
“Yes, my dear.” Rosalinda paused at the edge of the clearing, waiting for her sister.
“There is something behind the waterfall.”
“What do you mean?” Rosalinda retraced a few steps to stand beside Bianca.
“There isn’t as much water coming over the edge of the rocks as there was in the spring,” Bianca pointed out, “and so, if I stand just here, I can see through the falling water to the space behind it. Look, Rosalinda. Stand here and you will see it, too.”
“See what?” Rosalinda’s sharp eyes probed the area Bianca indicated. “Bianca, that’s a cave. There is a cleft in the rock behind the water.”
“Do you see that narrow ledge?” Bianca asked, pointing. “If someone were very careful, and were small enough, he could tiptoe along that ledge and get into the cave.”
“Perhaps,” Rosalinda said, considering the problem of reaching the cave. She shook her head. “There is no way to climb up to the ledge. It’s a sheer drop.”
“Not climb up,” Bianca said. “Climb down. From the top of the rocks. See those cracks in the rock that are just big enough to poke your toe into? And the tree roots sticking out to make handholds? It looks possible to me.”
“Well, I have no intention of discovering if it can be done,” Rosalinda said, one hand over her abdomen. “I might have dared the climb down from the top last spring, but now I have more important matters on my mind.”
“I didn’t mean that you should try it,” Bianca said, her eyes still on the rocks and the waterfall. Her voice was soft and wistful when she continued. “Up there is where I first saw Vanni. He was clambering around on the cliff, near the waterfall. I wonder if he was trying to get down to the cave?”
“How would he know of it?” Rosalinda asked. “He was unfamiliar with this area, and we have agreed that the cave cannot be seen in springtime, when there is more water.”
“He was up on the cliff the second time I met him, too,” Bianca went on as if Rosalinda had not spoken. “Now that I think about it, he appeared to be searching for something. Both times, when he saw me, he grabbed a tree branch so he could swing down to where I was. What could he have been looking for up there?”
“We will never know,” Rosalinda said. “You did just renounce Vanni, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Bianca sighed. “You are right. It’s time to go. Time to put Vanni out of my mind.”
Together they started toward the open meadowland and the sapling where they had tied their horses. Bianca glanced over her shoulder for one last glimpse of the waterfall. In the next moment, her hand came down on Rosalinda’s wrist, with her fingernails digging in so hard that Rosalinda cried out and stopped where she was.
“Rosalinda!” Bianca hissed.
“Let me go, Bianca. You’re hurting me.”
“Someone is up there.”
“Where?” Rosalinda managed to pull her arm away, but only because Bianca was so fascinated by what she was seeing that she relaxed her grip a little.
“In the cave.” Bianca spoke softly, as if she was afraid she would be overheard. “Someone just looked out of the cave.”
“That can’t be,” Rosalinda declared. Then she fell silent, staring openmouthed when a figure appeared on the ledge just outside the cleft in the rocks. Whoever was up there was carrying a cloth-covered bundle wrapped inside a coarse net. The corners of the net were drawn together and fastened to a heavy rope. As the sisters watched, half hidden as they were on the path toward their horses, the figure on the ledge grasped the rope and began to let down the bundle.
“What is he doing?” Bianca whispered.
“We can see what he’s doing,” Rosalinda whispered back, somewhat impatiently. “What I want to know is, what does he have in that bundle?”
“It’s going to fall into the pool,” Bianca exclaimed.
“No, it’s not. Look, he’s swinging the rope so the bundle will miss the water.”
With a heavy thud, the bundle landed on dry ground just beside the pool. The man on the ledge let go of the rope and vanished back into the cave. The freed rope dropped onto the bundle and as it hit the cloth covering the bundle, one corner of the cloth flew open. Out of the opening tumbled a loop of large, creamy pearls.
“It’s a necklace,” Bianca whispered, seeing the pearls.
“Yes, but whose necklace?” asked Rosalinda.
Both girls fell silent then, for the little man had just reappeared on the ledge with a new length of rope, to let down a second bundle in the same way as the first. When the bundle was on the ground, he grabbed the rope, which at its upper end was fastened to something solid inside the cave. Holding on with both hands, he let himself over the edge and slid down the rope from ledge to ground.
“That is the most amazing thing I have ever seen,” Bianca whispered.
“Bianca, do you recognize him?” Rosalinda asked. “I do. He is the little man we pulled out of the river last spring, and later out of that very pool at the bottom of the falls.”
“Niccolo Stregone,” Bianca breathed.
“The same. From what we have heard of him and what we have just observed, I would guess that he has been hiding stolen goods in that cave.”
“But how did he know of the cave?” Bianca asked.
“Never mind that now,” Rosalinda said. “We need the men-at-arms. I’ll stay here and watch him, so we’ll know in which direction he has gone if he leaves before you return. Bianca, mount your horse and ride toward the villa. Surely, you will see one of the sentries along your way. Send whomever you meet here at once and then ride on and alert Bartolomeo.”
“I won’t leave you here alone,” Bianca said.
