Torrent

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Those within hearing turned and clapped and cheered for me, but the great majority continued in their war preparations. Luca came over to me and kissed my hand. “A good morning to you, cousin-in-law.”

  “And a good morning to you, cousin,” I returned. “Have you seen my husband about?”

  “Your husband,” he said, frowning and tapping his lip as he searched the crowd. “Husband, husband, husband…” He stopped and pointed, smiling at me. “Over yonder is thy husband.”

  I saw Marcello then, deep in conversation with six knights who were wearing a coat of arms on their capes I had not seen before. They must’ve arrived overnight, as had perhaps a hundred more men. I playfully nudged Luca with my hip and moved out, leaving him laughing behind me.

  I moved among the men, dodging several horses and the swordplay of still more knights. I glimpsed my dad sparring with a knight, his face lighting up as if he understood some new move. My sister, over with the Lerici archers, examining their unique arrows, while five men considered her unique attributes. Mom was nowhere to be seen—perhaps she was in the kitchen, making even more bread than yesterday. And when I looked again to where Marcello had been before, he was no longer there.

  I frowned in confusion, glancing about when I didn’t find him, eyeballing every one of the perhaps three hundred people in the courtyard.

  “Dare I hope that it’s me you seek?” he said lowly in my ear. I jumped and whirled.

  “M’lord!”

  “M’lady!” he cried back, teasing me. He grinned and grabbed my hand to haul me to the nearest turret staircase, ignoring the many men who called his name and others who shouted in jest. He opened the door, allowed me to enter, then shut it. A guard was just coming down the stairs, but Marcello yelled up. “Good man, might you remain up top for but a moment?”

  The knight caught sight of me, smiled, and then trudged back up the stairs and closed the door. But even before it was shut, Marcello had lifted me in his arms, kissing me with joy more than passion. He was all over the place, kissing my eyebrow, my chin, my nose, my ear, my hair. I laughed and kissed him back, my hands on his broad shoulders, the wide width of his strong back, the narrow of his waist.

  “Ah, wife,” he said, at last still, pulling away. “It took everything in me to leave you in my bed.”

  “And ’twas a great sorrow to wake without you,” I said.

  He touched my chin. “I promise, there will be many days when we shall not leave it at all. But not this day. Come, there is much to tell you, so that you are prepared.” He took my hand, and we climbed the turret, exiting up top, giving the men outside a new reason to cheer. Although our ceremony had been private, our marriage was very public knowledge, just as Marcello had wanted it. The more widely it was broadcast that Lady Gabriella Betarrini was now Lady Gabriella Forelli, the better.

  The knight we’d delayed edged past us. “My most sincere congratulations to you both, m’lady, m’lord.”

  “Thank you, friend,” Marcello said, patting him on the shoulder as he passed. He took my hand and walked me around the perimeter of the castle, keeping me on the inside in case an enemy archer got a crazy idea he’d like to start this battle sooner than later. I could see that not only had more of Marcello’s band of brothers arrived, but Siena herself had ridden to our defense.

  There weren’t the numbers we’d seen the last time full-scale battle had erupted between the cities, but it was a good start. And it was exactly how Marcello wanted it. He didn’t want Paratore too agitated, too alarmed. If the battle went on, more would arrive. I couldn’t forget the columns of men we’d encountered last time, heading to the front lines. But Marcello hoped we could win this so quickly, so decidedly, that the Fiorentini would not even have the chance to call for more men.

  And with our peeps hidden inside Castello Forelli’s walls, I thought we might just have that chance. If they’d arrived without Paratore’s men understanding who they were, what they were capable of, we just might have what we needed. I shivered, glad that it wasn’t me and Lia on the other side of Paratore’s gates. It had been there I received the wound that had ultimately sent me home the first time, far from Marcello. And seeing Paratore again, after Sansicino, after my escape…I knew he’d be bent on taking me down. Lia and Marcello, too, if he could.

