Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  Lord Greco sparred with a younger knight, clearly training him, and did not give her a glance as they strolled past.

  “M’ladies, do you not spar yourselves?” she asked Evangelia and Adri, walking on either side of her. “With Lady Gabriella?”

  Adri gave her a half-smile, half-frown. “On occasion. Since the battle and the skirmishes afterward, we’ve tried to avoid it, practicing the ways of women more than warriors.”

  So the Ladies Betarrini would no longer take to the battlefield? This would be welcome news. Regardless of what they could or couldn’t accomplish on the front lines, most agreed that the mere idea of them among the knights, spurred the Sienese on.

  “Might you teach me,” she asked Lady Evangelia. “How to be a better archer?”

  “Ahh. I have not picked up my bow and arrow in a long while,” she said.

  “Is there nothing I can do to convince you?” Alessandra pressed, reluctantly following them when they resumed their stroll. “You might help me become a better huntress.” She glanced over at the platform again. “Assist me in killing the next boar, before he crosses the border.”

  Lia looked back at her, confused why she pressed so rudely, then followed her gaze to the platform. A look of quiet knowing entered her blue eyes. She lifted her chin and a small smile edged the corners of her lips. She plainly thought Alessandra wished to show off for Lord Greco. “Do you wish for the lesson out here, in the courtyard?”

  Her mother looked at her in surprise. “Truly? Are you ready for that, Lia?” she whispered.

  “I think so. It’s naught but a little fun, right Ali?”

  Alessandra nodded, trying to appear the light, flirtatious girl. If it kept them in the immediate vicinity, so be it. She wanted to know if Greco bore the mark. Surely that meant that any remaining traitors in Firenze could be found, with a simple examination of every man’s arm. If any more like Greco remained, on their side of the border, disaster might be upon them. After all, Rodolfo had not said no, when she asked if there were others…

  And if Lady Evangelia had lost her skills with the bow…such news would greatly encourage her people.

  As the men finally stepped into sparring formation, Lia edged over to the knight who guarded Alessandra, Dario, and asked him to send for the appropriate weapons and targets to complete the lesson.

  Dario hesitated, his eyes flicking over to Alessandra. “Give the Fiorentini a weapon?” he said, lifting a brow, while folding his arms. “I think it unwise, m’lady.”

  “What can she do, here, surrounded by our finest?” Lia said in wry amusement. “I will take responsibility for her. And if she proves troublesome, all our knights are within reach, no?”

  The tension eased, then, from his face, and he turned to call for a servant to do as she bid.

  “Two lances, too,” Lady Adri called after the servant boy. She smiled down at Alessandra. “I’d wager you’re best with one of those, since you were hunting with one.”

  “I am fairly adept with it in the hunt,” Alessandra hedged. She’d grown up sparring with her brothers. “And yet I doubt I could truly be a reputable adversary to the fabled Ladies Betarrini.” She’d find out just exactly how skilled they were…or if they were no longer a threat. One thing to report back…

  “Mayhap,” Lia said, her voice soft. She was staring up, toward the sky, apparently lost in thought. Alessandra felt a wave of regret wash through her. She was pressing the woman, pressing her into something she didn’t really wish to do. And Evangelia had been nothing but kind to her since she arrived. Her words came back to Alessandra…that she’d not so much as shot a hare since the day she set down her bow. Had she returned from the fields and forests damaged? Had she truly lost her will to fight?

  Guilt and glee warred within her.

  You are Fiorentina, she reminded herself. These are the people who took your brothers’ lives. Valente’s. No matter how they appear.

  She owed it to them. To Beppe and to Ilario. As well as the countless other boys who would be lost in the next battle if she did nothing. She had to learn what she could, here, now. Had not God himself set her inside Castello Forelli’s gates? Who was she to turn away from such an unprecedented opportunity? If Lord Greco was right, and her father returned with the Fiorentini knights behind him, and if she could provide them with critical information, mayhap she’d be given a treasure as a reward. She and her father could add on to their tiny house, this summer, and replace the decrepit roof. Purchase some cloth for new clothes. Have some extra food for the winter, rather than rationing out every morsel, chasing every boar in sight for miles…

  The knight returned with three servants, all carrying various materials. Three targets were set up, to the right of the massive front gates, and to one side of the group of knights. Evangelia took her quiver of arrows, holding the slender case in her hand as if unfamiliar with the weight. She didn’t seem to see the other servant offering her the bow.

