Torrent (8 page)

“Can we go to him? See to him?” I asked. “We have supplies and—”

“Nay. ’Tis impossible. And my friend is doing what he can for him. But be forewarned, my friends. With him in your care, escape may prove impossible.”

“We shall manage,” Marcello said. “We have no choice but to try.”

“And if you’re caught?” Rodolfo pressed, wiping his face of rain and flinging it aside. “The men of Sansicino shall be obliged to imprison you, hand you all over to the Fiorentini for not honoring the agreement.”

“We shall not be caught,” Luca said.

But Marcello remained silent. He was clearly thinking about us with Fortino now. Two men would have to haul him in a blanket and be protected themselves—

“You assisted me in our escape,” I said, “when I was little more than dead weight. We can do the same with Fortino.”

“But you merely needed food, water. Rest. Fortino…”

“As you said, we have little choice.”

Marcello stared at me for a long moment and then looked to Rodolfo. “We shall conduct our negotiations and attempt to escape the trade—but you obviously knew that.”

“Offer a treasure for Fortino,” Rodolfo said, as clear on how this was going to play out as Marcello himself seemed to be.

“The negotiations will drag on until nightfall, and when the opportunity is right—”

“You shall make your escape,” Rodolfo finished for him. He looked around at all of us. “Stay clear of me. I shall look like nothing but your worst enemy and, in battle, be forced to cut down any within my reach.”

“As you must,” Marcello said. “Thank you for coming to us. For all you’ve done to keep Fortino alive…” His voice broke, and he looked away, blinking rapidly, then took a deep breath. “I would very much like to say farewell to him, if I cannot save him.”

“I shall do my very best to see that you can.” Rodolfo clasped Marcello’s hand, and they looked into each other’s eyes as old friends. “You know that this will incite yet another great battle between our two cities.”

Marcello slowly smiled. “Mayhap I’ll retrieve the castle that was stolen from me when it’s done.”

“I do not know if you will want it back.” Rodolfo smiled in return. “I hear she again has a most terrible neighbor.”

Cosmo Paratore, he meant. I shivered at the thought of the man who had threatened Lia so. The man who wanted to kill me. The man whose ears I’d ordered cut from his head.

I hoped he stayed in Firenze, where he belonged.

Chapter Seven

We processed up the long, stone bridge, built atop a series of progressively taller arches, to the gates of Sansicino. The rain had stopped and the clouds cleared, leaving everything fresh and dripping, glistening in the peach light of the late afternoon sun.

There was no sign of the Fiorentini. Were they here already?

“While we negotiate,” Marcello said, “you and your mother shall see to Fortino?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Keep in mind, as you bind his wounds, that he will endure a fair amount of jostling—”

“I know, Marcello. We’ll do our best to bind him well.”

He reached out his palm, and I laid my fingers in it, staring into his eyes. “Keep close to me, Gabriella.”

“There is no place I’d rather be.”

Okay, so if it was a movie and my sister and I were watching it, we might have burst out laughing. Totally corny. But I swear, when you’re in love, you enter this state where such things sound exactly right. So right, they make you want to weep. Just looking at him, knowing how much I loved him and how much he loved me, made me want to cry.

But even I dimly recognized my love-fest was getting ridiculous. Not that I could help myself. I only wanted more of it. I found myself praying for one more month, one more week, one more day with Marcello.

Don’t let us die today, God. Let us wake tomorrow—both of us. Together.

The guards watched our approach. “State your name and business,” shouted one.

I almost laughed out loud.
Dude.
Like you don’t know who we are. The town isn’t that big…and this has to be all that your people have been talking about for days.

“I am Lord Marcello Forelli,” my man managed to respond with nothing but a tone of respect. “We are here to meet with the delegates from Firenze, as was arranged.”

The guard looked over the rest of us, his eyes lingering over Lia and me. Then he turned and shouted to someone below him to open the gates. The gates creaked open, inch by inch.

And we moved in.

When the last of our group was in, we were immediately surrounded, with four men to every one of ours.

We looked around in stunned amazement. When the Sansicinians had demanded we limit our numbers, we didn’t expect an attack. In all negotiations between the Fiorentini and Sienese, Marcello had never seen anything like it—I could tell by the surprise on his face.

