CHAPTER 17
If I thought the first approach to the eternal city was difficult, it wasn’t half as tough as this one. I glanced back, beyond my captor, to Father Tomas, who was staring back at me, clearly as agonized for me as he was in agony. Captain Ruisi’s arms tightened around me, as if I was about to leap from our mount. “Relax, Blondie,” I muttered in English. “Where am I gonna go?” I let out a humorless, desperate laugh.
I straightened again, and Captain Ruisi’s arms loosened, holding the reins.
Apparently word had spread about my escape, and so, as Vivaro’s knights paraded me back to his sprawling palazzo, people gathered to point and applaud and whisper behind their hands. Some women stared at me without smiling or averted their eyes, as if they felt a little of my pain. Others laughed, reminding me of kids at school who enjoyed the after-school brawl or abusing the underclassman—dumping-the-puny-freshman-into-the-garbage-can kind of thing. Mean kids. Now mean grown-ups. The kids ran alongside us like we were bringing a carnival to town, arms raised, laughing, shouting.
I had to speak to Rodolfo. Plead with him to find a way out for us. It was my only hope, since these people were never going to leave me alone. There would not be another opportunity to escape. People dropped what they were doing to follow us to the palazzo, eager to see how my arrival would play out. The last blocks leading up to Lord Vivaro’s were agonizing. I felt like time was slowing, as if I were slogging through wet sand, waist deep.
A woman screeched and came at me, waving her fingers and speaking in a nonsensical language. Was she crazy?
Captain Ruisi kicked at her. “Off with you!” he barked.
I watched her run to the nearest building, clinging to it as if it might save her, looking back at us if we were chasing her. And there was a part of me that understood her.
Okay, I’m losing it. I’m really losing it.
We turned the corner and entered the final street, Lord Vivaro’s street.
As we passed Lord Zinicola’s, I saw that he and Carsius were out front, watching as we passed, saying nothing, though their sad eyes really said it all. I couldn’t bear to look at them for long. They’d sacrificed so much, tried so hard to help me. And what had I done with their gifts? Blown it, big time. Gone and gotten myself captured and hauled back.
A fine legend I turned out to be.
When we finally reached Palazzo Vivaro, with its wide travertine steps cascading down to the street, I saw Rodolfo first, looking somberly in my direction. And then I saw Lord Barbato’s chin, raised in triumph as I approached. But it was Lord Vivaro that I heard first, crying out in shock at the sight of me. “Oh, by the blood of Mars!” he cried, skittering down the stairs with his hands clasped together and shaking his head in horror. “What have you done to my beautiful bride?”
“We did nothing to her, m’lord,” Captain Ruisi said, dismounting. “We merely pursued the She-Wolf until she could run no farther. And that was farther than we expected.” He reached up for me and, when I hesitated, grabbed hold of my arm and roughly hauled me down.
A woman gasped.
“Is that really necessary?” Rodolfo asked sternly, now just a few steps above us.
“’Tis, m’lord,” the captain said, turning toward him. “She cannot be trusted. At every moment you must guard your bride from fleeing. Even unto her death.”
Lord Vivaro clasped one fist to his mouth and raised both of his eyebrows in exaggerated fashion, clearly loving every minute of the drama.
“Unto her death?” Rodolfo asked the captain.
Captain Ruisi cocked his blond head and met his gaze. “If you’d seen what I’d seen, you wouldn’t question me.”
Rodolfo stepped forward and took hold of my arm. “I understand.”
“Rodolfo, I must speak to you alone—” I begged.
“The time for speaking is long over,” he said angrily, staring down at me.
“Indeed,” said Barbato, looking over Rodolfo’s shoulder like an evil little messenger. Delight lit up his eyes. “The only words required of you this night shall be your vows.” He dragged his eyes from me to the crowd, scanning it as if looking for enemies. “Quickly, let us get her inside.”
He turned and walked up the steps, and Rodolfo followed him, hauling me along too.
“Nay, you shall not take her to the cathedral in that!” Lord Vivaro cried, trailing us like a fat cat following a tray of fish. “At least let me put her in a clean gown!”
