DELUGE (39 page)

“Go down to the kitchens! Tell them to boil every pot of water they can and bring it to us when they’re hot!”

“Yes, m’lady!”

“Scalding them?”

“Yes,” she grit out. “I only wish I had huge vats of oil. Go. Tell Pezzati what we think is happening.”

“On it,” I said, partially rising. But then urged her to pause. If she waited a minute or two, until others climbed the rope, she could remove the rope
and
a few men.

Her eyes met mine. “Got it. Go!”

I gathered myself, nocked another arrow, and began my run down the parapet toward the gate where Captain Pezzati, red-faced and sweaty, was shouting orders to the other side. I saw that the majority of our archers were on either side of the gate, continuously shooting. And then I finally recognized what I heard.
Boom…boom…boom.

They had a battering ram.

I swallowed hard as the gate shuddered with each strike, but held.

Oh, Luca. Come home,
I thought.
We need you. We can’t hold out for long. Luca! Luca!

I prayed they’d learned of the Fiorentini invasion and were on their way to us even now. A man beside me took an arrow, and I took hold of him and eased him to the stones below, examining his wound, his face. It was Alanzo, steady and strong Alanzo, and I wanted to weep as he gasped for breath, holding my hand in terror. The arrow had pierced his lung.

“Kill me,” he gasped, his voice raspy, thick with blood. He gripped my hand. We both knew that a strike through the lung was a slower death. But it did mean certain death. In Medievalville one did not carry on with just one lung.

“I cannot,” I said, sorrow in every syllable. I wished Mom were here, that she could slip him some medicinal that would at least ease his pain or make him sleep until death took him.

The captain looked down at me, and I knew I had tears streaming down my face. “M’lady?” he knelt, gripping my arm.

“I am well,” I assured him, reading the fear in his eyes. “’Tis Alanzo I grieve.”

The man was shuddering now, in my arms, and I held him tight, gritting my teeth. “The Fiorentini…They are all ill, Captain. They’ve put their sick troops forward, to wear us down,” I said.

Captain Pezzati’s gray eyes scanned the wall, thinking. “All this time, keeping the ill from our gates,” he muttered, lowering his head and rubbing the back of his neck, “just to have them batter their way in.”

Batter. Climb. Crawl.

“How long…” I gasped, crying, “can the gate hold?” I tried to get a better grip on Alanzo’s head, attempted to keep him from thrashing as he drowned in his own blood, wanting it to end—
God of mercy, please take him….

Grim, Captain Pezzati leaned across his torso to aid me. “We could hold them off for a good while yet,” the captain said. His grey eyes met mine. “But I agree with you. There are many out there, behind these.”

Alanzo gave one last shudder and then slumped in my arms, the life leaving him like water pouring from a pitcher. Feeling that—a soul leaving his body, the hollow of what remained—stole my breath.

Captain Pezzati rose to his knees and crossed himself. Then he looked me in the eye. “While we can hold for a time, we need to be prepared. When I whistle, you gather up your mother and father, your sister and nephew, and you prepare to fight your way out. We shall surround you with every able man left. If the castello falls…”

“She shall not fall!” I cried.

He reached out to take my hand from Alanzo’s head and gently set it aside. He took the man’s body and shifted it to the edge of the parapet, out of the way, placing Alanzo’s hands over his chest, then stared grimly back at me.

“If she falls, I shall not see you fall, too. You must be away, m’lady. Somehow. Some way. I cannot face Captain Forelli with word that his wife has been taken. But you all must be together. Ready. Understood?”

I looked past his shoulder, at the men fighting, shouting, edging past, ducking. It was like they moved in slow motion. Sounds dimmed. I knew every one of them would die to save us.

I lifted my eyes to the skies. Gray clouds gathered, and there was just a bit of daylight left. Come night…I shuddered at the thought. But with the hours left, and with every ounce of strength I had, I would fight. Taking a deep breath, I rose, refilled my quiver, and went about my task again.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

~GABRIELLA~

Cook sent eight terrified maids to the wall with buckets of boiling water, and we took to dumping them atop the men who tried to climb their way upward. I winced as they screamed, but I knew none of them would hesitate to kill me…or worse. Blessedly, Cook also sent two maids up with loaves of bread and cold water for each of us to take hurried gulps and bites.