I couldn’t bear to look back at Mom and Dad. They were probably freaking. I was freaking.

“Lord Forelli,” said a short nobleman with a pointed beard. “I am Lord Ascoli.” He edged past the front group of soldiers, choosing to stay seated on his horse rather than look up at Marcello.
Short-man syndrome,
I decided. “Forgive the uncommon
welcome,
but we have greeted our Fiorentini friends in equal manner. So that this process might go as peaceably as possible, I ask that you and your men relinquish your weapons.”

The muscles in Marcello’s cheek tensed, and he paused before responding. “As a defender of this city, surely you recognize that it is unwise for a knight to ever relinquish his sword, especially when he is about to encounter his enemy.”

Lord Ascoli gave him a small smile, and his narrow eyes flicked over to me and Lia. “It has not escaped us that this coming trade requires certain precautions. After all, you once went to great lengths to free your lady from Firenze. You only just now welcomed her back to Siena after a significant time apart. Even with a great love for your brother, what one feels for a woman…” He admired me openly then, and I struggled to remain still. His eyes returned to Marcello. “As administrator of this exchange, I must ensure that both parties do as they have promised. Please hand over your weapons. They shall be returned to you when you depart.”

“How do I know that the Fiorentini have been treated in the same manner?” Marcello bit out. “After all, you allowed them passage through your territory during the last battle. You may very well be siding with them and only feigning your neutral stance as mediator.”

Lord Ascoli’s mouth twitched, and then he turned aside and lifted his arm. “Please join us in the piazza.”

We resumed our march inward, and I cast a worried glance back to Lia and my parents. If our men were forced to give up their weapons, would our plan work at all? How would we fight our way to the walls? As the gates shut behind us, I couldn’t fight the sinking feeling that we had entered a trap that would be far more difficult to escape than we imagined.

I knew that our men would sneak closer to the cliffs at the base of the town come nightfall, but they could not breach the gates, storm the town. We had to go to
them,
over the wall, in order to find freedom.

The town was designed like most of the other Tuscan hill towns I’d been in. Narrow cobblestone streets, tiny limestone houses that were two or three stories high on either side. Red-tile roofs. Not the orderly, machine-processed kind of tile that we had back in Colorado or California, but hand-pressed, sun-dried tiles that varied in hue from brick to burnt orange. I looked across those tiles to my right, noting how the streets descended beneath us in three rows before hitting the cliff wall. Atop that wall were soldiers, patrolling, prepared.

We had expected to encounter them. But this, before the negotiations even began…I looked to Marcello, and with one glance, I knew he shared my concern.

The road ended at a town square—small compared to Siena’s and Firenze’s—a rectangular piazza with a church on one side, a small public building on the other, and four palazzos forming the other edges.

About twenty knights warily rose as one from the steps of the church, where they were surrounded by a hundred of Sansicino’s men. Among them was Lord Greco. Not one of them wore a sword at his belt.

“So you see, m’lord,” said Ascoli, pulling to a stop, “the men of Firenze have indeed been asked to do the same as we have asked of you. We are determined to see this through as we promised. As a point of honor, please do as has been requested of you.”

Marcello’s jaw clenched, and then he gave Lord Ascoli a hard stare. “Where is my brother? The Fiorentini have seen that we have the Ladies Betarrini. But I have yet to see that they have Lord Fortino among them.”

“Relinquish your swords, and we shall take you to him.”

“You shall bring him out here,” Marcello ground out, “or we shall assume this is a trap and draw our swords against you.”

Lord Ascoli raised one brow. “Your brother is in poor condition. Moving him might prove perilous.”

“From what I understand, my brother might not survive the night. I will not condemn these women and my men without even knowing if he is truly here.”

Lord Ascoli gave him a cold stare, and then he turned to lift his chin to two guards. They immediately jogged across the piazza to the public building, which was heavily guarded, and disappeared through the door. Our horses shifted beneath us, agitated by the tension they sensed among us. No one exchanged a word. I noticed, for the first time, that townspeople lined the square in pockets, observing, pointing, whispering.

After several long minutes the knights emerged with two others, each carrying the corners of a blanket with a heavy form inside. They paused beneath the building’s portico.

