Gabi and I rode side by side, the knights ahead of us towing us along like tugboats with barges. I still hated the whole side-saddle thing, but at least it required little effort. I could daydream, or stare at people and places along the road in the hazy twilight, cataloguing them in my head for future sketches.
The last I’d sketched was Alessandra. Did Luca and Lord Greco have her yet? Were they heading home, even as we left the gates? If so, Marcello would hand her off in the morning to her dad, and the Fiorentini would have no rationale to attack. We’d be back within the week. The pang of missing the castello, before I’d even left, surprised me. Slowly but surely, maybe this place and these people were taking over my heart as they had, long ago, for my family. I wrapped my hand around the shank of my bow and looked up at the guards. They nodded back at me in silent farewell. Be safe. Be well, I thought, sending good wishes up to them. Be here when I return.
But as my eyes returned to the road ahead of us, I had one particular man’s face in mind.
Luca, oh, Luca. Please don’t be in trouble…
***
“That is not what I wished to see,” Luca said, sliding down again beside Rodolfo. “They have guards on every corner. It’s a nest of vipers.”
Rodolfo peeked over the top of the hill. “By the colors, vipers I know well.” He crept back and turned over, looking up to the darkening sky. “Mayhap we could steal in under night’s cover.”
“As much as I love the opportunity to increase the legend of Sir Luca Forelli, I fear we’d be diced into small cubes of stew meat before the night was over.”
Rodolfo rubbed his face, trying to think of a solution. Come morning, the Fiorentini would arrive at Castello Forelli’s gates. Luca hoped their horses would be safe, back in the wood a half-mile distant. Otherwise, it’d be a long walk home…
Luca pulled some dried meat from his pack and handed Rodolfo a portion. “Eat. It shall help us think.” He pulled a skin of water out and drank greedily, then handed it to his friend.
Rodolfo ignored his offering, still searching the skies as if the emerging stars held the answer. “There are too many. We have no choice but to wait and hope they take Alessandra with them. Mayhap there shall be a juncture where we can move and rescue her.”
Luca quit chewing and grimaced. “What if they kill her tonight? Bury her within the villa’s walls?”
A wave of pain moved briefly through his friend’s face, then was carefully hidden. Rodolfo’s dark eyes met his. “We move before daybreak if they do not. If they intend to use the woman, if she still yet lives, they shall move out with her before morning dawns.”
Slowly, Luca nodded. “First watch is yours, brother,” he said, settling down happily in the grass, his hand over the hilt of his sword. He pulled a branch over him like a blanket. “For I am weary beyond dreams.”
Alessandra still struggled to accept that what she yet endured was real. “Please, m’lord. All I wish is to go home.”
“In time, my dear. In time. Right now,” he said, turning again to face her, “I want you to consider every minute of every day you were in Castello Forelli. What did you overhear? Think, Alessandra. Mayhap you overheard something…a guard…a maid…something that may have seemed like castle gossip.”
She shook her head again and this time, took a step back, the ball of potential betrayal in her belly now getting bigger, making her feel ill again.
He advanced, frowning now, his face moving into a sneer. “Think, Alessandra. Think. There is something else in that pretty head of yours. I’m certain.”
“M’lord,” she gasped, as he cruelly pinched her arms.
He shoved her backward, pinning her to the bed, one hand clamping down on her throat. “Tell me.”
She choked, writhing, struggling to get free, to breathe.
“Tell me all you know.”
She nodded then, giving in.
He immediately backed away, sitting up straight, brushing his tunic and straightening his leggings, patiently waiting while Alessandra struggled to calm herself, to take one breath and then another and then still another. She rose, sitting against the wall, her legs drawn up under her skirts like a protective wall. Celso stood morosely at the door, staring straight ahead, arms crossed. Barring her exit, any hope of escape.
“Tell me, Alessandra, and your agony shall soon come to an end.”
