I looped my arm through his, and we started to walk among the men in the courtyard. “He believes he’s safe,” I said. “Mayhap he even intends to remain holed up in the castle while the execution takes place. Watch it from the parapets.”
“Nay,” Marcello shook his head, staring at the gates as if he could see through them all the way to Castello Paratore. “He’ll wish to wade into the fray, meet me at the front. We’ve been too long at this, he and I, for him to stand back. He knows as well as I that this is where it comes to an end. That this is the day.”
A shiver ran down my back. Once there had been an understanding—if either young lord was hurt, the enemy would back off. Those days were clearly long over. I remembered the first day I’d arrived. When Paratore had been wounded and the battle abruptly ended. Too much had transpired since then, too much blood spilled…My eyes focused on a man in brown.
“Marcello,” I said, touching his hand and gesturing toward the gates. Father Tomas was there, pack over one shoulder, talking to the knights who stood by the massive crossbeam.
We set off to intercept him. The knights in position at the crossbeam seemed relieved to see us coming. Father Tomas followed their gaze, looked upward, as if for heavenly support, and then awaited our approach.
“You cannot still intend to approach them,” Marcello said.
“I do,” he said simply.
“Tomas, you go to your death,” Marcello said. “You must remain here.”
“Or do I go to life?” he asked. “I do not fear death. I’ve prayed the night through, seeking my Lord’s guidance. And all I can tell you is that He wants me there, with Rodolfo. In case you do not make it in time.”
“We shall make it in time,” Marcello said. “There is no question. Rodolfo shall not suffer execution this day.”
“So you believe.”
“Yes, I believe it.”
“Every plan has five unseen obstacles. You know it more than I.” Tomas reached out and laid a hand on Marcello’s shoulder. “Please. By your leave I must go.”
Marcello let out a sound of exasperation and put a hand on his head, studying him. “Why, Tomas? Why?”
“Because all but three of our brothers are here,” he said, meeting Marcello’s stare. “They all shall serve you and Rodolfo this day. This, this is my way to serve you both.”
“By dying? Rodolfo would not want that.”
“Rodolfo would want me to do as my Lord bid.”
“Ahh, I see. So this is a testament of faith?” Marcello asked. “Your walk into the lion’s den? The pit of fire?”
“I know not. All I know is that I am to get to Rodolfo. Perhaps, inside, I can also aid the servants sent to help you and the men.”
Marcello turned to the guards. “This man is not to exit this castle. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, m’lord,” said the first.
“I must go, Marcello,” Tomas said carefully.
“You would go over to Castello Paratore, a castle of Firenze, Guelphs, long faithful to the pope who disowned you, and demand entrance?” Marcello asked.
“Nay,” he said. “My God calls me to go, and I shall follow. ’Tis he who shall gain me entrance.”
“He’ll use you, Tomas,” I said quietly. “Trust me. Paratore will use anyone he can to get Marcello or me. He put Lia in his dungeon. Threatened unspeakable harm to her. Don’t you see? He’d do the same to you. And then Marcello and I would feel compelled to do anything we could to rescue you.”
“I ask you not to do that, here and now, with God as my witness. I am not your responsibility.”
“Which is one thing to say here in the safety of this castle,” Marcello said.
“You do not understand—” I began.
“Nay, nay,” Tomas said in anguish, to me, then to Marcello. “’Tis you two who do not understand.” He was finally growing angry, turning red at the neck, and he focused that fury on Marcello, brother to brother. “I relinquished my sword, my bow, the day I became a priest. This,” he said, plucking at the fabric of his robe, “represents my faith and is my armor. The Word of God is my sword. This day represents my battle too.” He shook his head. “Allow me to take up my portion the way God intends.”
Marcello studied him for a long moment, mouth shut. “Go,” he said then, quiet frustration in the single, low word.
