Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella) (14 page)

It was their good fortune that they’d been dressed for work on the construction site today, rather than in their uniforms displaying the Forelli gold. But even dirt could not fully conceal the wide stripe of it on Luca’s horse blanket.

They made good time for a while, but lost precious minutes every time the trail faded or other travelers forced them into hiding. When the men they were tracking decided to cross the river, rather than take the bridge that would lead them to the main road north, Rodolfo breathed a sigh of relief.
They’re not heading to Firenze
.

But that left him wondering where they were going. Northwest, he decided, glancing up at the last vestiges of the setting sun, down to the shadows.

“Where do you think they head?” Luca asked.

“Barbato has a summer estate, a manor out toward the sea. Three or four hours from here.”

“The perfect place to question the girl and dispose of her body,” Luca said bitterly. “Bind her up. Release her to the fathoms. Meanwhile, you and I get farther and farther from our people.” He shook his head. “We’ll have no hope of returning to them in time, before battle is upon them. Lia…” He shook his head once. “You saw that she elected to capture those scouts rather than take them down as she used to. If she is under fire…And I am not there to defend her...” He turned partially away, his profile a mask of anguish.

“She’s strong, Luca. A She-Wolf, even if the fight within her now slumbers. If the enemy comes to our gates, she shall rise. And Marcello intends to cart them off to Siena anyway.”

Luca looked off to the horizon and then back to him. Never had Rodolfo seen him so devoid of humor and hope.

“The battle will likely begin,” Rodolfo said. “Our only hope is to get to Alessandra and bring her back alive. Swiftly.”

“Then what say you and I do just that?” Luca said, his usual bravado slowly sliding back into his tone. “You know, rather than take our ease at the next town’s inn, putting our feet up, demanding the finest Parma ham and bread.”

Rodolfo laughed under his breath. “Agreed.” He paused, circling around a section where their adversaries’ trails merged with several others, then separated again. The two of them moved on, cautiously cresting a hill, as if they were nothing but two noblemen, out for a leisurely afternoon ride.

“I assume ‘twould be far easier if we rescue our misguided friend before Lord Barbato reaches the villa?” Luca asked.

“Indeed. The difference shall be fighting the four or so who have her now, versus a good number of knights at the villa.”

“Hmm. Let us opt for the foursome option. The other may prove messy.”

Rodolfo smiled. “Agreed.”

But as he said it, a patrol of six men crested the hill to their right. The first man carried a red and white flag on a pole.
Fiorentini
. He returned to looking forward, as if there was no reason to pause.

“Mayhap they won’t see us,” Luca said lightly. He didn’t turn to look at them.

“Too late,” Rodolfo returned, spying out of the corner of his eye, the patrol leader turn his horse in their direction. “We’ll present our papers, letting them take their ease a moment, then before they discover the missing Fiorentini seal—”

“Take them down,” Luca said under his breath, as the knights surrounded them, demanding they come to a halt.

Rodolfo and Luca did as they asked. “Greetings, friends,” he said.

“I am Captain Severino de Firenze,” said the short, stocky patrol captain. “Who are you and what is your business upon this road?”

“We are nobles on our way north,” Rodolfo said easily, as if it weren’t entirely obvious. “We have letters of safe passage here,” he said, reaching into his tunic and pulling the parchment sleeve from a pocket. He tossed the leather packet to the captain and the man caught it, still studying them.

“What are your names?” he asked, his tone a little more respectful as he untied the packet’s string.

“It’s all there,” Rodolfo said, his eyes shifting over the other knights around their captain. Standard arms…

“You do not know your own names?” asked the man, sliding out the papers.

“Oh, yes. Forgive me,” Rodolfo said. “I am Lord Rodolfo Greco, and this is Sir Luca Forelli.”

“We thought it high time for a proper visit,” Luca said.

The man’s eyes stilled on the papers and shifted up to meet his, but Luca and he were already in action, cutting down the nearest two of the six. The group erupted into shouts and grunts, two horses rearing up on hind legs, the rest surging into motion. A minute later, Luca was pulled off his horse and Rodolfo jumped off his gelding, so they could fight back to back, when he belatedly saw the Fiorentini captain duck under his horse’s neck.