I hadn’t even realized I was hungry. Or how tired I was, until I’d stopped for a moment. The siege had been going on for more than four hours.

We’d probably killed a hundred or more men outside. Eight of ours were down, leaving us with twenty-seven fighting men, plus Mom, Dad, me and Lia. The bad news was that Lia had been right…the men behind the first waves were stronger, less sick. They came at us, faster, more powerful by the hour. If their attack continued, unabated, I figured we could stand for another hour, maybe two if we were lucky.

I wracked my mind for a way out. If nothing else, I had to stall for time. To give Marcello and Luca time to return to us, with aid. Or at the worst, put off that horrible thought that Captain Pezzati had given Lia—that we’d try to fight our way out.

I knew that we’d all perish in that scenario. We’d be brave. It’d be epic. But we’d all die.

I made my way toward the gate, and when Captain Pezzati turned to take a drink, the maid visibly shaking by his knees as arrows flew over her head, I said, “Fly the white flag, Captain.”

He paused, slurped from the scoop, and wiped the excess off his lips with the back of his hand. “M’lady?”

“Give our enemy the signal, Captain. I want to know who ’tis behind this attack before night overtakes us. I want to see his face. And I want to buy Marcello and Luca time to return to us.”

“M’lady, we do not even know if Lord Forelli has been informed of—”

“I am aware of that. I’m also aware that he hasn’t heard word from us for days. He shall be on alert. Mayhap even will have sent scouts out to make certain all is well.”

Captain Pezzati’s gray eyes widened slightly with the edge of new hope.

“Fly the flag,” I repeated. “Now.”

“Yes, m’lady,” he said, with a genteel nod. He turned and went to a box beside the gate wall, opened it, and removed a musty, moldy  ivory flag. He pulled down the golden Forelli flag, replaced it with the ivory, and raised it. It hung, limp, lifeless. But in moments we heard shouts from below and the arrow fire ceased. No more iron claws came loping over the wall. Everything became still.

I ran my hands through my hair, aware that it had all come loose through the long hours. And then I rose, slowly, my hand on the cornerstone of the gate pillar, as if every Forelli who had ever resided within these walls might grant me strength.

Captain Pezzati took to my left side, Celso to my right. I could smell them, rank with sweat. Or was it my own stink? I knew I hardly looked like the lady of the house, my hair in full disarray, my dress soiled and bloody.

I scanned the men below. The Fiorentini remained still, their hands at their sides. Some hunched down to watch.

“I am Lady Gabriella Betarrini Forelli,” I called. “I shall speak directly to your lord!”

There was a pause. Some of the men looked over their shoulders to the woods.

After a moment, Lord Barbato strode outward, cape over one shoulder, hands casually crossed on the pommel of his saddle. Two men flanked him, looking strong and determined.

Barbato
, I seethed.
Of course it’s him.
I found hollow comfort in the fact that at least Foraboschi was dead.

They stood directly below me, just forty feet away, and I ached to give the nod to Matteo to take him out.

“’Tis enough, Barbato. I don’t wish to kill any more of your men. Go home to Firenze.”

Low laughter rumbled below while my men remained silent. I knew they were busily bandaging wounds, gathering additional arrows, just as mine were.

“These men are here for one cause only, m’lady. To rid this corner of Toscana of the traitorous Grecos and our greatest enemies, the Forellis. Come now, my lady.” He spat out
lady
like it was a foul word. “End this folly. You know you are outnumbered.”

I paused. “And yet we shall still relieve
you
of a great number of your men if we decide to fight to the death.” I turned to walk a few paces to the next space in the wall, killing a bit more time, milking it.

“And why must we be enemies? Have we of Castello Forelli not spent years in peace with you, our neighbors to the north? Is not your truest goal, Lord Barbato,”—it was my turn to spit out his name—“to make war and line your own pockets? Is that not why you are here?”

His face soured as he studied me. “Our enemies are not those of Castello Forelli. ’Tis you, Gabriella Betarrini Forelli. And your sister. The witches of Siena.”

I blinked, uncertain of what I’d heard.

