Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  “She’s strong, Luca. A She-Wolf, even if the fight within her now slumbers. If the enemy comes to our gates, she shall rise. And Marcello intends to cart them off to Siena anyway.”

  Luca looked off to the horizon and then back to him. Never had Rodolfo seen him so devoid of humor and hope.

  “The battle will likely begin,” Rodolfo said. “Our only hope is to get to Alessandra and bring her back alive. Swiftly.”

  “Then what say you and I do just that?” Luca said, his usual bravado slowly sliding back into his tone. “You know, rather than take our ease at the next town’s inn, putting our feet up, demanding the finest Parma ham and bread.”

  Rodolfo laughed under his breath. “Agreed.” He paused, circling around a section where their adversaries’ trails merged with several others, then separated again. The two of them moved on, cautiously cresting a hill, as if they were nothing but two noblemen, out for a leisurely afternoon ride.

  “I assume ‘twould be far easier if we rescue our misguided friend before Lord Barbato reaches the villa?” Luca asked.

  “Indeed. The difference shall be fighting the four or so who have her now, versus a good number of knights at the villa.”

  “Hmm. Let us opt for the foursome option. The other may prove messy.”

  Rodolfo smiled. “Agreed.”

  But as he said it, a patrol of six men crested the hill to their right. The first man carried a red and white flag on a pole. Fiorentini. He returned to looking forward, as if there was no reason to pause.

  “Mayhap they won’t see us,” Luca said lightly. He didn’t turn to look at them.

  “Too late,” Rodolfo returned, spying out of the corner of his eye, the patrol leader turn his horse in their direction. “We’ll present our papers, letting them take their ease a moment, then before they discover the missing Fiorentini seal—”

  “Take them down,” Luca said under his breath, as the knights surrounded them, demanding they come to a halt.

  Rodolfo and Luca did as they asked. “Greetings, friends,” he said.

  “I am Captain Severino de Firenze,” said the short, stocky patrol captain. “Who are you and what is your business upon this road?”

  “We are nobles on our way north,” Rodolfo said easily, as if it weren’t entirely obvious. “We have letters of safe passage here,” he said, reaching into his tunic and pulling the parchment sleeve from a pocket. He tossed the leather packet to the captain and the man caught it, still studying them.

  “What are your names?” he asked, his tone a little more respectful as he untied the packet’s string.

  “It’s all there,” Rodolfo said, his eyes shifting over the other knights around their captain. Standard arms…

  “You do not know your own names?” asked the man, sliding out the papers.

  “Oh, yes. Forgive me,” Rodolfo said. “I am Lord Rodolfo Greco, and this is Sir Luca Forelli.”

  “We thought it high time for a proper visit,” Luca said.

  The man’s eyes stilled on the papers and shifted up to meet his, but Luca and he were already in action, cutting down the nearest two of the six. The group erupted into shouts and grunts, two horses rearing up on hind legs, the rest surging into motion. A minute later, Luca was pulled off his horse and Rodolfo jumped off his gelding, so they could fight back to back, when he belatedly saw the Fiorentini captain duck under his horse’s neck.

  Rodolfo narrowly missed impalement, and stumbled to his left, lost his footing as well as his sword, and went to one knee. He threw himself to the right to miss the man’s next strike. The man was strong, even if he was short, Rodolfo thought grimly, pulling his dagger as he rose to face the captain, sensing another approach him from behind.

  “So the traitor dares to cross the border,” said the captain with a sneer. He was attempting to cover the sounds of his man behind Rodolfo. But Rodolfo was watching his eyes. Waiting, waiting for the moment they—

  There. He bent and rammed his dagger backward, praying he hadn’t guessed wrong at the man’s move. He hadn’t. He heard the surprised gasp of his enemy, felt the dagger plunge into his belly and turned to wrench the sword from his hands, whirl and meet the captain’s next, furious strike. With a growl, he attacked, striking and striking and striking until the captain’s sword went flying. They faced each other, hunched over and panting. Luca stood to one side, hands on the end of his sword handle, watching.