  I shifted, taking a firmer grasp of Marcello’s hand. Please, Lord, keep us together this day. Keep us whole. May this first day of our marriage not be the last.

  Marcello pointed out the two companies of men from Firenze, who camped outside the enemy castle. I could barely see bits of tent and flags below the castle wall. But Marcello had received the reports. They comprised maybe three to four hundred knights. And they had marched all night to arrive.

  Surrounding Castello Forelli, we had three hundred men from Siena, many of who had arrived the day before. And inside we had another three hundred. Marcello grinned at me, knowing that I was putting the numbers together with him. Knowing that we outnumbered them two to one.

  I stared outward to the crimson flag dancing in the wind and steeled myself to encounter Lord Paratore again. I’d hoped he was out of my life forever. That he’d retired to the relative safety and peace of Firenze and left this disputed border territory for others to haggle over.

  But no. He was back. I could almost feel him, just across the valley.

  And I knew that if he had the chance, he would do everything he could not to kidnap me, but to kill me. And he wouldn’t be the only one.

  Marcello was right.

  Maybe I had to sit this one mostly out.

  Our men combed the woods on our side of the border, trying to roust out any scouts come to spy on us. Once they were assured a section was safe, they sent in groups of men, dressed in camouflage colors of tan and green, to hide themselves and stealthily make their way to the border in order to do their own espionage work—or, if the battle began, to surprise our enemies in pockets.

  “Scouts returning, m’lord,” called Lutterius, down to Marcello, who was with me in the courtyard. Marcello tensed at my side. It was maybe two in the afternoon. Had it already begun?

  The gates opened only three feet wide—we were still attempting to keep our reserve troops a secret from any prying eyes—and two riders came through. Boys, really, a few years younger than I. Middle schoolers. Except they had no such thing in medieval Toscana. Most did not even attend school. Only the very wealthy could afford to hire tutors.

  “They have begun, m’lord,” said one, sliding off his horse and only slightly bowing to us both in his excitement.

  “What did you see?” Marcello asked.

  “Timber,” said the second, coming up behind the first. They had a similar, gangly, long-nosed look—definitely brothers. “They are erecting a platform outside the castello.”

  “How many men do they have?”

  “By our guess, more than three hundred.”

  Marcello nodded, chin in hand. “And did you overhear anything? Any word of more en route?”

  “One spoke of a hundred more on their way from Firenze,” said the first. He smiled mischievously. “We were able to creep quite close.”

  “Good. Take your fill of food and drink, pack some supplies, and head north to take up a new position. If you see more troops arriving, come and warn us. To do us any good at all, you must arrive at least an hour before they reach Castello Paratore. Understand?”

  “It shall be done, m’lord,” said the second boy.

  “M’lord,” said the first. They gave Marcello a short bow and headed toward the stables, walking their horses.

  I studied Marcello. He was staring into the sky, frowning. “What is it?” I said.

  He shook his head and smiled for me. “Ah, nothing specific. It’s only that it seems I’ve battled Paratore and his men ever since I first picked up a sword. And while he is not the greatest military tactician, he is not the fool. Right now it seems that he is walking directly into our trap. Or is that what he wishes us to
think?”

  I looped my arm through his, and we started to walk among the men in the courtyard. “He believes he’s safe,” I said. “Mayhap he even intends to remain holed up in the castle while the execution takes place. Watch it from the parapets.”

  “Nay,” Marcello shook his head, staring at the gates as if he could see through them all the way to Castello Paratore. “He’ll wish to wade into the fray, meet me at the front. We’ve been too long at this, he and I, for him to stand back. He knows as well as I that this is where it comes to an end. That this is the day.”

  A shiver ran down my back. Once there had been an understanding—if either young lord was hurt, the enemy would back off. Those days were clearly long over. I remembered the first day I’d arrived. When Paratore had been wounded and the battle abruptly ended. Too much had transpired since then, too much blood spilled…My eyes focused on a man in brown.

  “Marcello,” I said, touching his hand and gesturing toward the gates. Father Tomas was there, pack over one shoulder, talking to the knights who stood by the massive crossbeam.

