Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella) (17 page)

Rodolfo kept moving, aware that if their path was discovered, the search party would reach them in seconds. He winced every time his boot met a pinecone or branch, cracking like an alarm bell, but he had to keep moving. He paused to listen, panting, when they reached a small meadow. Behind them, they still could see the dim glow of a torch outlining the trees in silhouette, but no shouts rose. He clenched his teeth and gazed cautiously around. Something was not right. Someone was near. Luca? Celso?

Slowly, he set Alessandra down. She was quiet, clearly recognizing his fear. She stilled, inches away from his chest, recognizing him as her protector now. How long had it been since he’d felt protective of a woman who trusted him?

A very long time. Gabriella…she’d never trusted him completely. And for good reason…

He saw the light to the right, first, and moved to pick up Alessandra. But when he did, he saw other torches coming from the left. He rose, slowly, looking across the small meadow. Two more. And from the back. They were surrounded.

Two men on horses entered the meadow. Then two more.

Alessandra clung to Rodolfo’s tunic and he wrapped his arms around her as the eight men closed in. They would not take her away again, only to abuse her, use her. Not if he yet still lived. Mayhap he could make a way for her to run, to escape at least. “When I shout,” he whispered. “You run, Alessandra. No matter what happens. Run and hide. Make your way back home. I pray your father can protect you.”

She looked up at him, her big, pretty eyes round with fear.

But the nearest knight was upon them. “You disappoint me, daughter of Firenze,” he said, dismounting and glowering at Alessandra. “Lord Barbato saved you, and you flee from his protection?”

Slowly, Rodolfo unsheathed his sword. But Alessandra stumbled toward the knight before he could move, sinking to her knees and clinging to his hand. “Brother, please, you must hear me. It was Lord Barbato who abused me, cut my hair. All to ignite war between Siena and Firenze again.”

He shook off her hand. “Nonsense. Lord Barbato would never stoop to such things. He is far too powerful to use a mere woman to accomplish his goals.”

“You are wrong,” Rodolfo said. He stepped forward, and six knights all raised their swords, making certain he made no further progress.

“And you are?” asked the knight.

“Lord Rodolfo Greco.”

The men all paused. One turned to his companion, eyes alight.

“’Twas Lord Barbato who proposed I force Lady Gabriella Betarrini to marry me in order to weaken Sienese morale. So you see,” he said, tipping his sword into the soft soil and placing his hands on the hilt, “Lord Barbato is quite adept at using whatever resource he has to accomplish his goals.”

The knight stepped forward, closer to Rodolfo, roughly hauling Alessandra alongside him. Rodolfo clenched his teeth, but forced himself not to react.

The man looked up at Rodolfo, feeling brave, backed up by seven others. That was when Rodolfo heard the owl call.
There was a chance…a small chance
…

“You abused this girl yourself,” said the knight, looking her over.

“Nay,” Rodolfo said, staring back into his eyes. “’Twas your lord. Think, man. Why would I—or any other man in Castello Forelli—bring harm to the woman? ‘Twould only invite your wrath.”

The knight glanced down at her, looking her over in a way that made Rodolfo again force himself to stay still. “She’s comely enough. Before her hair was shorn off, I daresay she was a beauty.” He turned a fierce stare toward Rodolfo.

Rodolfo nodded. “Yes. She is beautiful. But I belong among brothers who respect and protect women. Not use them.”

The knight circled him, leaving Alessandra behind. “You are a traitor, Lord Greco. You abandoned those who trusted you to aid Lord Forelli. And by order of the Grandi, you shall meet your death this night. Kneel and accept death, at least, with what little honor you have left.”

Rodolfo considered the circle of men. “Is there not one righteous man among you? Not one who shall listen to reason? Why might I have turned away from all I loved, all I had in my coffers—”

“Because of your devil-born brotherhood oath,” spat the knight. “Roll up your sleeves.”

Rodolfo froze.

The knight’s sword came up under his chin. “Your sleeve, Lord Greco.”

Slowly, he pulled up the long sleeve, stained with blood and dirt, until his adversary could see the triangle.

“What does it symbolize?” asked the man.

“Honor. Service. Brotherhood. Things you apparently have forgotten.”