  The captain looked from Rodolfo to Luca and back again. He raised his hands, his face a mask of fury. “Mercy, m’lords.”

  Mercy. The word echoed his mind a moment, as if foreign. Unknown. Rodolfo paused. He knew that given the opportunity, the man would have sliced him from neck to navel, and left him to the birds. But it was the honor code among knights—some knights. And he knew this one would never have granted him the same.

  Some men were best disposed of before one had to meet them on the battlefield again.

  “Rodolfo,” Luca said, when he raised his sword. And in that one word, his conversation with Father Tomas came back to him. Of penance. And forgiveness. Of going with the wind, rather than against it.

  He lowered his sword and considered the captain. “Mercy is yours,” he spit out, feeling none of the word. “May you remember this day the Lord spared you.”

  They threw the dead bodies over their horses’ backs and hurried down to a ravine, dragging the bound captain behind them. There, hidden in a deep gully, they left their adversaries’ bodies, and forced the captain to strip, binding him to an old, fallen tree. The naked man stared at them with seething hatred. “I shall find you and kill you both,” he said.

  “Ah, that is no sort of gentlemanly response to the mercy we have shown you,” Luca said, mounting his horse. “You should be promising us your finest cask of wine!”

  “Only if I watch you drown in it.”

  Luca looked dolefully over at Rodolfo. “He is a rather unpleasant sort, isn’t he?”

  “Indeed.” They turned and galloped up the hill again, and when they found Barbato’s trail, rushed onward, praying that they hadn’t fallen too far behind.

  ***

  Alessandra was fully awake by the time they rode up to the walled mansion. As soon as the horse came to a halt, she slid off, belatedly remembering her injured ankle, staring at the servant, who gazed back at her in surprise. “Signorina—” he began.

  But Lord Foraboshi trotted up beside them then. “Ah, Alessandra. You have recovered. Good. Good. Please, Eobroni. Take her arm in case she faints again.”

  Alessandra wavered on her feet, feeling weak from hunger, thirst. And her head still throbbed. She felt confused. Lost. “M’lord, if you only would allow me to go home—” she said.

  “In time, my dear. In good time,” he said, taking her arm as his servant took the other. The creaking gates of the villa swung open and four knights emerged to welcome them. The other knight, the towering Celso who had accompanied them from the border, followed behind her.

  She really had no option. Despite her growing sense of dread, she could do nothing but take the steps before her. It will be well, she told herself. They only wish to ensure my safety.

  But then the big knight put a bag over her head and covered her mouth with his hand. He picked her up in his arms when she struggled, and bodily carried her forward.

  She pretended she’d fainted again, hoping he’d release her mouth, allowing her to breathe, and it worked. He paused, shifted her in his arms and kept moving. Her heartbeat sped up when she realized they were avoiding the large, loud courtyard, apparently full of men and horses, and were heading away from the noise. As if hiding her. Why would Lord Barbato hide her from her own people? She frowned, trying to think, wondering if she might be asleep, suffering through a nightmare in which nothing made sense…

  The guard deposited her on a straw tick, covered in a rough blanket. She moaned and moved her head, as if just awakening again.

  Lord Barbato pulled the bag from her head. The big knigh
t was right behind him. “Forgive me, my dear. ‘Twas best if the others not yet know you are here.”

  “M’lord…I am well enough to speak to my Fiorentini brothers,” she said, forcing herself to rise, to show him. Mayhap that is why he’s not eager to introduce me. “If you might just give me a moment. Some water. A brush. I can make myself presentable.”

  “Not yet,” he said, folding his arms. “Sit down, Signorina.”

  Slowly, she sank to the edge of the straw tick and folded her hands in her lap.

  “I must be certain I know of all that you wish to say to the Grandi. First. I want no surprises.”

  “I…I have told you all I know. Of the construction. Of the men with their triangular tattoos denoting the brotherhood.”