“Send one over to confirm it is Lord Fortino, and that he yet lives,” said Ascoli. “But the rest of you shall remain here.”

“I will go,” said my mother.

Marcello glanced at her in surprise and then nodded, seeing she was already untying the basket of medical supplies from her saddle.

Dad dismounted and helped Mom down from her horse. She gave Dad a small smile of encouragement and then strode across the piazza like she owned it, well aware that every eye was on her. She knelt beside the man on the blanket, her skirts billowing up beneath her. I could see that she was checking his pulse. She leaned down as if she was trying to hear what he was saying. Then she looked over her shoulder and nodded at Marcello.

It was him. Fortino was here. And alive.

“Call her back,” Lord Ascoli said.

“Allow her to stay and do what she can for him,” Marcello returned. “If he dies, this deal is void.”

“Very well,” the small man said, waving his hand dismissively. “Now relinquish your weapons, and we shall make the exchange. You can leave our town before nightfall and reach Siena tomorrow.”

“I wish to discuss other options.”

“That does not surprise me,” Lord Ascoli said. “But be warned that there is little that you can offer that shall dissuade our friends of Firenze from their mission.”

“There is a great deal for them to consider,” Marcello insisted. “And we would be most grateful to you, our mediator, to see it through. Your work will be well rewarded.”

Lord Ascoli’s pointy beard lifted. “I see. Well then, shall we adjourn to the Great Hall?” He lifted his hand toward the public building. “We can sit down as gentlemen and discuss it in all manner of civility.”

Yeah, buddy. Money talks, doesn’t it?

“Agreed,” Marcello said.

But our host did not move. “M’lord,” Ascoli said, like a tired parent to a child trying to get away with something. “We shall take your weapons now.”

Marcello grimaced. Maybe he’d hoped they’d forgotten that particular demand. After a moment of hesitation, he gently slid his sword from its saddle scabbard and reluctantly handed it to the closest knight. He nodded over his shoulder, instructing the men to do the same.

Lia and I remained still, hoping they’d forget that we were likely armed beneath our oilskin capes, but Lord Greco spoke up. “Do not forget the Ladies Betarrini. They might prove to be the most perilous opponents of all.”

The Fiorentini laughed, and I sighed.
So much for that idea…

They took my sword but either didn’t think to look or didn’t dare to search for the dagger strapped to my calf. They searched the men, but after I gave them my sword and Lia gave them her bow and arrows, they seemed to be satisfied. Marcello noticed it too and wiped away his smile as if he were merely rubbing his face in agitation.

“Dismount, friends,” Lord Ascoli said. “My men shall see that your horses are watered and given a bucket of oats.”

The men followed Marcello’s lead and handed over their reins to the Sansicinians. Marcello and Luca helped Lia and me dismount. “Stay close,” Marcello said, offering his arm.

“Always and forever,” I returned.

We entered the public building and then walked down a long hall to the far side. There, two massive doors opened up into a white-walled room decorated with frescoes of battle scenes and religious occasions—pretty much what you saw in every town with any kind of money at their disposal. Dad was immediately drawn to the frescoes, but I saw Mom was still with Fortino to the right of the door. I hurried over to them as the men moved to banquet tables full of fruit, meat, cheese, and bread. Servants poured goblets of watered wine.

Marcello followed me to his brother and paused when a young, portly priest, dressed in the traditional brown robe and belt, nodded and took a step backward. I looked at him. Why did Marcello pause? Did he know the priest?

But he was already kneeling, across from my mother. I took to my knees beside him, forcing myself to look at Fortino. Fortino’s head was wrapped in bandages, which covered his missing eye. He was terribly gaunt again—had they starved him?—and his skin was the same color it had been when we almost lost him before, a horrible, bluish gray. And the smell…I almost gagged. The odor of rotting flesh told me he was riddled with infection.

“He will not survive a journey,” Mom said sorrowfully, under her breath, to Marcello. Her blue eyes met his brown ones, and she shook her head, as if in pain for him.

Marcello clasped his brother’s hand in his own and brought it to his chest.

“Fortino,” Marcello said lowly, “we are here, brother.”

Fortino opened his eye as if it took everything in him to do so. “You…you should not have come.”

“We had no choice. We had to try.”