“’Tis most appropriate, don’t you think?” Rodolfo asked his host over his shoulder. “She-wolves are wild, untamed. Could a bride look more untamed than this?” he asked, giving me a wry up-and-down. Was he joking? Playing the part? Or was that a serious tinge of fury in his eyes?
“You have a point, m’lord. But I have a certain role to play in Roma.”
“And Lady Betarrini robbed you of that role, Lord Vivaro,” Rodolfo returned. He paused and faced the panting, fat man. “I am most sorry for your disappointment. But I sincerely hope that the private nature of the wedding ceremony shall ease your pain. The only Romans in attendance shall be the fifteen you have arranged to join us. That is enough! All of Roma shall clamor for your story, wanting every detail.”
Lord Vivaro paused, studied me and then Rodolfo. “As you wish, m’lord.”
So Rodolfo had something on him. I’d never seen Vivaro shut up before, and there it was. Barbato had taken Captain Ruisi a few paces away to speak to him. Their backs were to us.
“M’lord, may I have but a cup of water to drink?” I asked Rodolfo.
He studied me, then ushered me over to a carved marble fountain at the end of the hall. There, a cherub spit an unending stream of water. I cupped my hands beneath it and shakily took a sip. My back was to the rest of the room. “Surely you do not intend to see this ceremony through,” I whispered.
He paused a moment, then leaned down and said in my ear, “I most certainly do.”
The water slipped through my fingers, my makeshift cup forgotten. I stared at the carved face of the cherub before me and then forced myself to look Rodolfo in the eye. “M’lord,” I said, gripping my silk skirt with damp fingers, twisting it.
“Lord Greco!” Barbato interrupted. He called him forward with a flick of two fingers. “There is the matter of your priest…”
Rodolfo glanced back at me and gave me a small, wicked smile. “Wash your face, She-Wolf. Take down the rest of your hair, in the manner of a noblewoman of Toscana. That, Barbato shall allow.” He stepped away then to speak to Captain Ruisi and Lord Barbato, each keeping an eye on me as if I might slip away at any moment.
I tore my eyes away from Rodolfo’s back, trying to make sense of his words. I watched the men join together in a small circle, nodding, gesturing, deciding my fate.
I felt a gentle touch at my arm and saw the beautiful Main Girl at my elbow. To her credit she did not gasp in dismay at the sad state of my filthy, torn silk toga. She only gave me a gentle, tiny smile and reached up to finish pulling down the few tendrils of my hair that remained in her elaborate up-do. “We have but a moment,” she muttered. Another girl appeared and dipped a cloth in the fountain and reached up to wash dirt I’d missed from my face. A third arrived, and they eased me to a seat on the edge of the fountain. Trying to make me presentable, the best they could. Sweeping my eyelids with a coal stick. Dabbing my lips with a shiny ointment.
“Enough,” growled Lord Barbato, edging past Main Girl. “She had her opportunity to be presented as a respectable bride.” He took my arm and yanked me to stand before him.
He was shorter than I. I stared back into his eyes. “I did not ask to be a bride at all,” I said.
“Yes, well, it has always been about more than your desires, has it not?”
I couldn’t argue that. Ever since I got to ancient Toscana, I’d f
ought. For those I loved. For what was rightfully theirs. For what I’d wanted, hoped for. For love. For peace. For life. But it was always just out of reach.
Was this what God had brought me here to learn? That I could strive, push for what I wanted, but that eventually it was out of my hands?
“’Tis time,” Rodolfo said, stepping toward me in the immaculate costume of a medieval nobleman—a crisp, billowing white shirt, a heavily embroidered tunic that reached mid-thigh, leggings in a fine silk weave, and new boots. How had he changed so fast? He’d been right there just a moment ago. And now here he was again, all GQ Groom of the Middle Ages.
“Rodolfo,” I faltered.
“Shh. Truly you look more fetching even than that day in Firenze in all your finery.”
I frowned in confusion. He thought I was worried I didn’t look good enough for him?