  “Lia,” her mother said, softly. Both she and Alessandra had already accepted their own bows and quivers of arrows, while servants buckled on their leather arm guards. Dario had placed himself a foot to Alessandra’s left, directly between her and Lord Marcello, burly arms crossed as he stared at her. He appeared ready to strike her down if she attempted to do anything but a little ladylike target practice.

  Evangelia seemed to come out of her reverie and slowly took her place between her mother and Alessandra, her mouth set, her eyes determined. She nocked an arrow and drew the string back, letting it fly without hesitation. It went sailing thirty paces, directly into the center of the target.

  Men whooped and hollered behind Alessandra and she glanced over her shoulder. They were elated. Uncommonly excited. By an arrow.

  “Our Lady of the Arrow has returned!” called one.

  “As sure in her aim as if she’d never ceased,” crowed another.

  “Go ahead,” Evangelia urged Alessandra, as her mother took her shot, hitting the lower left quadrant of her target. “Nock your arrow, staring at your goal as you do. See it in the air, the arc necessary to cross that distance.”

  Alessandra did as she said, holding the end of the arrow against her bowstring, studying the target, the distance. Then she lifted the bow and, trying to emulate Evangelia—and yet not—let it fly.

  It went high and to the right.

  The men erupted in delight. “True to the Fiorentini, she has no aim!” called one.

  “Pay them no heed,” Evangelia said, aiming anew. “Study it. Imagine your action before you take it. See it in your mind, from your bow to the target.” Beyond her, her mother sent another arrow flying, hitting the top right side of her target this time.

  Alessandra reached for another arrow, so focused on the target and Evangelia’s coaching, that she didn’t hear his approach. Only when he was wrenching her bow from her hands did she see Sir Luca, towering over her. “Are you mad?” he ground out, toward Evangelia. “She could have killed you with that first arrow!”

  Lia reached for him as he frowned at Dario, the guard. “Release her bow, Luca. The girl is doing nothing but target practice. And from what I saw in that first round, she needs quite a bit more if she is to become a murderer in our midst.”

  “She is Fiorentini. A huntress. Do you know what the Fiorentini have offered in bounty for any one of us?” he said, gesturing in agitation. Marcello and Lord Greco came up beside him then. Dario appeared so contrite that he might be ill.

  “I am not about to kill any one of you,” Alessandra said with a little laugh. “Would I not be forfeiting my own life if I did so?” She looked up at Sir Luca in defiance, turning to face him.

  He peered at her, his green eyes searching hers. “Mayhap you’d consider it an honor. To die for your Fiorentini cause. To avenge your lost loved ones. Who knows what you might be planning?”

  “Heavens, Luca,” Lia said with a sigh behind Alessandra. “She’s not a soldier. She’s our guest. What has come over you?” Alessandr
a could hear her nock another arrow and then the rustle of it slicing into the tightly tied haystack at the end. She was trying to cajole him out of his dark fury. Show him that she trusted Alessandra and he should too.

  But Luca stood his ground.

  “Tell Dario to draw his sword,” Alessandra said. “And if I do anything but aim at the target Lady Evangelia indicates, strike me down.”

  Luca stared down at her. “Don’t think I won’t.”

  “Good, then.”

  “Good.” With that, he allowed her to wrench her bow away, and she turned back toward Evangelia, hating that she trembled now.

  Behind her, she heard Rodolfo murmuring to Dario. He was issuing the order as she dared! Lord Greco! He, too, feared she would attempt a rash act. And in that moment, God help her, Alessandra considered it. Evangelia studied her, their eyes locked, and then tellingly turned her back to her, effortlessly letting another arrow fly. It edged in, right next to the previous three.