“No, Marcello,” I intervened. “Tomas, see here—”
“But go ready to meet your Maker,” Marcello said over me. “I cannot promise protection.” He lifted his hand to the guards. “I’ve changed my mind. The priest shall be allowed to leave,” he said, then strode away.
“Tomas,” I said, begging him to wait, to reconsider. “Nay. Nay.”
The knights slid the massive bar back and opened the gates a foot wide for him to slip through. He paused there, took my hand, and then kissed both my cheeks. “Watch over him, Gabriella. Teach him that we are all on the river of life, and that even when the river divides, we are still somehow one.”
I frowned over his puzzling words and clung to his hands. “Tomas, please. Stay. Stay here and pray for Rodolfo.”
He gave me a little smile. “You more than anyone, m’lady, should know the power of a friend’s presence when facing dire circumstances. No doubt Rodolfo has already seen a fair amount of torture. I must try to go to him, be with him.”
I hesitated, remembering Fortino, how glad I was that he had not been alone through it all, that he wasn’t alone at the end.
I released him. “Go with God, Tomas,” I mumbled.
“Always, m’lady,” he said and turned on his heel and left.
The knights closed the gates and slid the beam back into place before me, a grating, powerful sound of final separation. I reached up and touched it. But my mind was on the man who had just departed, who would ease through the woods and find the path to Castello Paratore and march right up to her gates.
And then what? Would he find Rodolfo weak and injured in a cell? Find some way to bring him comfort, peace, before he died? Memories of Fortino made me clench my eyes shut in pain.
“Hey,” Lia said, coming closer and laying a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
I glanced at her and then back at the beam. Would one of these slide shut behind Tomas, locking him in? Would our people be able to help him, save him?
Marcello had told him not to look for rescue.
But was…was God asking me to do that?
CHAPTER 29
“Uh-oh, Gabi. No,” Lia muttered. “I don’t like that look in your eye.”
I ignored her and strode through the mass of men and horses toward the armory. But she stayed beside me as I sidestepped two men who were stripped to the waist, sparring, and entered the Great Hall. “What are you doing? What are you planning?”
“Nothing!” I exclaimed, slipping a sheath over my shoulders and finding the kind of broadsword I favored. I tipped it back and forth, then looked down the length of it, making sure it was straight, true. Then I slid it into its case between my shoulder blades and went to the wall of daggers. I wrapped a belt around my waist and slid six daggers into the small loops. Then I put a seventh at my calf.
Lia shooed away the knights who lingered there watching me arm myself, clearly fascinated. It isn’t every day these guys get to see a girl do such a thing, I mused, as they all reluctantly departed. We were temporarily alone in the armory.
“You ’bout done, GI Jane?” she asked, gesturing toward me. “Or maybe you want to put a few more knives in your hair. And there’s still your other leg. Maybe wrap a whip around it?”
“What’s with you?” I asked. “I’m just getting ready to ride with Marcello. You know, go stir up the boys, get ’em psyched. Aren’t you coming?”
She stared at me, her blue eyes piercing mi
ne. It almost hurt me, physically, to keep it up, to lie to her to her face. I turned and studied the rest of the weapons—fairly picked over by now. But that was when I found what I wanted. The iron claw attached to the length of rope. I’d have to come back for it later, when I wasn’t with Lia.
But when I turned, I knew she’d seen me looking at it. “What are you planning, Gabi?”
“Nothing,” I said insistently. And it was kinda true, at least. I wasn’t planning anything. I was preparing…in case…
She folded her arms and blocked my way.
“Look,” I said. “I’m just going with Marcello to get the boys all riled up, ready to win this battle. But you and I know, firsthand, how battles can take a turn you don’t expect. I want to be ready for anything. Don’t you, She-Wolf?”
The first hint of a smile thawed her icy expression. “I did consider grabbing a quiver full of those Lerici arrows.”
“There you go,” I encouraged. “And how ’bout a belt full of daggers for good measure?”