Rodolfo narrowly missed impalement, and stumbled to his left, lost his footing as well as his sword, and went to one knee. He threw himself to the right to miss the man’s next strike. The man was strong, even if he was short, Rodolfo thought grimly, pulling his dagger as he rose to face the captain, sensing another approach him from behind.

“So the traitor dares to cross the border,” said the captain with a sneer. He was attempting to cover the sounds of his man behind Rodolfo. But Rodolfo was watching his eyes. Waiting, waiting for the moment they—

There. He bent and rammed his dagger backward, praying he hadn’t guessed wrong at the man’s move. He hadn’t. He heard the surprised gasp of his enemy, felt the dagger plunge into his belly and turned to wrench the sword from his hands, whirl and meet the captain’s next, furious strike. With a growl, he attacked, striking and striking and striking until the captain’s sword went flying. They faced each other, hunched over and panting. Luca stood to one side, hands on the end of his sword handle, watching.

The captain looked from Rodolfo to Luca and back again. He raised his hands, his face a mask of fury. “Mercy, m’lords.”

Mercy
. The word echoed his mind a moment, as if foreign. Unknown. Rodolfo paused. He knew that given the opportunity, the man would have sliced him from neck to navel, and left him to the birds. But it was the honor code among knights—some knights. And he knew this one would never have granted him the same.

Some men were best disposed of before one had to meet them on the battlefield again.

“Rodolfo,” Luca said, when he raised his sword. And in that one word, his conversation with Father Tomas came back to him. Of penance. And forgiveness. Of going with the wind, rather than against it.

He lowered his sword and considered the captain. “Mercy is yours,” he spit out, feeling none of the word. “May you remember this day the
Lord
spared you.”

They threw the dead bodies over their horses’ backs and hurried down to a ravine, dragging the bound captain behind them. There, hidden in a deep gully, they left their adversaries’ bodies, and forced the captain to strip, binding him to an old, fallen tree. The naked man stared at them with seething hatred. “I shall find you and kill you both,” he said.

“Ah, that is no sort of gentlemanly response to the mercy we have shown you,” Luca said, mounting his horse. “You should be promising us your finest cask of wine!”

“Only if I watch you drown in it.”

Luca looked dolefully over at Rodolfo. “He is a rather unpleasant sort, isn’t he?”

“Indeed.” They turned and galloped up the hill again, and when they found Barbato’s trail, rushed onward, praying that they hadn’t fallen too far behind.

***

Alessandra was fully awake by the time they rode up to the walled mansion. As soon as the horse came to a halt, she slid off, belatedly remembering her injured ankle, staring at the servant, who gazed back at her in surprise. “Signorina—” he began.

But Lord Foraboshi trotted up beside them then. “Ah, Alessandra. You have recovered. Good. Good. Please, Eobroni. Take her arm in case she faints again.”

Alessandra wavered on her feet, feeling weak from hunger, thirst. And her head still throbbed. She felt confused. Lost. “M’lord, if you only would allow me to go home—” she said.

“In time, my dear. In good time,” he said, taking her arm as his servant took the other. The creaking gates of the villa swung open and four knights emerged to welcome them. The other knight, the towering Celso who had accompanied them from the border, followed behind her.

She really had no option. Despite her growing sense of dread, she could do nothing but take the steps before her.
It will be well
, she told herself.
They only wish to ensure my safety
.

But then the big knight put a bag over her head and covered her mouth with his hand. He picked her up in his arms when she struggled, and bodily carried her forward.

She pretended she’d fainted again, hoping he’d release her mouth, allowing her to breathe, and it worked. He paused, shifted her in his arms and kept moving. Her heartbeat sped up when she realized they were avoiding the large, loud courtyard, apparently full of men and horses, and were heading away from the noise. As if hiding her. Why would Lord Barbato hide her from her own people? She frowned, trying to think, wondering if she might be asleep, suffering through a nightmare in which nothing made sense…

The guard deposited her on a straw tick, covered in a rough blanket. She moaned and moved her head, as if just awakening again.

Lord Barbato pulled the bag from her head. The big knight was right behind him. “Forgive me, my dear. ‘Twas best if the others not yet know you are here.”

