Chapter Fifty-Six
THE FIRST MAN jumped up from the side of the road and seized my horse’s rein.
I shouted out in shock.
He dragged my horse to a halt. I tried to wrest the rein from his hands but my enemy’s grip was locked solid. Reacting in accordance with the inbred instinct of self-preservation, I kicked out at his face. But he’d anticipated some kind of retaliation and he kept his head down as he pulled furiously on the rein. I had no second chance with him, for by this time another ruffian had flung himself upon the horse behind me to drag me to the ground. A roiling scramble ensued. The horse whinnied and turned in a circle, thrashing her hooves to join in the resistance. With his free hand the man on the road grabbed at my leg, while the one behind me tore at my tunic and belt. Between them they began to overpower me.
But the chestnut mare was a spirited beast and did not take kindly to being set upon in such a manner. She snapped viciously at the man clinging to the rein and he screamed as she bit him. Then she bolted.
The rein was ripped from his grasp and he flung himself away from her flailing hooves. The other ruffian had his arms around my waist and managed to remain seated with me on the mare. His rough hands wrenched at my body. Half out of the saddle, I hung onto the horse’s mane as she galloped full pelt.
The man behind me tore the dagger from my belt. I tensed for the blow but it did not come. Some part of my mind thought, He has my knife, why does he not use it? The horse was terrified, and, as the road straightened out, she increased her pace. Now the man grappled one arm around my neck. I could not fight him. My whole being was focused on staying astride my horse. Then he shifted his hand to my face, and I felt his fingers seek for my eyes.
I gave a great cry of fear and brought both my hands up to claw at his fingers. The next second I was thrown to the ground with such force that I was stunned for several seconds.
The horse thundered on, heading in the direction of Milan.
I got to my feet. My second attacker had managed to keep astride the chestnut mare. I guessed he must be endeavouring to gain mastery of her because, as I watched, her pace slackened. He would turn her when he could. But I had gained a little time. I must run to whatever shelter I could find. I looked back the way we’d come. In her panic the mare had covered a good distance from the wooded area at the road turn. At least I was far enough away from the first attacker to be safe from him.
Then from the trees a rider emerged.
My eyes darted about. The only shelter was some rocks a few hundred yards distant. I raced towards them. The little cover they might provide would have to do me. When I reached them I looked back at my pursuer, A man, mounted on a big horse, travelling fast. And further off behind him another man, running. What was this? There had been three of them waiting for me in the trees?
In the distance I could see my second attacker had turned the chestnut mare round and was galloping back the way she’d bolted. He was heading to pick up my first attacker, the one I had kicked in the face. Then they would follow the other rider in pursuing me. It would not take them long to cut me off.
I plunged among the rocks. The ground sloped away sharply. I was in a gully of some sort. A small stream flowed through the indent in the ground. Beyond it, further distant, I saw a spire and a tract of land that was vaguely familiar to me. On the way from Pavia to Kestra I had halted somewhere near here to eat at a place beside a river. The stream running below me must feed into this other river, some tributary of the river Po. If I could reach it then I might go where the horses could not follow.
I clambered over the rocks, leaped the stream and had gained the other side before I heard their shouts. I did not look back. I focused my energy on getting to the river. The man on the horse would have to take care of his animal so that it would not break a leg in this terrain. But the other two could abandon the chestnut mare and follow where I went. I was sure they would do this and move to close in on me from either side.
I scrambled along the gully as fast as I could, slipping and sliding as I followed the course of the stream. There was no hope of moving silently to evade them. They had seen me and were now shouting wild threats after me. But I was younger and fitter and I was keeping my distance from them when suddenly the stream ran underground and I was at the foot of a ragged bluff. There was nowhere to go. The watercourse was too narrow for me to follow, a mere burrow running through the earth, and the bluff too smooth to climb. I tilted my head back. But climb it I must. I could hear them gaining on me now, puffing and cursing with their efforts.
I stopped to pick up a flat, sharp- edged stone from the bed of the stream and then I flung myself at the rock face. There was a little indent about a foot above my head. I dug into the earth with my stone and hollowed out a handhold, then I reached up to it and, catching sight of a bush growing out of the scree, I stretched my fingers to grab it and pull myself up a little way. I needed to gain more height. Where I was now, although beyond arm’s reach, would still be within their grasp if they stood one upon the other’s shoulders. I chipped away another handhold above my head just as they arrived below me.
One of the men launched himself at the rock face. With a second to spare I swung myself up and just out of his reach. He fell back, striking his head on the ground. It was the one I had kicked in the face earlier. He was not faring very well today. His companion did not stop to tend to him but cast about at his feet. He selected a rock small enough to throw a distance but large enough to do me damage if it hit me. He positioned himself, legs spread, took aim at me and drew back his arm.
‘No!’
The cry came from the third man on horseback. He waved his arms in the air. ‘No!’ he shouted again.
He was picking his way carefully along the stream bed. I did not wait to watch his approach but began cutting another indent to haul myself higher, away from them. I grew more confident as I went on. The two ruffians might be trained assassins but I was younger and more agile and had not forgotten the ways to scale a cliff. Only when I reached the top did I pause to look down.