He reached for a coil of my hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, then scanned my face. “Half Roman empress, half nymph of the wood. Lady Gabriella Betarrini.”
“Soon Lady Gabriella Greco,” Main Girl said as she handed him a white cape.
He gave me a sad smile. “It has a good sound to it, does it not?” He stretched it out and wrapped it around me. I wanted to throw it aside, but I could not deny the warmth of the soft fabric.
Gabriella Betarrini. Gabriella Greco. Gabriella Forelli. I rubbed my temples. Marcello Forelli. Marcello, Marcello. I am sorry, so sorry. I can’t see my way out—
“Take my arm,” Rodolfo said, “it soon shall be done.”
“And that means—”
“I mean it shall soon be done.”
Numbly I placed my hand on the back of his, and we paraded down the steps out front, like a prince with his pauper bride. Beside two white horses, he bent to take my waist in his hands and lifted me to the one in back. A sidesaddle, tied to the horse in front. He placed my filthy feet—once in delicate white sandals, now black with dirt—into one stirrup and then the next, his touch firm but gentle, slightly lingering. I searched his every move, every glance for a hint that he intended to stop this somehow. To free me.
But I got nothing.
“Must I bind your hands around the mare’s neck?” he asked me. “’Tis what Lord Barbato has demanded.”
I looked from him to the awful, thin lord beyond him, on a brown gelding. Then to Captain Ruisi, Lord Vivaro, and the bazillion knights all around us. I gave him a humorless smile. “If I were skilled enough to escape all of these, I would be worthy indeed of the legends.”
“Oh, you are worthy, m’lady,” he said with a smile. “Far more than you imagine.”
He turned his back, mounting his steed before me, and ignored Lord Barbato’s protests. “Captain,” he said with a nod.
We set out, down the hill and through the streets, eventually reaching the Tiber River and crossing it. Dimly I took in my surroundings, continually trying to get my bearings in a city I knew…but didn’t. Every time I thought I had found my way, my place, I was lost again. But then I saw St. John’s. San Giovanni in Laterano, the cathedral of Rome.
It was about where I remembered, near the remains of the old Triclinium Leoninum, with its ancient mosaics my parents had always liked, and near a partially rebuilt palazzo. But the only other recognizable monuments for me were the obelisk, from Egypt, now lying on its side in a field to our right, and a glimpse of the pretty cloisters that Lia liked to sketch, to the other side of the big church. The basilica itself? It looked nothing like the one we knew in our own time, with its massive white facade and statues of popes and saints, so like St. Pete’s.
It was about the length of twenty mall stores and three stories high. I glanced around, still trying to figure out if I was where I thought I was, looking for any possibility of escape. But Rodolfo was right there, gently taking me from my saddle and gripping my forearm, abandoning any sense of the normal lord-lady stuff and giving me no chance to make a dash for it. Did he really want this? Me to marry him when I had no choice?
He ignored my quizzical look and pulled me forward, up the steps, toward bronze doors that I recognized.
“Have you been to San Giovanni before?” he asked when I paused, looking up at the massive doors, twenty feet high and decorated with stars. I thought I remembered Dad saying they came from the first century.
“In another lifetime,” I mused.
Two of Lord Vivaro’s knights opened the fifteen-foot-high doors. The rest of the knights lined the stairs, in guarded formation. I knew there were some others that had gone to the back, to the sides, along the cloisters. There was no way they would allow me to escape.
“Rodolfo, I can’t—”
“Do not say it, Gabriella.”
“But this…” I said, feeling my heart really begin to pick up a pace of panic, “—you don’t understand. I cannot—”
“You shall,” he whispered.
I glanced up at him in confusion. What did that mean?
The modern-day basilica, which would one day dwarf this cathedral, had lots of natural light and massive sculptures lining the walls. But the medieval version was a big, dark building and felt more like a cave than a church. Fat candles dripped along the edges, onto the mosaic stones below, the beeswax scent melding with such intense incense that I felt I couldn’t breathe. The remains of the sunset filtered through tiny windows, high up and to my left, smoke dancing and clouding before them.