The man struck, punching him in the gut. “I serve my
Fiorentini
brothers in such a manner,” spat the knight. “Not my enemies.”

“Are you not to take me back to Firenze for a public execution?” Rodolfo asked, when his breath returned enough to speak. The knight tossed his sword to another beside Alessandra.

“Nay, the Grandi demand summary execution. Your head shall suffice. Kneel.”

“Please! Mercy!” Alessandra cried, as Rodolfo sank to his knees. But they ignored her.

“How many of you are there, Lord Greco? In the brotherhood?” asked the knight.

Rodolfo remained still, lips closed. He considered the distance between him and each of the others, calculated who might react first…

“No response?” the knight said with a scoffing laugh. “No matter. We shall eventually find every one of you. And then we shall kill every living family member. Our men began the process after the battle. We shall complete their task.”

Rodolfo closed his eyes a moment and then looked back to the knight. “May God have mercy on your soul. For I certainly wouldn’t.”

“’Tis you who should consider what it will be to meet your Maker,” he said, raising his sword, preparing for a death strike.

The arrow came then, singing through their group, striking the knight in the neck. Another right after it, hitting the man holding Alessandra.

Rodolfo rose, taking his gurgling, falling, accuser’s sword in hand, and turned to meet the charge of a man behind him. He flipped the sword in his hand and rammed it through another man at his side. “Go, Alessandra! Run!” he shouted in her direction. But it took a few more parries and strikes for him to glance back and see that she remained, choosing to fight rather than run. She took down one—who still looked surprised as he fell to his face—then whipped around to meet the heavy sword of another, narrowly blocking it from her head.

Luca and Celso arrived then, and together, they first took care of the man who threatened Alessandra, then formed a wall between her and the rest of the Fiorentini, alongside Rodolfo, moving outward, taking on the remaining knights. Torches lit their small arena, smoldering in the green summer grasses. A man fell atop one and his clothes ignited. He screamed piteously until Alessandra turned him over and over, putting out the fire. But he was dead. She sat on her haunches, staring at him, at the other dead about them, tears streaming down her face.

Rodolfo clasped arms with Luca and Celso in thanks, then quietly moved toward her, sinking to his haunches. “Alessandra,” he said lowly.

Her pretty eyes, wild and wide and distant, briefly focused on him, her long eyelashes fluttering in confusion. He thought her beautiful. And utterly lost. “What have I done?” she whispered.

“What you had to,” he returned softly. “It will be well. Trust me, Alessandra,” he said, catching her trembling hands in his. “In time, it will be well again.”

***

~EVANGELIA~

“It’s all right, Dad,” I said. The four of us—me, my sister, Mom and Dad—were riding together, two by two, surrounded by twenty knights of Castello Forelli, closing in on Siena, at last, in the dark.

“Don’t you see?” he said quietly, even though we spoke in English. “It won’t be all right. Every time some new battle is incited because of our presence here, history takes a slight turn.”

“Or a big one,” Mom put in. “What happens if Galileo’s great-great-grandfather dies in a battle he was never meant to be in?”

“But what if Mussolini’s great-great does?” Gabi countered. “Boom. Hitler has no ally in Italy. Maybe.” She groaned. “We could go crazy, thinking of all the changes we could set into motion. We just can’t go there.”

“These people would find any reason they could to go to battle,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t see how we can fight that—other than do our best to keep from inciting those battles. I swear, they need their own version of the ‘60s to change things up.”

“Maybe we can get that rolling with a few bell-bottom jeans and fringed vests,” Gabi said with a smile. “Give peace a chance, man.”

“Big muumuu dresses with no waistband,” I said, cocking my brow at her belly. Not that she had one yet. I was just teasing her.

She narrowed her eyes at me, apparently not quite ready to share any hint of the Big News with Mom and Dad. I didn’t see the point. It wasn’t like the longer she waited, the more ready for it they’d be. But then, maybe this wasn’t the best night to lay it on ‘em, when they were already feeling the weight of history on their shoulders.

“In time, with the Renaissance upon them, fighting will ease.”

“And that’s in what? A hundred years?” I asked.

“A couple hundred,” Dad said.

“God chose to send us here,” Gabi said. “He’ll figure it out. We can’t.”

