Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella) (20 page)

“Yes, m’lord,” Rodolfo said. Celso echoed his call.

Marcello turned to Luca. “You and I must ride, as fast as we can, to Siena.”

“Right beside you,” Luca said.

~EVANGELIA~

I awakened from a nightmare in which I held Luca, bloody and wounded, in my arms as he gasped for his last breath. I sat up, panting, my face wet with tears and stared into the darkness.
It’s just a dream
, I told myself.
Just a dream
. I threw off my sweat-soaked covers and on shaking legs, went to the window, unlatching and opening the shutters to allow the blessed cool of night wash into the room. I leaned out on the wide, stone sill and lifted my face, feeling the breeze dry my tears.

And when I opened my eyes, I saw a dark form swinging toward me. He hit my chest with his boots, knocking me to the floor, and my head bashed against the stone. I blinked, stunned and dizzy, then felt the blade across my neck, a man lifting me, behind me now, even as my guard knocked on my door. “M’lady? Is all well?”

“Tell him you are well, you only tripped,” ground out the voice in my ear. He pressed the knife against my throat.

“Be at peace,” I called out, my voice sounding strangled. My assailant eased his pressure a bit. “I only tripped in the darkness.”

“M’lady, you sound…distressed. May I enter?”

“Tell him you have to get dressed first,” whispered the man, lifting me to my feet. He was only a little taller than I, but strong, fiercely strong. And then I knew. The dark clothing, the ropes. More of Firenze’s assassins. “Now,” he said, pressing his knife in to my flesh. I could feel the wet trickle of blood as he dragged me to the window. “We have your sister.”

Gabriella
.

“M’lady?” called my guard.

“Let me only don a gown,” I called out.

“Yes, m’lady,” the guard said, sounding contrite for even pressing it now.

“I hear you can climb a rope,” said the man in my ear, as he set me on the windowsill, my legs dangling over the edge.

“I have done so, yes,” I whispered back, my heart pounding.

“Your sister has a knife to her neck. Cry out or try and escape and she’ll be found dead on the palazzo steps come morning. Understood?”

I started to nod, but then realized I was likely to end up with my neck sliced if I did so. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “Grab hold of the rope.”

Then, with no further warning, he shoved me.

I gasped and dangled there for a long moment, then began to slide downward, wincing as the passing rope burned my hands. The man climbed out of the window above me and I yelped as our rope swung, and prayed it wouldn’t break. Where were the guards, stationed about the base of the palazzo? Or those above us? Had they all been killed?

My attacker came, faster than I, driving me toward the ground. As soon as I reached it, I stumbled, then was immediately grabbed, gagged, tied up and carried away.

We moved across the wide expanse of il Campo—Siena’s main plaza—then down a street, a man carrying me over his shoulder as if I was nothing but a sack of grain. His shoulder drove into my belly, making it almost impossible to breathe, but I forced myself to concentrate. I thought there were five others with us.

How could this be happening? Did they not really have Gabi? Was it all a ruse to get me out of the palazzo in silence? I’d been such a fool. To open my shutters. But then he’d probably just have jimmied the latch and stolen in as I slept. I consoled myself with the thought that it was better, the way it had happened. If I’d been asleep when he entered, it would have freaked me out all the more.

The leader sounded a warning and they split up, sliding into hiding places, in doorways, behind a wagon, down an alley. The man set me down on my feet and I felt my knees give way, like they were jelly. Had I hit my head harder than I thought? My captor wrapped an arm around my waist, as if he sensed I was about to faint.

I briefly considered trying to make a break for it. If I could free my bleeding hands, take out the gag... But I first had to know if they told the truth—if they had Gabi. Had to help her, if I could. As if sensing my impulse, my captor wrapped a steely arm around my neck and we both remained still as two drunk men, swaying and singing, made their way past us and down the street.

His companion whistled, and we were once again on the move, this time with me running barefoot between two of them. We emerged in a small piazza they called “Pozzo Secco.”
Dry well
. Siena was riddled with them—the city’s one major drawback. She was too high and too often arid. It was a constant threat, because under siege, she’d not last longer than a month with every citizen inside her gates. Not if they wanted to drink water.