“Lady Evangelia Betarrini,” she began, hating each word as it left her mouth. “She cannot summon the strength to take up arms against another.”
Lord Barbato stared at her for a long moment, and then smiled, laughed. He clasped his hands together. “Truly?” he asked in amazement. “A She-Wolf, hobbled? Maimed?”
She nodded, unable to look at him any longer. She felt sick to her stomach. And she was already praying that such information would never cause Lady Evangelia harm. She was safe…safe behind the walls of Castello Forelli. With Sir Luca and Lord Marcello and all those fierce knights—
“What else?” he asked, leaning toward her again.
“Sir Luca Forelli. His heart belongs to Lady Evangelia.”
“Oh, that is not new information, my dear,” he said, cocking his head and sliding his hand up her arm, up to her neck, hovering where he’d so recently choked her.
Alessandra swallowed hard, tensing for attack, but refusing to drop her gaze.
“What else?” he whispered, squinting at her. “There is something else.”
He dug his thumbs in, just enough to send terror through Alessandra again. If she didn’t tell him, this would simply go on all night. All night…If she survived it. And from what he said, he didn’t truly care if she did.
“Lady Gabriella,” she whispered. “She is to bear a child.”
He lowered his head, so low she could feel his breath on her shoulder. “Now that…that is truly joyous news, is it not?”
She shivered as he backed away. How could she have done it? Betrayed the ladies who had treated her with nothing but kindness? But then, how could such things be a weapon in this man’s hands? As Lord Marcello had said, she knew nothing that wouldn’t be public knowledge in time…
She closed her eyes, ashamed of herself. Despite her attempts to rationalize, she’d acted only to save herself.
Lord Foraboshi rose and straightened his tunic, soothed back his hair. He poured water from a pitcher into the basin, cupped a hand and drank, then looked up at Celso. “That is it. We shall move against the She-Wolves of Siena. End it once and for all. With Lady Evangelia hobbled and Lady Gabriella with child…it might be our only opportunity. Our greatest opportunity. We shall bring them to Firenze. Bring them to their knees. And behind them, their republic shall be brought to their knees as well.”
“A fine plan, m’lord.”
Lord Barbato steepled his fingers in front of him. “Marcello will have sent them to Siena, to the palazzo. Thinking them safest there.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Lord Barbato paused beside Celso as he passed. “See that ‘tis done by the time I return. You have ten minutes.”
“M’lord, the others are certain to recognize her wounds as recent.”
Lord Barbato squinted up at him. “My brothers shall see what they wish to see. They shall see the advantage of backing up my claims, allowing us to attack Castello Forelli and distract the She-Wolves’ protectors. Now…must I find another to see to this task?” He cast a lustful glance in Alessandra’s direction. “It shall not be difficult to find a willing—”
“Nay,” growled the knight. “I shall see it done.”
Lord Barbato left then, closing the door behind him, and the knight advanced.
Alessandra tried to run away, dodge him, but the man grabbed hold of her arm. She screamed and dropped like a dead-weight, trying to wriggle free. “Nay! Nay! Unhand me!”
He dragged her up to her feet, practically off the ground, and she screamed again in terror, half-crying.
“I am your friend,” he whispered in her ear, pulli
ng her terribly close. “Alessandra. You are safe.”
She cried out, confused, thinking she’d misheard. He took hold of her upper arms, holding her still. “Alessandra,” he whispered again.
“Come here!” he yelled upward, as if she’d escaped him.
“I shall not harm you,” he whispered, looking steadily into her eyes. “You are safe. But all will be lost if you don’t help me make him think his orders are being carried out. Scream.” He gave her an urgent look. “Scream,” he whispered, shaking her.
Alessandra cried out, tears still streaming from her eyes, trying to make sense of it. Why? Why is he coming to my aid? What does he want? What shall be his price?
“Cease your complaint!” he yelled toward the door, his eyes containing none of the malice his master’s had. “Just give in, woman. You cannot escape me.”