“M’lord…I am well enough to speak to my Fiorentini brothers,” she said, forcing herself to rise, to show him.
Mayhap that is why he’s not eager to introduce me
. “If you might just give me a moment. Some water. A brush. I can make myself presentable.”

“Not yet,” he said, folding his arms. “Sit down, Signorina.”

Slowly, she sank to the edge of the straw tick and folded her hands in her lap.

“I must be certain I know of all that you wish to say to the Grandi. First. I want no surprises.”

“I…I have told you all I know. Of the construction. Of the men with their triangular tattoos denoting the brotherhood.”

“Yes,” he said, pacing before her, chin in hand. “Tell me more of those. None of the other knights had them?”

“None that I could see.”

“Intriguing,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “We’ve noted that mark on other Forelli allies. How many are there?”

“I tried to find out, m’lord. But they would not say.”

He tapped his lips, thinking, then eyed her again. “What else? Surely you gained other knowledge while inside the gates of Castello Forelli. Or did they keep you chained to a wall?”

She laughed a little at that, then quickly sobered when she saw his stern expression. “Nay, m’lord. For the most part, they treated me most kindly.”

“Nay,” he said. “I do not wish for you to say that ever again.”

She frowned in confusion. “M’lord?”

“They beat you,” he said, striking her across the mouth before she saw it coming.

She was too surprised to cry out, and only lifted the back of her hand to her split, bloody lip. She stared at him from the corner of her eye, fear mounting in her heart. Lord Greco had warned her…tried to warn her…
Nay. Only this one is bad
. If she could go to the others…she’d be certain to meet good men. Upstanding men.

“I wish to see another of the Grandi,” she said firmly, squaring her shoulders. “Lord Foraboschi.”

But he only hit her again, this time knocking her to the floor. For a small man, he was terribly strong, she thought, trying to get her head to cease its dizzying spin.

“You were raped repeatedly. Hit. Slapped. Choked. Chained. Threatened,” he said, leaning down beside her.

“But that ‘tisn’t true,” she said, cradling her head in her hands, trying to get the earth to return to its normal slant so that she might rise.

“It shall be if you do not tell me what I need to know,” he said, winding his small hand cruelly in her hair and wrenching her head back. “You’re a beautiful woman, Alessandra. It shan’t be a chore for Celso, here, to serve the republic…”

“M’lord, please,” she gasped. “I am a loyal servant of the republic,” she pleaded. “I know nothing else.”

Except of Lady Evangelia, and her inability to lift an arrow against the enemy
, she thought.

Nay
. Not that. They need not know that!

Or of the babe in Lady Gabriella’s belly
.

 “What is it, my dear?” he said. “You’ve thought of something.”

“Nay, m’lord.”

“Why do you protect them? Our enemy?” he seethed, tugging at her hair.

“I know nothing else. I swear it.”

He released her hair then, making her think he was changing his mind, seeing he’d acted in error, when he kicked her in the stomach.

Alessandra panicked, needing breath, yet unable to take it. She writhed on the floor. When she was finally able to take a half, gasping, lurching breath, he again wound his hand in her hair. “Tell me and this ends,” he whispered in her ear.

She didn’t believe him, but she had to give him something.

What? Anything she thought of made her feel the cold wave of betrayal. There was knowledge that fueled forces of war. But then there was knowledge that could only lead to very private pain…

He was sawing at her hair before she fully realized what he was doing. She screamed, watching long waves of it fall to the floor, to her skirts. “Stop! Stop!”

“Come now,” he said, as she felt the last of it lift from her shoulders, the pull of strands at her neck. “’Twill make your story all the more effective.” He tossed the last handful to the ground and Alessandra couldn’t help it. She was so confused, she gave way to tears, lifting her hands to her head to feel her shorn hair.

He leaned down beside her ear again. “They sheared you like a spring lamb,” he said. “That’s what you shall tell the Grandi. It was horrifying. They laughed as they did it.”

“Nay,” she said, shaking her head as tears streamed down her face. “Why must I lie?”

Lord Barbato slapped her again. This time, as she went to the ground, she stayed there. The cool stones gave her an odd sense of comfort. But he took her arm and wrenched her upright, leaning her back against the bed frame.