“We are here for the witches of Siena, those who have brought the plague to our lands!” he cried, looking along the wall to my men.

I blinked again.

He was pinning the plague on us?

“I know not of what you speak,” I said. “Has the plague taken
your
mind, sir? Are you a madman now?”

“Only if you have bewitched me as you have so many others,” he said with an angry slice of his hand. There was grumbling assent all around him. Obviously, he’d been spreading these lies for some time. This,
this
was why the sick fought for him. They believed Lia and I had brought the plague to Italia.

“This plague came from the Orient, not from a She-Wolf,” I said with a scoff. “Think on it. It came first to Venezia, to Sicily, via the ports. Not from within. Not from
here
.”

He lifted his chin. “And yet rumor has it, that not one within your castello has fallen. In over
two years
of the pestilence among us. I know not of another household like it, other than yours and Greco’s. ’Tis witchcraft, through and through. You have cursed us, even your own Sienese, and we are here to rid our lands of our enemies, once and for all. In time, even the Sienese shall bless our names for ridding them of the She-Wolves and this wretched curse.”

I wanted to laugh. He was crazy. And yet the story of the statues in Siena, of sane priests doing insane things, made me pause. This was a crazy time.
Cuh-razy with a capital C.
All around. They might really succeed in this attempt to pin the Black Plague on us. And Barbato would see us killed, as he’d hoped all along.

A rider came up behind him, from the main road, and dismounted. He scurried over to Barbato’s back and said something to him. Barbato only partially turned but was clearly listening. His lips twisted into a grimace.

Agitated, he clamped his lips shut and turned his head to hear the man out. After a long moment, he looked past the man toward what I thought was the direction of Castello Greco.
Rodolfo…Alessandra…

One of his men came over to him and spoke as well. Then the man strode away, and I could hear dim shouts.

“They’re pulling out some of the men,” Captain Pezzati said out of the corner of his mouth.

“It’s Castello Greco,” I murmured. “I think something might have gone wrong there.”

“We can only hope,” he said. “If they have to take half their men, or even a third—we might have a chance.”

Barbato turned back to me, only one man beside him now. “Surrender, Lady Forelli. If you and your sister come with us, we shall leave Sienese lands immediately.”

I returned his steady gaze. “I need an hour to confer with my family.”

He let out a scoffing laugh. “I am no fool, m’lady. You are a woman who knows her mind. Tell me of it.”

“I have changed,” I said, as sweetly as I could. “I must speak to my family, and the men. I am but a woman, my lord far from home.”

He laughed again, shaking his head, a hand on his hip. He lifted it then, speaking to his men. “See that? Even now she attempts to beguile and bewitch with her womanly ways.”

“Let me take him out now,” Matteo ground out, his hand tightening around his bow. “He should not be allowed to utter such foul words.”

“Nay,” I whispered. “’Tis a game. Allow me to play it.” I turned to pace back to my original spot, Pezzati and Celso trailing behind me.

“Tell me, Lord Barbato,” I said. “What experience do you have in dealing with witchcraft?”

He paused and frowned. “I have no experience with witchcraft, woman, other than my dealings with you.”

“’Tis a weighty accusation.”

“Indeed. But I know not of any others but you and other Betarrini ilk who emerge from
tombs
. One moment there. Another moment, not.” Agreement rumbled through the ranks below.

Sneering faces. Hatred. They believed his lies.
Believed
them.

And this was why Barbato went to such lengths to capture Orazio and Galileo—to force them to confess to witchcraft. To tie it to us, in time.

I bit my cheek and forced a laugh. “You are touched in the head,” I said. “No one comes and goes from tombs. We’ve merely studied them, as scholars do.”

He laughed and lifted his hand, pacing. “Do you hear her, men?” he cried. “Have you ever known a woman to learn her letters and numbers, let alone claim to be a scholar? This is a woman who has left her gentle ways behind her. She is a witch. She is
other
. Or she is a man and has engaged in the foulest of intimacies with Marcello Forelli.”

I kept pace with him from above. “I am every bit a woman as each of your mothers!” I cried.

Lewd comments and cries reached our ears, and every one of my men tightened with rage.

“Steady,” I growled as I passed them. “Let them taunt me. I am wasting time. Steady,” I repeated.