  She was as good as the legends said. There was no indication that she was out of practice. And with each progressive strike, the guards atop the walls cheered. The knights behind them were absorbed in their sparring exercises, and Alessandra imagined the sparkle on Dario’s blade behind her.

  “Up here, ladies!” called a guard, setting a shield to one side and stepping away.

  Lia moved her aim upward, letting the arrow fly in another smooth motion. The arrow struck the center whereas her mother’s went high.

  Alessandra felt the stiff pull of the bow, getting used to it compared to her flexible old yew bow at home. The arrows were longer, too. Foreign in her hands. But somehow right, in keeping with the bow. She aimed at the shield, wishing she could try and emulate Lia’s strike, but it wasn’t time. She didn’t want them to know her skill. It was best if they did not think of her as a threat. Only a lowly villager, come to stay for a turn, soon gone. She aimed low, and pretended to be downcast when it struck the very center of the stone she’d targeted.

  “Over here!” called another guard, on the top left of the wall. He set up another shield and Lia immediately struck it. This time, her mother did too. Again, Alessandra went low. The bow had uncommon reach and she found herself wishing she could keep it, take it home. With this, she could strike a hare on the far side of the field from their home’s front step.

  They went on, aiming for one target after another. The guards laughed about “the Fiorentini’s poor aim,” but she ignored them, glad for how their banter ate up the time. She could feel the trickle of sweat roll from her hairline down her back, but she refused to turn and look at the men. She didn’t want Greco to see anything more in her eyes. Suspect anything. Not until she knew more…

  About fifteen minutes later, Lady Adri asked if they might switch to lances. She tossed one over to Alessandra and she automatically caught it with one hand, then belatedly pretended to drop it. She reached down to pick it up from the dirt, stealing a quick glance at the men.

  Sir Luca was staring intently in their direction, arms crossed. Alessandra hurriedly turned back to the women, wishing they’d go back to sparring, giving her the opportunity to spy a certain triangle on Lord Greco’s arm...

  She lifted the lance in both her hands, feeling the balance of it. It was longer than her hunting spear, but had been sharpened at either end.

  “It’s likely too long for you,” Lady Adri said, twisting her own lance in her hands, as if she were getting the feel of it too. “We can have the master at arms fashion a shorter one for you.”

  “Please. Don’t bother,” Alessandra said. “I’ll be gone before he could begin.”

  “When you came into the clearing,” Lia said, “you had a spear in hand.”

  “Yes,” she said. She turned toward the target, and taking a few steps, heaved it over her head. It went sailing through the air and struck the very bottom of the target.

  “It’s too big for a sprite of a woman like you!” called a knight.

  Others muttered more ribald comments, making their companions laugh.

  “A bit heavy, that, to use as a spear,” she admitted to her companions, ignoring the men.

  “Indeed,” Lady Adri said, arching a brow. “But you still managed to almost reach the target.”

  Lady Adri took three steps and hurled her pointed lance down the length of the yard. It hit the castello wall above the target and cracked. She groaned. “Clearly, my lack of practice has harmed my aim much more than my daughter’s.” She went off to retrieve her lance and see how bad the damage was.

  “Do not let her fool you,” Evangelia said. “In a few more throws, she’ll regain what she’s lost.”

  “I do not doubt it, m’lady.”

  But Alessandra was nervously watching Sir Luca, now down near the target, peering at her with suspicion in his eyes. He was picking up her lance, talking to Lady Adri. The tall, blond woman appeared to argue with him, glancing her way. Arguing about her.

  Luca had guessed her secret. Suspected her. Alessandra’s heartbeat tripled as he strode toward them.

  Lia took a step closer to her.

  Without warning, Luca tossed Alessandra her lance and again, and she automatically caught it, staring at him in quiet defiance.

  “Luca,” Lia began.

  “Please, m’lady,” he said, holding a hand up to her while staring at Alessandra. “I beg you attend your mother and give me a few minutes with our guest.”