The two ruffians had gone. The third man must have sent them off to find another way to pursue me while he waited, watching me. I studied him as I took a moment to recover my breath. He seemed a strange companion for the other two men. His horse was a thoroughbred, a black courser with rich trappings of purple velvet.
When he saw me looking in his direction he shouted something. But it was too distant to hear. He waved his fist to indicate that he wanted me to come to him.
Did he think I was mad? I stepped back from the cliff edge to consider which way to go now. There was a plain here at the top, sloping away to a densely wooded valley. I could see where the underground stream emerged and joined the river. I began to run. How much time did I have before they came round the long way and he followed on horseback? They did not have dogs so that meant I did not need to hold to the riverbank. And better not to follow that route, I decided when I got to the river. That was the way they would assume I would go. It led to a town, a place where I might lose myself in a crowd, the most obvious, the easiest escape. Therefore I would not go that way. I would choose another. Keeping to the cover of the trees, I found a forest track and struck out across country.
I ran through the trees without stopping. After about an hour I came upon a clearing with a few huts. These I avoided. If they had picked up my trail the people who lived here would say truthfully that they had not seen me. It might make my pursuers think I had taken a different route.
I had barely left that place and was about to return to the track when I heard the sound of horses’ hooves, clopping slowly just behind me. By the path there was an oak tree in the full leaf of summer, and I swung myself up into its branches and lay still as the rider came into view.
It was the man who rode the black stallion.
How careless of me not to think of it! They had split up. He must have sent the two ruffians to follow the river while he himself explored
this route.
He was not more than a yard or so from me. I could see his fine cloak trimmed with fur, his expensive gloves and his hat, the type that noblemen wore, with a long snood hanging from the brim.
He rode along the path. When he disappeared from view I dropped out of the tree and crept silently back the way I had come. I crossed and re-crossed my tracks. Then I climbed into another tree.
He was scarce four hundred yards away!
I saw what he was doing. Methodically going down each forest track, staring intently at the ground and looking from side to side, searching for broken twigs or any other indication of my presence. A man who hunted, and who had some experience of following a trail.
He knelt down, picked up some leaves and looked around.
I opened my mouth a little so that my breath would not be so laboured. Now he was close enough for me to touch. If he chose to look up I was finished.
A pheasant burst from cover along the path. Immediately he remounted his horse and went off in that direction.
I should have chosen to go towards the town. He was very clever to have tracked me this far, although he could not be certain that it was the fugitive he pursued who was abroad in these woods just now. There could easily be some other traveller around.
I retraced my steps, taking more care this time to move without disturbing the bushes. And then I saw a wall. It was a country villa or a large house and might perhaps have an outbuildings where I could hide. Beyond it lay cultivated land and open fields.
From the forest came the sound of a horse and rider.
I would have to take my chance inside the villa. He would not search the whole place. No one had seen me; no dog had barked. He could not be sure I’d gone this way.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
THE WALL WAS crumbling and easy to climb.
I was over it in a few seconds. In my haste not to be seen by my pursuer I jumped down, without looking, onto a garden path on the other side.
Sitting in the corner of the wall was a young girl sewing. She was dressed in the habit of a nun, but all in white. She looked up as I fell out of the sky at her feet.
I put my hand to my belt.
‘Do not move or I will kill you!’ I declared.
She stared at me.
‘I have a knife,’ I said.
‘I am ready to die for Christ,’ she informed me calmly.
That checked me, but I recovered quickly. ‘You might not have to die,’ I said. ‘Only do as I say.’
‘Do you intend to violate me?’
‘What?’
‘That is the part that I fear I would find the most difficult to bear.’ She looked at me directly. Her eyes were tawny with flecks of green. ‘At least I think it would be most difficult to bear. I have no knowledge of such an event so I cannot truly say. Although I’ve heard tell that it can be an enjoyable experience. But if I were to enjoy it, it would be a sin, would it not? Is it wrong to enjoy a forbidden thing when one didn’t wish it upon oneself? Can one not take advantage of an unfortunate situation as it arises? After all, it’s not my fault that it happened. You fell out of the sky. What am I supposed to do?’
Scream. That was the thought that came into my head. Any other girl would have screamed at once. But I was not going to suggest this to her.
She ran on without stopping: ‘I will have to ask my confessor Father Bartolomeo about it. Yet he’s so old I wouldn’t want to trouble him with difficult questions. They say his heart is weak. It would be an injustice to cause him anxiety.’
‘I—’ I began.
She held up her hand. ‘There is a new young priest who comes to confess us sometimes, when Father Bartolomeo is unwell. His name is Father Martin. Perhaps I will ask him. Our abbess does not often allow the younger nuns or novices like myself to be confessed by Father Martin. She reserves his visits for the elderly nuns. But Sister Mary of the Holy Redeemer, who is eighty-two years old, told me that after she had been confessed by Father Martin she then had to make a confession to Father Bartolomeo concerning the thoughts she had had about Father Martin. This seems to me wasteful of effort, and far from helping Father Bartolomeo when he’s unwell it is in fact creating more work for him. What a conundrum! I’m quite at a loss to puzzle it out.’