He let go of Alessandra and slid toward the door. She fell against the wall, trying to stop trembling so violently. He listened for a moment and then looked over his shoulder at her. She let out a little involuntary yelp. Closing his eyes a moment, he took hold of the latch and eased it open, peering outside. He pulled a dagger from his belt then and fully yanking open the door, disappearing through it. A moment later, he dragged in a dead guard, dropping him to close the door. He immediately began stripping off the guard’s boots and leggings. “Quickly. Out of your dress,” he said.
She stared at him in horror. Did he intend—
“I shall not look. Please. Do you not yet see? I can’t escort a woman out of here. But a squire?” He nodded, with the hint of a smile.
She nodded, numbly, finally understanding.
He yanked off the man’s boots and leggings as Alessandra turned and unhooked the back of her gown. She supposed it foolish, her reluctance to leave the gown behind—it’d been a gift from the Betarrinis, the finest she’d ever worn. The Betarrinis. Betrayer, she chastised herself. She slipped the dress from her shoulders and looked back. The knight was offering her a shirt, averting his eyes.
She wrenched it from his hand and slipped it over her shoulders, then reached for the leggings, pulling them up and securing them with the belt that came next. They were ridiculously long, as was the shirt and tunic, but at least the man had not been as large as Celso. She hurried over to the boots, pulling one on after the other. She’d not be able to run in them, but she might be able to manage a shuffle.
Celso went to the door again, peering out, before glancing back at her. He scowled and then dragged her over to the basin, wetting his big hands and then hastily slicking back her short hair. He growled. “You do it. You’re still looking far too…womanish.”
She dipped her trembling hands in and did the same, wetting it down thoroughly, then glanced back at him. He groaned. “As well as can be expected,” he said, taking her hand. They slid out of the room and down the hall. She winced at the heavy sound of her boots, but they were largely disguised by the more frightening sounds—voices, laughter, animated conversation, among fifty or more men, but steps away.
“Come,” he said, after peeking around the corner. “Walk as if you belong here. As if we simply head toward the stables.”
She nodded. But he was already moving. She struggled to keep up, wondering if anyone would shout, call to them, or worse…
But no one did. They made it to the relative safety of the next, dark hallway, only lit by the occasional torch.
“Walk like a man,” he said with a grunt of disapproval.
She frowned. Simple for him to say, when he wasn’t wearing boots too big for him. And he’d been a man all his life! What if she asked him to walk like a woman? Still, she attempted to do as he asked, using the boots to her advantage. Her head ached again, as did her side where she’d been kicked, her neck…
They turned another corner and then through a doorway, and they were outside. Alessandra took a breath of clean, sweet evening air. The knight pulled her between two wagons, crouching down, watching as a group of knights paused beside the door, talking and laughing. He reached in the open back of the nearest wagon and took out a coil of rope.
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Saving me.”
“’Twas the right thing to do.”
“But you are Fiorentini. They shall hang you for your treasonous acts.”
He gave her a small smile, barely discernible in the faint reach of the nearest torch. “They’d hang me anyway, in time, on suspicion.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed her. Even in the dim light, the tattoo could clearly be seen on his fair skin.
She gaped. How many were in this brotherhood? She’d imagined them all to be nobles, not knights in the ranks…
“These are times of shifting sands when it comes to loyalty to one’s republic, are they not?” He didn’t wait for an answer. The knights had moved indoors. And they were on the move again. He stumbled over a ladder, backed up, ran his hand the length of it and then looked up at the wall. It was but a minor defense, nowhere near the height of a castello’s. But it was patrolled by men they could see, as dark silhouettes against the starry sky.
Alessandra glanced back toward the mansion doorway, concerned now. Precious minutes had evaporated. How long until Lord Barbato returned? Found out they had disappeared? Sounded an alarm?
Celso urged her flat against the wall, looking up. Above them, a knight casually walked by. She prayed his attention was mostly outward. But she knew the laughter and noise within was probably drawing him too. She closed her eyes, hoping against hope they would not see them, that it wouldn’t be at this moment that Lord Barbato discovered he’d been betrayed.