“Someone has to go, and you have been warning me all day about riding too fast,” Rosalinda replied. “I promise, I will stay hidden among the trees. I’ll be perfectly safe. Please hurry, Bianca. That terrible man can be up to no good. Whatever he is doing, we have to stop him.”
“I do regret disappointing a lady, but you won’t be able to stop me.” An arm snaked around Rosalinda’s neck and a dagger point pressed against the vein in her throat.
“Did you think I couldn’t see you from up there, on the ledge?” Niccolo Stregone asked. “You imagined you were hidden among these bushes, but from that height I could see you with no difficulty. And while you stupid females argued about who should ride for help, I was able to creep up behind you.”
“Let my sister go,” Bianca cried. “Please, you mustn’t hold her that way. You don’t understand. She is—”
“No, Bianca!” Rosalinda screamed, terrified that Bianca would reveal her pregnancy in hope of eliciting mercy from Stregone. Rosalinda was sure he
was incapable of mercy. The information would only give him more power over her. “Just be quiet, I beg you!”
“Always a good rule for a female,” Stregone said with a sneer. “Do be quiet, Bianca.”
‘‘What are you going to do to us?” Bianca asked him.
“I knew you would not fail me.” Stregone’s lips drew back over his teeth in a smile that was not a smile at all, but a threat of violence to come. “I had a feeling the three of us would meet here again, for the last time.”
“What do you mean, the last time?” Bianca demanded.
“I suppose it is possible that we will meet yet once more,” Stregone said. “In hell. If you believe in hell. You two will be there long before I am.”
“H-hell?” Bianca was unable to voice more than a croak.
“I am going to kill you,” Stregone told her, speaking as if he were making pleasant conversation.
Rosalinda had both hands on his arm, trying to pull it away from her throat so she could breathe. Stregone loosened his grip a little and she took a noisy gulp of air. She could see how frightened Bianca looked. But whether her sister was terrified or not, Rosalinda knew that Bianca was not going to leave her alone with Niccolo Stregone. Therefore, there was no hope of Bianca getting to her horse and riding to alert the guards. Nor, to be truthful, would Rosalinda be willing to leave Bianca to Stregone’s nefarious intentions if she were the one able to get away.
Their only chance of rescue lay in making a disturbance loud enough that someone would hear them and come to investigate. Rosalinda decided she would make as much noise as she could, as soon as she could do so without being strangled into permanent silence. In the meantime, while she waited for a chance to scream as loudly as possible, she tried to think of a way to gain enough control over the situation to delay Stregone’ s bloody plans for her and her sister, and for her baby.
“Let Rosalinda go.” Bianca stood white-faced but remarkably defiant for a young woman who was usually timid and exceedingly cautious. “Kill me instead.”
Rosalinda suppressed a cry. Bianca was willing to offer herself as a sacrifice in order that Rosalinda and her unborn child might live. There could be no greater proof of her sister’s love. But even before he spoke, Rosalinda knew what Stregone’s response would be.
“No, no,” he said, as if he were reassuring Bianca. “I want both of you dead. First I slit this one’s throat while I hold her. Then it will be easy to kill you. You are the weak sister, Bianca. You will stay to weep over Rosalinda’s body and, while you do, I will plunge my dagger into your heart.”
“Before you kill us,” Rosalinda said, trying to put some authority into her voice, “tell us why. We have done no harm to you. In fact, we have saved your life on two occasions.”
“You have repeatedly interfered with me and what I was trying to do,” Stregone snarled. “Don’t you know, you foolish girls, that it is a mistake to risk your own lives to save someone else unless there is an immediate benefit to be reaped for yourself from your action?”
“I think it is a noble thing to do, whether one is rewarded or not,” Bianca stated in a surprisingly firm voice.
“Little you know,” said Stregone with yet another sneer.
“What is in those bundles you dropped from the cave?” Rosalinda asked, to keep him talking.
“Gold,” said Stregone. “Jewels. A bit of gold plate, but not much, since it is bulky and can be difficult to move expeditiously. Coins, strings of pearls, and unset jewels are always preferable to plate or other large pieces. Those two bundles contain my treasure.”
“How did you know about the cave?” Bianca seemed to understand the need to play for time, to delay Stregone’s murderous intentions in hope of circumventing them. “I would be interested in knowing about that.”
“Would you?” said Stregone, looking pleased at the question. “Well, I will satisfy your female curiosity. You see, it was a clever scheme on my part.”
Each time he spoke, Stregone loosened his grip on Rosalinda’s throat just a little bit. She kept both of her hands on his forearm, pulling steadily downward against his strength. It was possible that she might get free of him and, if she did, she would have no compunction about using on him the small knife she carried hidden in her skirt.
“For your information,” Stregone said to Bianca, “I was born in the village that lies along the old road, just through the mountain pass to the north of this valley. I do not boast of it, you understand. It was a squalid beginning, of which I am not proud.”
“That doesn’t explain how you knew about the cave,” Rosalinda said. She pulled a little harder on Stregone’s arm, forcing it down by another inch or so.