Her smile broadened. “The boys would like to get an eyeful of that,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “The more weapons we pile on, the hotter we are.”
“Too bad you’re an old married woman now.”
“And that Luca has already stolen your heart,” I teased back.
She rolled her eyes, but she blushed and moved over to the lines of quivers. “I’ll have to ask the men of Castello Lerici,” she said, shouldering a bow, “for some of their arrows.”
I moved over to a crossbow. “What about one of these? Are they hard to use?” I was thinking of the claw and how, without some sort of help, I’d never get it to the top of Castello Paratore.
“It’s a whole other discipline,” she said, taking it from the wall and grunting under its weight. “Other than aim, of course. You hold it like this,” she said, letting it settle in her arms, the bow horizontal. “And they’re tricky to get loaded right. You have to pull it back to this point,” she said, gesturing to a small metal bar.
Luca appeared in the doorway and let out a long, low whistle. “Nothing finer looking than two beautiful women holding weapons.”
I laughed and whispered, “What’d I just say?”
Lia smiled and shook her head, placing the crossbow back on the wall.
“I knew something interesting was transpiring,” Luca said, “when I saw the men five-deep outside the armory, all trying to catch a peek.”
I glanced past him and saw that he was right—we were drawing a crowd. “Oh, brother,” I said in English.
“’Tis best you two finish up so the men can resume their tasks,” Luca said wryly. “Can I help you find something in particular, m’ladies?”
“Nay,” I said. “I think I’m ready now.”
He caught my arm as I edged past. “Why do you look as mischievous as you did the night I caught you heading over the castle wall? The night you were determined to go after Lia?”
“Do I?” I said, giving Luca an innocent look. “My sole goal,” I said lowly, “is to see this battle through and my husband home so we can resume…exploring married life.”
Luca laughed at that, as I knew he would. “Ah, you Norman girls. Simply magnificent, I tell you.”
I glimpsed a flash of prancing horse, golden cloth, and Marcello’s dark hair. “C’mon,” I said to Lia in English. “We have to get to the pep rally.”
So we did what Marcello wanted. When the drums began to beat over at Castello Paratore, Lia and I rode out alongside him, Luca, the twins, and ten others he trusted most, in front of Castello Forelli.
In the last hours two companies of Sienese knights had moved toward the border of the creek bed, and it was there that we cantered, the twins carrying two golden standards, shimmering cloths of gold, basically giant flags that said, Oh yeah? We aren’t afraid of you!
Marcello did his thing, revving up the troops. I stared at him, caught for a moment by the sheer amazingness of him—my husband—looking incredibly fine from the crown of his dark curls down to his boots. He wore a new leather chest plate as armor, as well as plates strapped to his thighs and calves. His muscles bulged beneath his linen shirt as he lifted his sword high into the air. The men cheered, and for a moment, the steady, creepy beat of the Fiorentini drums could not be heard. But then the sound was back, like a bad memory.
Marcello looked to the twins, and they immediately turned to lead us back to Castello Forelli. I frowned as they led us away. We’d not really spoken of how long he’d intended me to be with him, but I thought it would be far longer than this—which hadn’t been much more than a trip around the ring. It was like we’d been reduced to show queens, not She-Wolves. Totally lame.
“Wait!” Marcello called. He kicked his horse into a gallop and was beside us in a second. “Come with me,” he said, dismounting and reaching for me. I took hold of his shoulders and slid down into his arms, but he immediately took my hand and pulled me several paces off, behind a small stand of old oaks. I struggled to find words to express what was boiling up inside. But he was moving too fast, too focused on getting back to the men, as the sun grew lower in the sky. He quickly kissed my hands, then each of my cheeks. “You’ll be safe at the castello, Gabriella. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I love you. You know this, yes?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, afraid I would say words I’d regret—or utter promises I could not keep. I knew he assumed I would stay in the castle, as was planned. I just didn’t know if I could bear to do it. I guess it depends on how swift and decisive your victory is, I thought.