  “Yes,” he said, pacing before her, chin in hand. “Tell me more of those. None of the other knights had them?”

  “None that I could see.”

  “Intriguing,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “We’ve noted that mark on other Forelli allies. How many are there?”

  “I tried to find out, m’lord. But they would not say.”

  He tapped his lips, thinking, then eyed her again. “What else? Surely you gained other knowledge while inside the gates of Castello Forelli. Or did they keep you chained to a wall?”

  She laughed a little at that, then quickly sobered when she saw his stern expression. “Nay, m’lord. For the most part, they treated me most kindly.”

  “Nay,” he said. “I do not wish for you to say that ever again.”

  She frowned in confusion. “M’lord?”

  “They beat you,” he said, striking her across the mouth before she saw it coming.

  She was too surprised to cry out, and only lifted the back of her hand to her split, bloody lip. She stared at him from the corner of her eye, fear mounting in her heart. Lord Greco had warned her…tried to warn her…Nay. Only this one is bad. If she could go to the others…she’d be certain to meet good men. Upstanding men.

  “I wish to see another of the Grandi,” she said firmly, squaring her shoulders. “Lord Foraboschi.”

  But he only hit her again, this time knocking her to the floor. For a small man, he was terribly strong, she thought, trying to get her head to cease its dizzying spin.

  “You were raped repeatedly. Hit. Slapped. Choked. Chained. Threatened,” he said, leaning down beside her.

  “But that ‘tisn’t true,” she said, cradling her head in her hands, trying to get the earth to return to its normal slant so that she might rise.

  “It shall be if you do not tell me what I need to know,” he said, winding his small hand cruelly in her hair and wrenching her head back. “You’re a beautiful woman, Alessandra. It shan’t be a chore for Celso, here, to serve the republic…”

  “M’lord, please,” she gasped. “I am a loyal servant of the republic,” she pleaded. “I know nothing else.”

  Except of Lady Evangelia, and her inability to lift an arrow against the enemy, she thought.

  Nay. Not that. They need not know that!

  Or of the babe in Lady Gabriella’s belly.

  “What is it, my dear?” he said. “You’ve thought of something.”

  “Nay, m’lord.”

  “Why do you protect them? Our enemy?” he seethed, tugging at her hair.

  “I know nothing else. I swear it.”

  He released her hair then, making her think he was changing his mind, seeing he’d acted in error, when he kicked her in the stomach.

  Alessandra panicked, needing breath, yet unable to take it. She writhed on the floor. When she was finally able to take a half, gasping, lurching breath, he again wound his hand in her hair. “Tell me and this ends,” he whispered in her ear.

  She didn’t believe him, but she had to give him something.

  What? Anything she thought of made her feel the cold wave of betrayal. There was knowledge that fueled forces of war. But then there was knowledge that could only lead to very private pain…

  He was sawing at her hair before she fully realized what he was doing. She screamed, watching long waves of it fall to the floor, to her skirts. “Stop! Stop!”

  “Come now,” he said, as she felt the last of it lift from her shoulders, the pull of strands at her neck. “’Twill make your story all the more effective.” He tossed the last handful to the ground and Alessandra couldn’t help it. She was so confused, she gave way to tears, lifting her hands to her head to feel her shorn hair.

  He leaned down beside her ear again. “They sheared you like a spring lamb,” he said. “That’s what you shall tell the Grandi. It was horrifying. They laughed as they did it.”

  “Nay,” she said, shaking her head as tears streamed down her face. “Why must I lie?”

  Lord Barbato slapped her again. This time, as she went to the ground, she stayed there. The cool stones gave her an odd sense of comfort. But he took her arm and wrenched her upright, leaning her back against the bed frame.

  “Do you not see?” He shook her, an odd smile on his face. “Do you not see? You are our own Helen of Troy, inciting our battle.” He laughed under his breath. “Well, not quite the same. But you shall serve the same purpose.”