Before us stood several men in long robes and hoods, as if part of a secret society. I realized then that Lord Barbato and Lord Vivaro wore identical robes and hoods. The two lords strode forward on either side of us. For what reason? To hide themselves? Because they weren’t totally proud of what was about to come down—forcing me to marry Lord Greco?
Well, they can’t. Can’t force me. I’ll wait them out. They won’t kill me. They wouldn’t dare.
I paused, the truth of it sinking in. Yes, they would. I’ve put them through enough. Embarrassed them enough. Here, in this towering church that felt like a yawning chasm with only our small group within, I felt the truth of it echo through my mind, my heart. It was to end here, once and for all. They’d have me as bride, or they’d have my head. And either way, Firenze came out as conqueror.
I bit my lip. There had to be a way to stop it. Had to be a way.
I looked to the priest when we reached him, over to the men presiding—many of them hidden beneath the shadows of their long hoods—and back again. The priest was some kind of bigwig. A cardinal, maybe? Or a bishop? I wasn’t really sure. But I racked my brain for the right title. I had to speak to him, beg him for mercy, protection. He looked a little Spanish, with olive skin and a red, wide-brimmed, tasseled hat and robe. He looked back at me as if I’d interrupted his hot game of cribbage or something. Like this was the last thing he wanted to do today.
Okay, so I’m not gonna get any help from the holy man. But I had to try anyway. “Your Eminence,” I said, gambling on a title that would convey lots of honor and respect.
He peered at me in surprise, as if he did not expect me to speak at all. The men around me got all jumpy.
“These men force me to these vows,” I said, shaking my head and pulling away from Rodolfo. “I do not wish to do this. I stand against it.”
“Gabriella,” Rodolfo said, taking new hold of my arm and yanking me closer again.
Captain Ruisi slipped behind me, and I felt a cold blade beneath my throat. “She is done speaking. Carry on, Your Eminence.”
“Yes, be on with it,” Lord Barbato demanded.
The small cardinal dude stared at me for a moment from behind the bouncing tassels on the brim of his red hat. Then Rodolfo shifted his grip on my right arm again, even as Ruisi’s arm wrapped around me from behind, holding the blade at my throat. The priest turned tiredly toward the altar, made the sign of the cross
and began to chant in Latin.
It was done. Over.
I was getting hitched.
Whether I wanted to or not.
CHAPTER 18
This can’t be happening.
The cardinal turned to me and shook a silver baton-thingy at me and then Rodolfo, chanting words from a gigantic, open, hand-lettered liturgy book. Behind him an altar boy swung a censer, streaming sweet-smelling incense left and then right. Having trouble dealing, I zoned out, ignoring the words, watching as the puffs of gray smoke rose and danced in the fading light, up past the gold-laden Christ figure on a cross behind the altar. I stared at Him, remembering the first crucifix I’d seen when I first came to ancient Toscana. The tiny one at Castello Forelli in my room.
I’d prayed to God then, asking if He would tell me why I was here. What I was to do.
And the only answer I’d gotten, ever since, was to be with Marcello.
To love Marcello Forelli. Be with him. Forever.
I’d even been given my dearest desire—my family, here with me, making it possible. How could I be giving in? Now? After all we’d been through? The way had been made! I only had to escape this trap.…
I straightened and lifted my chin. Captain Ruisi shifted behind me, and I felt the edge of his blade at my throat. But I didn’t think he wanted to use it. Not really.
Rodolfo dared to glance in my direction, obviously feeling me tense.
The cardinal continued his litany, and with each Latin word, I knew that it was here that I would take my stand. For life. For love. The cardinal turned the page, read another sentence, and then looked to Rodolfo. He had apparently just asked if he was vowing to have and to hold and all that stuff. My Latin was pretty sketchy. But I tensed.
Rodolfo looked down at me and stared into my eyes.
I silently begged him not to do it. Not to utter words I couldn’t echo.
“Lord Greco,” growled Barbato.
But Rodolfo’s sad, brown eyes were on me, his hand now holding mine, caressing it. “I cannot,” he said at last.
The River of Time Series Page 79