“Take close care, m’lord. I’ll be anxious for our reunion.” Yeah—that I could say honestly.
“As shall I,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
An hour later the sun was setting, and a messenger arrived at the castello. He walked up to Georgii with a furrowed brow. I sidled closer, chin up, as if I, as Lady Forelli, expected to know about everything that was transpiring. Georgii eyed me and then gave the scrawny messenger a nod, granting him permission to speak.
“I have sorrowful news, sir. A man and woman, servants of Castello Forelli, have been hanged. Thrown over the castle parapets, a noose about their necks. Eight more are on the wall. It looks as if they, too, shall be hanged at any moment.”
I gasped and covered my mouth. Giacinta, I thought, first. Paratore found them out.
“Have you informed Lord Forelli?” I asked.
The messenger nodded, with a Well, Duh look in his eyes, before he remembered his place. “’Tis Lord Forelli who sent me, m’lady.”
“Of course,” I muttered, walking a few steps away. We should never have sent the servants in. Never have sent innocent, simple people to do a knight’s job!
“What of Lord Greco’s execution?” Georgii asked.
“No one has yet seen Lord Greco. Nor Lord Paratore.”
“Do the Fiorentini show any signs of dysentery?” Mom asked, edging in to our gathering.
“Dysentery, m’lady?” the messenger asked, hesitating. “Nay, m’lady.”
Mom and I looked at each other. The plan had failed, then. Giacinta…
The gates opened wide, and the three wagons bearing the catapult lumbered out. I knew then that Marcello would order them to fire, regardless of who stood on or hung from the wall above the gates. This was our chance, our opportunity to drive the Fiorentini back and establish peace—there was always a cost to peace, right?
Unless I could somehow make my way in and assist those who remained. Ten discovered, I thought, but there are still five of our people inside, still working on our behalf, ready to assist us.
I ran over to the stairs and up the curving case to the top. I pushed back a guard, who sputtered at me, trying to find the words to order me, his lady, to leave. Then I ran past another
who only stared at me, openmouthed. I reached the front wall of the castle and stood beside a small raised portion that would give me some protection, should there be a Fiorentini assassin about.
Vaguely I realized my family had followed. First Lia. Then my parents.
Together we looked out across the valley, across winter-dead trees to the place where great clouds of dust arose, signifying that the battle was underway. We could hear the roar of some men, the cries of others. Beyond it we could see Castello Paratore, one side of it pink in the glow of the setting sun, crimson flags waving. And atop it, barely visible, were the tiny figures of our people standing on the wall. As we watched, a man in a brown robe was pushed to stand at the top, in the center, directly above the gates.
Mom gasped.
“Tomas,” I breathed. “They’ll all die,” I muttered. “Die because they wanted to help.” I glanced at Dad. “Marcello will take down those gates, regardless of who is up there. He told them that. This is his one chance.”
Dad nodded once, his face gravely serious. “Acceptable losses in an effort to win the greater good. Such are the ways of war.”
I focused on Tomas, wishing I could teleport over there, whip out my sword, and show Paratore what it was like to take me on armed, again. Jerk, using women, a priest as some scummy human shield…At least Rodolfo wasn’t there. Had Marcello and his men reached him? Freed him before Paratore’s horrific impaling had begun down by the creek?
But that was when a tenth figure was lifted to the top of the wall. It was impossible not to recognize the dark black, wavy hair, the straight shoulders as he forced himself upright after a moment’s hesitation. “Rodolfo,” I whispered, leaning forward, sudden, angry tears in my eyes.
“Oh no,” Lia moaned.
He’d tricked us. Paratore. Pretended to plan to execute Rodolfo down on the platform to draw Marcello and his men out to him. And all the while, he was back at the castle, ready to kill Rodolfo at his leisure. Where he was certain we could see. And where he would remain safe.
The River of Time Series Page 91