  He rose and stared down at her. “You may feel poorly at the moment, Alessandra, but you shall always know that you gave it all to serve your republic. And once the men see you, abused, shorn, used, no man in Firenze shall fail to rise up and beat the Sienese dogs into submission.” He paused and stared at her. “Only your dead body might make them more furious. So, dear Alessandra, I suggest you consider the benefits of quiet compliance.” He leaned down. “Now tell me. Tell me what you know.”

  ***

  Castello Forelli

  “I shall be with you soon,” Marcello said to Gabi, taking both her hands in his and kissing them. “Take close care. No foolish decisions,” he warned her. “You act on another’s behalf now,” he whispered.

  Only I was close enough to hear it. Mom and Dad were busy getting settled on their own horses.

  “You swear it? You’ll be with me soon?” she pressed.

  “I swear it,” he said, bringing her hands to his chest and putting his forehead to hers. I didn’t think Marcello could look any more in love when it came to my sister, but this whole baby thing had him looking like he was ready to sing her a Taylor Swift song or something. He looked like it was killing him, sending her away. And suddenly, I remembered his face when she was so close to death, and he dragged her palm down to the handprint in the tomb…

  “M’lord,” said a skinny knight, Este, entering the stables. “Scouts have located enemy soldiers, venturing across the border. We must get your family to Siena, or commit to keeping them here.”

  Marcello nodded and turned to help Gabi up on her horse, gently settling her feet in the stirrups and tying her reins to Otello’s, already mounted ahead of her. He was one of Marcello and Luca’s most trusted men, a linebacker sort of dude, with a ton of meat on him, and most of it muscle. Beside him, Falito, a regular, 5’10” sort of guy, looked kind of freakishly small. But I knew he was just as fine a fighter. As were the other twelve in attendance.

  “You make certain our scouts let us know if any cross the border,” Marcello called to Este. “One is to come here, to alert us, and the other is to find our party on the road and alert them.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” He disappeared through the open stable doors.

  “Any difficulty in bringing Pio and Sandro with me?” my dad asked Marcello, glancing at the two cute stable boys and back to his son-in-law.

  Marcello smiled and ducked his head. “You really must cease adopting the children about or they shall never become the men we seek to make of them, sir.”

  Dad smiled, but only stared back at him, waiting him out.

  “Fine, fine,” Marcello said. “We shall make due without them.” He looked at the squires. “Go! Get your knapsacks and stuff a clean shirt in them. You must be presentable if you are to represent the Forelli househ
old in Siena.”

  The boys scurried away, even as another man slid a bit into the mouth of a mare. They were so small, they could ride together.

  Marcello lifted me into my saddle. “Don’t fret, Evangelia, over Luca. He shall see this through as he has all other battles.”

  I sat up straight, wanting to kick him instead of allowing him to place my heels in the stirrups. “I know,” I said in irritation. “Or I’ll simply be forced to go and rescue him again.” Was I so easy to read? Did everyone know that I was falling for the guy?

  Marcello laughed. “I’ll be most eager to tell him you said that.”

  “Please. Do so. Mayhap it shall keep him from further harm.”

  “Take care of your sister too,” he said. He turned to a servant and took hold of my bow and quiver. He stared into my eyes as he handed them to me. I was obviously fooling no one. Every one of my companions knew I was struggling with it, even though I thought I’d been hiding it pretty well over the last year. I shouldered the bow, choosing to watch a servant as he silently handed Gabi her sheath and sword, rather than meet my brother-in-law’s knowing eyes.

  “Ready, m’ladies?” asked Otello, looking back at Gabi.

  Gabi nodded, granting him permission to head on out. Falito gave a low whistle and we moved out of the stables, joining our guards. I hated that we were taking men away from Castello Forelli, but understood the importance of it. Firenze specialized in using kidnapped victims for their cause, and if the wrath of our neighbors to the north was about to descend upon us again, it was best if Gabi and her baby were behind far more impenetrable walls. Me too, I supposed. Our contingent of knights would see us to Siena, and then most of them would ride back tomorrow. Hopefully before the Fiorentini arrived.