“I was a scrawny youth, always small for my age and often tormented and laughed at by the other boys because I was so small,” Stregone answered her. “As a result, I spent a lot of time wandering alone through these hills and thinking of ways to revenge myself on those stupid village fools. I discovered the cave about this time of year, when the water was low, as it is now. I was just fourteen. Shortly thereafter my father died, and the local priest suggested I leave the village to make
my way in the world by my wits, which are considerable.”
“I am sure they are,” Rosalinda said. “My sister and I have had ample evidence of your intelligence.” Just a little more steady pressure on his arm and then a sudden jerk, and she ought to be free. She took a deep breath and tried to relax all of her muscles so Stregone would not guess what she was about to do.
“I never forgot the cave,” Stregone said, looking toward it. “Often and often as the years passed, I have returned to deposit my hoarded wealth there, in those secret chambers behind the waterfall. That cave is safer than any bank. Never was I disturbed while I was about my business in this hidden glade, until you two appeared, interfering, upsetting my well-laid plans.” He glared at Bianca, his full attention on her for the moment.
Rosalinda seized the opportunity. Suddenly tightening her fingers on Stregone’s forearm, she pulled downward as hard as she could. At the same time she stamped hard on the top of Stregone’s foot. With a yell of pain and surprise, he let her go. Instantly, she whipped out her knife.
“Rosalinda, be careful!” Bianca screamed.
“Run, Bianca! Run for help! Call the sentries!”
Stregone slashed at Rosalinda with his dagger, ripping the sleeve of her doublet and drawing blood from her arm. Rosalinda knew she had to get the dagger away from him. She circled him, looking for a chance, copying the movements of the men-at-arms whom she had watched while they practiced this kind of hand-to-hand combat. But Stregone was experienced and swift, and he had no scruples about injuring a woman. He slashed at Rosalinda again, nicking her arm a second time, and blood spurted. Rosalinda was too intent on her opponent to feel any pain.
Bianca, however, was fully aware of what was happening to her sister. She shrieked, and shrieked again. Rosalinda’s nerves jangled from the tension and the sudden, shrill noise. Stregone did not so much as flicker one eyelash. He just kept his dark, unblinking gaze on Rosalinda’s face, watching her eyes to see what her next move would be.
Suddenly, the clearing was crowded with men. Francesco was standing beside Rosalinda, threatening Stregone with his own dagger. Quick as lightning, Stregone dove between Rosalinda and Francesco, and stabbed Francesco. Then Francesco was on the ground with Stregone’s dagger in his ribs. Bianca rushed to Rosalinda’s side, looked down at Francesco, and began to scream.
At first Rosalinda thought Bianca was screaming at her. It took a moment to realize that Bianca was looking at Niccolo Stregone, crying out an old, never-forgotten anguish as if it had only just happened.
“It was you!” Bianca yelled at Stregone. “You! You did it! I saw you there, in the reception room! And I saw your dagger planted in my father’s chest, the same way it is buried in Francesco now. I remember that fancy hilt. I recall hearing you boast to my father that there is no other like it. You killed m
y father with your own hand!”
“Here, Bianca.” With a groan, Francesco wrenched the dagger from his side and held it up for Bianca to take.
“Francesco!” Eleonora rushed into the clearing and dropped to her knees beside the fallen condottiere. “Don’t you dare to die! We need you alive.”
“I will do my best to obey your wishes, madonna,” Francesco responded in a decidedly weak voice.
As Eleonora pressed her hand to his wounded side to stop the flow of blood, Bianca seized the dagger from Francesco’s lax fingers. Holding it with the point aimed at Stregone, she moved toward him in so resolute a manner that no man among those in the glade attempted to prevent her.
“My father trusted you,” Bianca told Stregone through set teeth. “I heard him say so. And you betrayed him.”
As if in a dream, Rosalinda watched her sister approach Stregone. She was scarcely aware of her own trembling or of Andrea’s arm around her, supporting her. She barely noticed the other men crowding into the clearing, witnesses all to the scene playing out before them. She did see Vanni rush to Bianca’s side with his sword drawn and his own dagger in his left hand. However, Vanni did not attack with his weapons. Instead, he began to taunt Stregone.
“You had help in your betrayal of Girolamo Farisi, didn’t you, Stregone?” Vanni said. “You couldn’t manage it alone, so you were forced to enlist my father in your scheme.”
“No!” Stregone’s teeth were bared again in the wicked grimace that passed for a smile with him. “It was my scheme, my intrigue. All of it, mine alone! Federigo Sotani was too honest to wish for the removal of a man he regarded as a friendly rival. Marco Guidi was not so scrupulous when I approached him with the scheme. He was happy to take the credit, and the glory, but the overthrow of Girolamo Farisi, the planning, the execution, the actual blow that brought him down, all were my doing. Federigo Sotani had nothing to do with Farisi’s death.”
Eleonora was still kneeling beside Francesco. Upon hearing Stregone’s bold confession of guilt, she made a sound that was part cry of horror, part shout of rage. Leaving Francesco in the care of a man-at-arms, Eleonora rose to advance on Stregone like an avenging angel.