Move on, please move on. Lord, help us!
Gradually, achingly slow, he moved on.
Celso didn’t hesitate. He pulled up the ladder. It was missing a couple of rungs, but Alessandra figured she’d be able to get past them. “Go,” he said, as soon as he had it upright.
She hurried up it, but within a few steps, knew she was about to lose her boots, and if she didn’t let them go, they might make her fall. She let them drop to the side and scrambled up the rest of the ladder, Celso right behind. At the top, they crouched, each looking in opposite directions as Celso hauled up the ladder as quietly as he could and lowered it over the other side. He almost had it settled again when they heard the shrill cry of a man from within the villa.
Alessandra jumped on the ladder, almost sending it to one side, but Celso held tight. She hurried down, half sliding, wincing as deep splinters entered her palms. But inside all she could think was away. We must be away.
More alarmed shouts rose. The guards were running in their direction, from either side, having spotted their ladder.
“Make haste!” she cried, not bothering to disguise her voice. An arrow came singing by her head and she crouched, watching in horror as Celso’s tunic got caught on the broken rung and he struggled to free himself. She reached up and pulled, as hard as she could, and ended up bringing the man down with the ladder. He was immediately on his feet and took her hand.
Together they ran.
***
“Luca,” Rodolfo said, nudging his friend. “Luca.”
He was instantly awake, shoving aside the branch and turning to his knees. “What is it?”
“Two men just came over the wall. The Fiorentini are in pursuit.”
“Well, we needn’t wade into that scuffle,” Luca said. But his eyes were tracing the dim form of the two, disappearing down a shallow valley to their left.
“Mayhap they know of what has transpired with Alessandra,” Rodolfo said. The villa gates were opening. “And now, we cannot stay here. They shall discover us.”
“Yes, well,” Luca said with a sigh. “Sleep is not fully necessary, is it?” He rose and pounded his chest. “Not for a Forelli knight.”
Rodolfo shook his head and they set off in a steady run toward the wood where their horses were hobbled. With luck, they’d intercept the two on foot on their way there and
question them. In any case, they didn’t wish to stay where they were, not with enemy knights out looking for those hidden in the slopes and gullies about the mansion.
Minutes later, they reached the wood. Looking back, knights were just now cresting the hill where they’d hidden, lifting torches high. They entered the trees and padded forward, pausing to listen every few minutes for the two who had escaped the villa. It was difficult, so dark that Rodolfo could barely keep track of Luca in front of him, as well as dodge trees. He ran with one hand in front of him, ducking left and right to avoid the trunks and branches.
Luca stopped so suddenly, he almost ran over him. Luca laughed under his breath and steadied him. Slowly, he slid the sword from his sheath, as did Rodolfo. “We know you’re here,” Luca said, just loud enough for anyone in the immediate area to hear. “Come out, or we shall be forced to hunt you down. If you’re against those who inhabit that villa, you shall find aid and protection in us.”
Judging from the sounds, a large man moved toward them.
“Be you friend or foe?” Rodolfo barked, moving to stand beside Luca.
“Neither,” said a deep voice. “But rather, a brother, long lost.”
Rodolfo wondered over his words. But then he was closer.
“If I remember voices correctly, I’d wager I face Lord Greco and Sir Luca Forelli.”
“Celso?” Luca said, a smile of greeting in his voice. “Celso Costa?”
The man laughed and the two embraced in the dark. Rodolfo took the man’s hand. But then sounds of those in pursuit drew them up short. “What of your companion? Who is the boy?”
“It is I,” said another, moving softly through the branches to stand right behind Celso. “Alessandra.”
“Saints be praised,” Luca said, his voice numb with surprise. “Now let us make our escape before we become the latest swine to be skewered and roasted on a Barbato spit.”
Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella) Page 12