  We set off to intercept him. The knights in position at the crossbeam seemed relieved to see us coming. Father Tomas followed their gaze, looked upward, as if for heavenly support, and then awaited our approach.

  “You cannot still intend to approach them,” Marcello said.

  “I do,” he said simply.

  “Tomas, you go to your death,” Marcello said. “You must remain here.”

  “Or do I go to life?” he asked. “I do not fear death. I’ve prayed the night through, seeking my Lord’s guidance. And all I can tell you is that He wants me there, with Rodolfo. In case you do not make it in time.”

  “We shall make it in time,” Marcello said. “There is no question. Rodolfo shall not suffer execution this day.”

  “So you believe.”

  “Yes, I believe it.”

  “Every plan has five unseen obstacles. You know it more than I.” Tomas reached out and laid a hand on Marcello’s shoulder. “Please. By your leave I must go.”

  Marcello let out a sound of exasperation and put a hand on his head, studying him. “Why, Tomas? Why?”

  “Because all but three of our brothers are here,” he said, meeting Marcello’s stare. “They all shall serve you and Rodolfo this day. This, this is my way to serve you both.”

  “By dying? Rodolfo would not want that.”

  “Rodolfo would want me to do as my Lord bid.”

  “Ahh, I see. So this is a testament of faith?” Marcello asked. “Your walk into the lion’s den? The pit of fire?”

  “I know not. All I know is that I am to get to Rodolfo. Perhaps, inside, I can also aid the servants sent to help you and the men.”

  Marcello turned to the guards. “This man is not to exit this castle. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, m’lord,” said the first.

  “I must go, Marcello,” Tomas said carefully.

  “You would go over to Castello Paratore, a castle of Firenze, Guelphs, long faithful to the pope who disowned you, and demand entrance?” Marcello asked.

  “Nay,” he said. “My God calls me to go, and I shall follow. ’Tis he who shall gain me entrance.”

  “He’ll use you, Tomas,” I said quietly. “Trust me. Paratore will use anyone he can to get Marcello or me. He put Lia in his dungeon. Threatened unspeakable harm to her. Don’t you see? He’d do the same to you. And then Marcello and I would feel compelled to do anything we could to rescue you.”

  “I ask you not to do that, here and now, with God as my witness. I am not your responsibility.”

  “Which is one thing to say here in the safety of this castle,” Marcello said.

  “You do not understand—” I began.

  “Nay, nay,” Tomas said in anguish, to me, then to Marcello. “’Tis you two who do not understand.” He was finally growing angry, turning red at the neck, and he focused that fury on Marcello, brother to brother. “I relinquished my sword, my bow, the day I became a priest. This,” he said, plucking at the fabric of his robe, “represents my faith and is my armor. The Word of God is my sword. This day represents my battle too.” He shook his head. “Allow me to take up my portion the way God intends.”

  Marcello studied him for a long moment, mouth shut. “Go,” he said then, quiet frustration in the single, low word.

  “No, Marcello,” I intervened. “Tomas, see here—”

  “But go ready to meet your Maker,” Marcello said over me. “I cannot promise protection.” He lifted his hand to the guards. “I’ve changed my mind. The priest shall be allowed to leave,” he said, then strode away.

  “Tomas,” I said, begging him to wait, to reconsider. “Nay. Nay.”

  The knights slid the massive bar back and opened the gates a foot wide for him to slip through. He paused there, took my hand, and then kissed both my cheeks. “Watch over him, Gabriella. Teach him that we are all on the river of life, and that even when the river divides, we are still somehow one.”

  I frowned over his puzzling words and clung to his hands. “Tomas, please. Stay. Stay here and pray for Rodolfo.”

  He gave me a little smile. “You more than anyone, m’lady, should know the power of a friend’s presence when facing dire circumstances. No doubt Rodolfo has already seen a fair amount of torture. I must try to go to him, be with him.”