“Yeah, we can’t,” I echoed. “No matter how brilliant you two are, you can’t
think
your way through this. It just…is.”

“We can still make wise choices,” Mom said, after a moment.

“The best we can,” Gabi said. “Of course. But we also have to be free to live our lives…and fight for those we love. Lia’s already tangled in so many knots she can’t shoot an arrow. I don’t need you two putting glue in my sheath, making me second-guess every enemy coming my way.”

“Gabriella,” Mom said in astonishment. “I didn’t intend—”

“I know, I know,” she said, lifting her hands. “You don’t
intend
to do that. But you
have
, Mom. And that might put us in danger too. If we pause. You know how it is…when…” Her eyes swept toward me. She obviously didn’t want to say too much, bring up too much. Make me relive our battles.

“We all know, Gabs,” I said with a sigh. “And I get it. I have to get my fighting game back. I’m just not quite certain how to do that.” Truly, the idea of me shooting anyone seemed like a distant memory. Like I was another person or something.

“Maybe you won’t ever have to, Sweetheart,” Dad said. “Maybe Marcello will think of a way out of this. Maybe Luca and Rodolfo will get back in time, hand off Alessandra, and all will be well again.”

I looked north, beyond the torches of our party, then out into the deep dark night, and shivered. It was good Siena loomed in the distance, a late-night, faint glow about her, like the last vestiges of the sun.
I gotta paint that someday
, I thought. Because right then, settling into the armed palazzo, behind armed gates, far away from any battle
this
night, sounded just about perfect.

Just about. I looked north again.
Luca, be safe
…

I was still feeling that way as I sank beneath the lovely, soft covers of my bed at Palazzo Forelli in Siena, aware that there was a guard at my door as well as more on the roof and tower above me, and still others outside the front gates…and at the city wall…and still more beyond it. If I wasn’t safe here in Siena, I wasn’t safe anywhere. But thoughts of Luca kept me tossing and turning through the night, wondering where he was, if he was all right. If he’d reached Alessandra in time...

I kept telling myself he was safe, and would doze off.

Then I’d dream that his head was about to be chopped off by an enemy sword. I aimed at his enemy. I knew I could save him if I could simply let my arrow fly, but I felt immobilized, stuck, powerless as I watched the sword swing down, down, down toward his neck—

And woke up panting, sweating, a scream dying in my throat. I’d seen that Fiorentini’s head roll and imagined it as Luca’s.
No, no. You didn’t see it happen. It didn’t happen
.

I had to find my way through this. To get better. So if I ever was in that situation, I could save Luca. Or Gabi. Or Marcello. Or anyone else in the broader “Clan Forelli.”

“Some She-Wolf you turned out to be,” I muttered to myself. I padded over to the window and opened the shutter latch, pushing them outward. The faint pink of sunrise teased the sky, and never had I been so glad a night was over.

Nor feared the morning more.

Would Luca return to Castello Forelli with Alessandra in hand? Would the knights back off, with no reason to attack? Even now, the additional contingents of knights from Siena should be riding in, ready to join Marcello’s men and turn away those of the north. But if they did not, Luca would be in the center of it all…

Agitated, I turned and threw on an older blue gown and dragged a horsehair brush through my hair, pinning it into a quick knot. I jammed my feet into tapestry slippers and went to the door, pulling it open so quickly that Otello jumped in surprise, quickly wiping away a trail of drool and blinking heavy lids. He’d obviously been sleeping against the wall.

“Buon giorno, Otello
,” I said with a small grin as the big man abruptly settled back into guard stance.

“
Buon giorno, m’lady
,” he said. I was a few steps away before he began to trail me. “Up early this morning, are you not?”

“Indeed. Thoughts of our men meeting the Fiorentini…” I paused. “I thought it best I commit them to God’s care rather than toss and turn, fretting.” I turned left, heading toward the small palazzo chapel.

“Most wise of you, m’lady,” said the man, following behind me.

“Wise or desperate,” I muttered in English. I turned another corner and saw there were candles lit along this hallway, as well as in the chapel. Peeking in the door, I saw Father Tomas, kneeling, his head in his hands, praying.

Tentatively, I entered. And within a few steps he lifted his head, smiling when he saw me. “Lady Evangelia,” he said. “Please.” He gestured toward the kneeling rail beside him.