  “What is this about?” she said, stepping between Alessandra and the knight.

  “I aim to find out why the girl pretends to not have as much prowess with weapons than she truly yields.”

  “What? She just emerged from her sickbed—”

  “Two days ago. Trust me, Lady Evangelia, this one is fully healed. And concealing something. I intend to find out what that is. Please, go with your mother.”

  “Come, Lia,” Lady Adri urged, sorrow etched in her face.

  “Nay!” Evangelia said, wrenching away from her mother’s hand. “I will remain here.”

  “Fine,” Luca said. “I bid you not interfere.” He paused and leaned his head toward her, looking into her eyes. “Trust me.”

  But then he turned and came after Alessandra.

  Alessandra studied the tall man as he circled her, taking another lance from a servant. She’d only seen him looking this serious, this intent, when he was sparring or drilling the men. He let out an unearthly cry and came at her, hurtling his lance down toward her head.

  She didn’t think. She lifted her own and blocked his blow, then turned, striking at his legs.

  He jumped her swooping lance and smiled at her in triumph. “There ‘tis.” He struck again, and she blocked it, then the next two, in quick succession, up high, down low, in the middle. Then she turned and rammed her lance toward his back, belatedly seeing that he’d tossed his own aside, and caught her wrist with both of his hands. He swiftly twisted the lance from her grasp and swung it back around, directly at her head. She crouched, sliding one leg to the right, feeling the whoosh of the lance brush past.

  “Do you intend to kill me?” she sputtered.

  “Not yet,” he said, ramming the lance down again, missing her by inches when she whirled away.

  She rolled and grabbed hold of the other lance and quickly gained her feet. A knight—many encircled them now—whistled in low appreciation. Marcello and Lord Greco were there too. Luca came after her again, fast. Striking, striking, striking. She parried, parried, parried, until her strength gave out and she stumbled backward, only rising as far as her elbows before Luca had his lance at her throat.

  “Luca!” Lia cried. But Marcello physically held her back, as deadly serious now as his cousin.

  “Tell us, Signorina Donatelli,” Luca said, panting, and taking a knee beside her. “Why did you hide your prowess with weapons? So that you might plunge a dagger, sink an arrow, when we least expect it? Might you have only been waiting for access to our armory?”

  He stared down at
her with squinted eyes, trying to decipher the secrets she held back from him. And for the first time, she feared the captain of the Forelli guard. Feared he’d figure out what she was after, her intent. And then she feared for her life.

  “I know not of what you speak,” she tried, using her most plaintive voice, staying still. “I only wish to return home, to my family.”

  “Luca—”

  He lifted a hand to Evangelia, cutting her off. Slowly, he lifted his lance and then knelt beside her. “We saved you, woman,” he said quietly. “Lord Marcello extended you and your family friendship, binding his life to your own. But if you intend to harm the very hands who nursed you to health, you will not find mercy in us again.”

  His green eyes locked with hers, waiting.

  “I understand,” she whispered. She remained perfectly still, fearful he might turn and pierce her with the lance, if she dared move.

  Then he rose. “To the barracks to change, and then the hall for your noon meal,” he said to the men, still staring at Alessandra like he couldn’t tell if she were a snake about to strike, or slumbering in the sun. “Be ready to ride out to your afternoon’s assignments within the hour.”

  He turned from her then, walking off with Marcello as if nothing at all had just transpired. The others gradually peeled away, doing as he bid. She closed her eyes, feeling alternately hot with fever and bitterly cold, as if she were about to faint.

  “Rise,” commanded a voice.

  Her eyes sprang open. Lord Rodolfo, offering his hand. With a quick glance to her right, she saw Lady Evangelia with her mother’s arm around her shoulders, apology in her eyes, as she was led away.

  Alessandra sighed and accepted the nobleman’s hand, coming to her feet.

  “You are no spy,” he said softly, still holding her hand. “But you were foolish, thinking you could deceive us. The Forellis have not held this castle for generations by being fools.”