The girl pulled her sewing work close to her face. She opened her mouth and, using perfect small white teeth, she snapped the thread. Then she stabbed her needle into a tiny pincushion and stood up.
‘You look hungry. Wait here and I will get you some bread.’
‘No,’ I said and made to bar her way, but she was gone.
I stood open-mouthed. From the other side of the wall I heard a noise, the sound of a fist beating on the outside door! I was going to be captured. I cast around desperately and saw the girl hurrying back to me.
‘When I was in the kitchen fetching your bread there was a commotion at the entrance and I risked a peep. Is there someone hunting you?’
I nodded.
‘And will he kill you if he finds you?’
I thought of Sandino and his method of punishing those who crossed him. ‘From this man,’ I said, ‘death would be a kindness.’
‘If he is so ruthless then he will come through here. This being an enclosed order would not deter him.’ She looked around.
I made to climb the wall to leave but she gripped my arm. Her hands were pale as lily petals but her fingers were strong.
‘By staying here I am putting you in danger,’ I said.
‘If you leave now then you have no chance. Get under the bench,’ she ordered me. ‘I will spread my skirts about you. It is the best we can do.’
‘If I am discovered he will kill you. The fact that you are a nun will not protect you.’
‘Firstly,’ she said briskly, ‘I am not a nun . . . yet. In any case, I will say that you threatened me with your knife.’
‘I do not have a knife,’ I admitted.
‘Then take mine.’ From under the scapular of her habit she brought a carving knife. She raised her eyebrows at my expression. ‘I thought it prudent to bring it with me when I fetched your bread from the kitchen.’
I took the knife from her and crawled quickly under the bench.
Loud voices sounded and I heard the march of feet on the path. Then an older woman cried out. ‘By looking for a fugitive within these walls you are dishonouring the ancient laws of sanctuary!’
‘Mother Abbess, the man I seek is very dangerous,’ a man’s voice said patiently.
Who was this person who could demand access to a convent with such authority? Not one of Sandino’s usual henchmen. This man’s tone was cultured.
‘You and your sisters would be murdered in their beds, or worse, if I allowed this man his freedom.’
‘Then search where you must.’
‘Has this nun been in the garden all afternoon?’ the man demanded.
‘Yes,’ the abbess replied. ‘Sister, you heard what this gentleman has said. Has any ill-bred man disturbed your peace today?’ she enquired gently.
‘No ruffian has come this way, Reverend Mother,’ said my little novice demurely. ‘I’ve been sewing here for several hours in peace.’
‘You are a good postulant who works so industriously. Go inside now. It is almost time for supper.’
Behind her skirts, under the bench, I tensed to run.
‘Ah . . .’ My little novice drew in her breath. ‘If it pleases you to know, Mother Abbess, at my last confession I received a penance from Father Bartolomeo to abstain from a meal this week. So I will stay here and, using God’s good light, continue sewing, if I may.’ She bent her head.
‘Of course, child.’ I heard the abbess follow the man as he strode down the garden path towards the house.
‘I think you should remain still for the moment.’ The novice nun spoke to me very quietly as we heard the man stamping about inside the house. ‘If he seeks you so avidly then he will watch our door. He’ll send for help. And, as soon as he can,
he will occupy the roads all around, then return tomorrow to search each place more thoroughly. So you must wait until nightfall before you leave.’
‘I will go now.’ I was beginning to be ashamed at how I had hidden away, using a nun to protect me. I pushed my head up from behind the bench.
‘Shh!’ she said sharply. ‘We don’t want to undo our good work. I have a plan. At sunset a man comes to water the gardens. He does this when the sisters are in the chapel saying Compline. He is called Marco and was a servant of my father’s at one time and is very fond of me. I will contrive to speak to him and ask him to take you out of here.’
‘How will he be able to hide me?’
‘He brings us water in barrels in a handcart.’
‘An empty barrel is the first place they would search for me.’
‘I am not so stupid as to suggest that.’ The little novice nun glared at me, her mouth tight, eyes snapping, and I saw what her temper might be like if roused. ‘As part payment Marco is permitted to take some of the manure our donkeys produce. You will hide under it and he will take you to his own shack a few miles distant. Can you think of a better way to do this?’
I shook my head and crouched back under the bench.
‘I am curious,’ she said. ‘You told me that the man who searched for you was murderous. And you are right, he is. But by your speech I took him to be a rough brigand, not a great nobleman.’
‘Of what great nobleman do you speak?’
‘The man who was in the garden searching for you. Don’t you know him?’
‘I do not. What is his name?’
‘His name is Jacopo de’ Medici.’
Later that evening I lay down under sacking in Marco’s handcart and allowed myself to be covered in manure. The novice watched as he did this. She looked amused as she bent towards me to bid me farewell.
‘God must be mindful of you,’ she whispered.
‘Your God must hardly think much of me if He places me in a cart full of dung,’ I hissed back.
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