But I knew of this place. Marcello had come home from a meeting in which the Nine had discussed giving several
contrade
—the districts of Siena—new access to the city’s aqueduct, allowing dry wells to again flow. “After four generations, Piazzetta del Pozzo Secco shall become Piazzetta del Pozzo Bagnato,” he’d groaned, basically saying the piazza of the dry well would become the piazza of the wet well. “What do you wager that we’ll get water to flow to those, and others will then run dry?”

One of the men tossed a rope over the edge, and a second later, we heard it splash. He sidled over the edge and slipped down the rope. I grimaced. My rope-burned hands were already split, bleeding and aching. Would they even hold me?

“Go on,” said a man, lifting me up and over the side of the well. “Make haste.” I didn’t wait for them to shove me. I slid down. And at the bottom, I immediately bent and put my hands in the water slowly washing by us, as deep as our ankles. I closed my eyes in relief, but then I was roughly lifted upright again, rushed through a narrow tunnel, newly and roughly hewn, then into the big, barrel-vaulted ceiling of the
bottini
—the city’s aqueduct. Dad had told me about it—how it connected all the
fonte
, or fountains, of the
contrade
. How it was an engineering marvel,
yada, yada
. Dad could yammer on for a good hour over such things. But one big factoid stuck out to me. The
bottini
was twenty-five kilometers long. A labyrinth webbing underneath the city.

Twenty-five kilometers
.

About fourteen or fifteen miles of tunnel.

The water was deeper here, up to our knees, but the men rushed onward, following another with a torch. I heard the splash of the other men running behind me.

At the juncture of two tunnels, I saw her. Gabriella, between two men.

And I was both relieved and heartbroken.

Because they were doing it. Succeeding in the impossible.

Kidnapping the She-Wolves from their very own city.

***

Marcello and Luca cried out to the guards at the wall. “’Tis Lord Marcello Forelli and Luca Forelli! Open the gates at once! Make haste!”

A guard opened a small window and peered out at them. They lifted their faces to the torchlight, so that he might make a more ready identification.

“Open the gates!” the guard called tiredly. “’Tis indeed Lord Forelli!”

Despite their fears, they could not sound an alarm—not until their suspicions were confirmed. And as he paced, Luca prayed to God that their fears were unfounded. That they were merely two fools in love, desperate to protect the women they loved most. That this was simply a mad dash they’d all laugh about, come Christmastide. He almost smiled, thinking of Evangelia laughing. She was so beautiful when she smiled. And when she laughed…it was magical. He’d gladly spend the rest of his life trying to make her laugh, just for the sheer joy of it.

At last the gates opened, and Luca and Marcello quickly mounted, urging their tired steeds up the winding, cobblestone streets to the center of the city.

They knew as soon as they reached the palazzo that something was wrong. The guards were not at their posts, as Marcello had personally dictated. None answered his whistle. Luca unsheathed his sword and jumped to the ground even before his horse came to a full stop, Marcello beside him. Marcello went to the massive doors and rammed the metal knocker down, over and over. They could hear men inside, already shouting to one another. Were there intruders inside? Luca edged along the wall, sword lifted, looking for the men who would be stationed outside. They would never have willingly left their posts. Not for any reason. Especially after they’d heard Marcello’s impassioned speech before they left.

He saw the dim form of a boot across an alley and groaned. He rushed past a wagon and saw the sprawled body of a Forelli knight, his head at such an angle that he was clearly dead. He swallowed hard and whistled an alarm to Marcello.

Marcello paused then shouted. “Siena to arms! Enemies among us! Siena to arms!”

A guard opened the palazzo door as Luca rejoined him, and they both brushed past, charging up the steps to the main floor, two at a time, then beyond it to the guest rooms. Clearly, the men inside were in an uproar. Four were running down the hall, swords drawn, opening doors without awaiting an invitation, shouting accounts to the others. “Lord and Lady Betarrini, accounted for!”