  I hesitated, remembering Fortino, how glad I was that he had not been alone through it all, that he wasn’t alone at the end.

  I released him. “Go with God, Tomas,” I mumbled.

  “Always, m’lady,” he said and turned on his heel and left.

  The knights closed the gates and slid the beam back into place before me, a grating, powerful sound of final separation. I reached up and touched it. But my mind was on the man who had just departed, who would ease through the woods and find the path to Castello Paratore and march right up to her gates.

  And then what? Would he find Rodolfo weak and injured in a cell? Find some way to bring him comfort, peace, before he died? Memories of Fortino made me clench my eyes shut in pain.

  “Hey,” Lia said, coming closer and laying a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I glanced at her and then back at the beam. Would one of these slide shut behind Tomas, locking him in? Would our people be able to help him, save him?

  Marcello had told him not to look for rescue.

  But was…was God asking me to do that?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Uh-oh, Gabi. No,” Lia muttered. “I don’t like that look in your eye.”

  I ignored her and strode through the mass of men and horses toward the armory. But she stayed beside me as I sidestepped two men who were stripped to the waist, sparring, and entered the Great Hall. “What are you doing? What are you planning?”

  “Nothing!” I exclaimed, slipping a sheath over my shoulders and finding the kind of broadsword I favored. I tipped it back and forth, then looked down the length of it, making sure it was straight, true. Then I slid it into its case between my shoulder blades and went to the wall of daggers. I wrapped a belt around my waist and slid six daggers into the small loops. Then I put a seventh at my calf.

  Lia shooed away the knights who lingered there watching me arm myself, clearly fascinated. It isn’t every day these guys get to see a girl do such a thing, I mused, as they all reluctantly departed. We were temporarily alone in the armory.

  “You ’bout done, GI Jane?” she asked, gesturing toward me. “Or maybe you want to put a few more knives in your hair. And there’s still your other leg. Maybe wrap a whip around it?”

  “What’s with you?” I asked. “I’m just getting ready to ride with Marcello. You know, go stir up the boys, get ’em psyched. Aren’t you coming?”

  She stared at me, her blue eyes piercing mine. It almost hurt me, physically, to keep it up, to lie to her to her face. I turned and studied the rest of the weapons—fairly picked over by now. But that was when I found what I wanted. T
he iron claw attached to the length of rope. I’d have to come back for it later, when I wasn’t with Lia.

  But when I turned, I knew she’d seen me looking at it. “What are you planning, Gabi?”

  “Nothing,” I said insistently. And it was kinda true, at least. I wasn’t planning anything. I was preparing…in case…

  She folded her arms and blocked my way.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m just going with Marcello to get the boys all riled up, ready to win this battle. But you and I know, firsthand, how battles can take a turn you don’t expect. I want to be ready for anything. Don’t you, She-Wolf?”

  The first hint of a smile thawed her icy expression. “I did consider grabbing a quiver full of those Lerici arrows.”

  “There you go,” I encouraged. “And how ’bout a belt full of daggers for good measure?”

  Her smile broadened. “The boys would like to get an eyeful of that,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “The more weapons we pile on, the hotter we are.”

  “Too bad you’re an old married woman now.”

  “And that Luca has already stolen your heart,” I teased back.

  She rolled her eyes, but she blushed and moved over to the lines of quivers. “I’ll have to ask the men of Castello Lerici,” she said, shouldering a bow, “for some of their arrows.”

  I moved over to a crossbow. “What about one of these? Are they hard to use?” I was thinking of the claw and how, without some sort of help, I’d never get it to the top of Castello Paratore.

  “It’s a whole other discipline,” she said, taking it from the wall and grunting under its weight. “Other than aim, of course. You hold it like this,” she said, letting it settle in her arms, the bow horizontal. “And they’re tricky to get loaded right. You have to pull it back to this point,” she said, gesturing to a small metal bar.

  Luca appeared in the doorway and let out a long, low whistle. “Nothing finer looking than two beautiful women holding weapons.”