Luca drew up when he saw the guard at Lia’s door, in the corner as if sleeping. But by the dark stain at his chest, he knew the truth. He moved toward him, lifted his head by the hair, and saw the deep red blood seeping across his tunic and neck. With a growl, he kicked in the door and saw nothing but the open shutters on the far side, a rope dangling at the center. “Impossible,” he muttered. “
Impossible!
”

Marcello joined him, panting, sword in hand. “Gabriella, too,” he growled.

Outside, bells were beginning to ring, the alarm spreading.

“Marcello, what is it?” the girls’ mother asked. Ben wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“They’ve infiltrated the palazzo and kidnapped your daughters. We’re going after them.”

“We’ll go with you—”

“Nay, please,” he said, going to them. “Let us do this. We’ll move faster on our own.”

Biting her lip, Adri agreed and Ben nodded. “Bar the doors again!” Marcello screamed to his men as he turned. “Three knights to each of the Betarrinis and Father Tomas! Better yet, all of you guard them together, in the Great Hall. The rest of you, with us.”

“Yes, m’lord!” called one, clearly miserable they’d failed him.

“Come,” Marcello said to Luca, and they ran down the stairs. Outside, they took a torch from the wall and ran down the street and into il Campo, to where they’d apparently brought Evangelia down by rope.

“Here,” Luca said, bending.
Blood
. Was Evangelia wounded? Fury and fear warred within his chest. He’d kill every one of them— “And here,” he said, pointing to the next stain on the cobblestones. They ran, following the trail,  one drip of blood after another. Soldiers ran to them, and Marcello barely looked up as he commanded their captain.

“Look for men, all dressed in black. Small men. But beware—they are likely the fiercest enemies your men have ever encountered. They do not fight as honorable knights. They use any method at their disposal. And allow no one to depart the city gates.
No one
. Understood?”

“Yes, m’lord. I shall send others to your aid and you can direct them as you wish.”

“Good,” Marcello grunted. He looked up, and turned, running down a road, then looked about, the torchlight dancing across the stones in maddening splashes of light and shadow. “Do you see anything?”

“Nay,” Luca said, searching the ground for any more blood, any clue as to where they’d gone.

“Here! Over here, m’lord!” cried a boy beside another, a hundred yards away.

Marcello and Luca shared a look and then ran to them. It was the little squires Ben had insisted on bringing with them, Pio and Sandro, small daggers in each of their hands. “We followed them,” Pio said proudly, pulling at Marcello’s sleeve.

“Well done, little man,” Marcello said, relief in every word. “Which way?”

“This way!” Sandro cried, running ahead of them.

Luca’s heart hammered in his chest, as they ran, eventually emerging into a small piazzetta.

“Piazzetta del Pozzo Secco,” Marcello said, lifting his torch and looking around at the two-story buildings that surrounded it. All were dark and silent. As he turned, Luca saw it, on the wall of the well. A handprint of blood.

“Marcello…” He ran over to the well, touching the spot of blood, rubbing it between his fingers. Still wet. He peered down into the silent darkness below. She’d been there, moments before them. He cried out in frustration. They’d been so close!

But by the saints…if the Fiorentini had taken the women down into the maze of the
bottini
, how were they to find them?

***

~EVANGELIA~

We ran down the bottini as best we could, our soggy skirts clinging and slowing us down, to say nothing of the gags in our mouths, making it hard to breathe. But I didn’t want them to carry us. If by some miracle Luca and Marcello could find us down here, it’d be best if they couldn’t use us as human shields. At least, not immediately. Gabs and I were decent swimmers. We could disappear under the water for a moment, add to the confusion. But the thought of going under, my mouth gagged, my hands tied, made me choke with panic even before I’d tried it.

Six men ran in front of us, six behind. I didn’t know if our guys had succeeded in killing any of them, but the bad guys weren’t carrying any bodies. We paused at another juncture and as the two streams of water collided, Gabi stumbled against me, and I reached up to balance us against the curved ceiling. I gave her a questioning
Are you all right?
look before a man roughly pulled her away, setting off again. They were like spiders, I decided. Tarantulas. Scurrying. Eerie in their movements.

She looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes shifting to the ceiling, trying to tell me something, and I glanced up as two men dragged me forward, too.