Dante's Flame

by Jannine Corti-Petska

  The muted sound of a horse’s hooves on the patchy terrain alerted her. She angled her head but the sun blinded her, and she couldn’t see who sat upon the horse. She recognized the man’s boot, the same the French army wore.

  “Venez avec moi,” the man ordered. Why would he ask her to go with him?

  “S’il vous plait, monsieur—” Suddenly every fiber of her being tingled with dread.

  That voice. She had heard it before.

  He reached down and yanked her up, and fear coursed through her body. “No!”

  Another man grabbed her ankle and hoisted her higher. “S’il vous plait,” she pleaded. “Please, let me go.”

  “I am afraid you have permanently lost your freedom, Alessandra,” the man on foot said.

  Her heart raced as she was deluged with tremors. “Benito, do not do this. I’ll not tell anyone about your secret.

  “No, you’ll not.” He snickered. “Dead whores do not talk.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Half out of his mind, Dante rode his horse hard to the inner city. Alessandra hadn’t returned to his castle since fleeing that morning. Now long into the afternoon, he grew desperate. Too many images of her in trouble sprang up in his head, but he refused to allow them to cloud the hope he held on to. He must believe she is safe.

  As he barged through the gate, the gatekeeper jumped aside with a strangled oath to avoid being crushed by Dante’s horse. There were too many places for Alessandra to hide. Logic told him to try her cousins first. Where else would a young woman go but to family when she was upset, even if the family’s moral character was in question?

  The merchants and shoppers already dwindled in number. Those who normally strolled about to converse with friends were just as scarce. When he spotted Father Damiani ambling along in the opposite direction, he veered his horse toward the priest, who looked up startled when Dante blocked his path.

  “Have you seen Alessandra?” His alarm roughened his voice.

  “Not since yesterday.”

  “What made her seek you out?”

  “You know I cannot reveal our conversation. What we spoke of is between your wife, me and the Lord.”

  Of course, it was. But at the moment, Dante cared little about propriety or the priest’s vows. His fingers itched to grab the priest and shake the answer out of him. “If my wife comes to you again, call for an escort to see her safely to my castle.”

  The priest nodded, then continued on toward San Giovanni’s. Dante wheeled the horse around and rode directly to the Valente home. He burst through the shopkeeper’s door and found Fabroni alone. The man looked up, his puzzlement creasing the skin at his temples.

  “Is Alessandra here?”

  “She is not.”

  Fear gnawed on every conceivable nerve in Dante’s body, threatening to strangle his life’s breath. He was suffocating from the possibility Alessandra was in real trouble this time, not the adventure seeking jaunts she habitually went on.

  Concerned, Fabroni inquired, “Have you gone to Father Damiani?”

  “He, too, has not seen her.” With only one more place to search, Dante started out the door. “Should she come here, escort her to my castle.”

  Upon his horse, heading for the French camp, Dante prayed Alessandra had gone to his quarters to be alone, to cool her anger and hurt. Yet a woman as comely as she didn’t stand a chance of walking among the soldiers unmolested. The thought struck him with distressing urgency, and he rode as if a horde of armed enemies were bearing down on him.

  The elusive musician entered his mind. Dante feared its power and wondered if it might show itself to Alessandra now that she was alone and vulnerable. And what of Benito? The bastard despised Alessandra. He’d made it clear she was a nuisance he’d rather see gone from Naples. Dante squeezed the reins as tautly as the pull of revenge in his gut.

  Outside the tavern, he sprang from his horse as it pranced to an agitated stop. He rushed inside and found Etienne speaking with a royal guard. Protocol be damned, Dante charged into their conversation.

  “Alessandra is missing.”

  The French captain sighed. “Your wife has a penchant for wandering.”

  “Not this time. I fear she is in trouble.” He explained how she discovered the truth about his association with the French, and told of those he had already approached about her whereabouts. “She has been gone too long.”

  “Mayhap she is teaching you a lesson,” Etienne suggested. “Think you she is not capable of hurting you as much as you did her?”

  The captain’s words pricked his flesh. He wouldn’t blame Alessandra for punishing him. He deserved her wrath. “She has disappeared, I tell you. She is in trouble.” Dante ran an unsteady hand through his hair, shoving it away from his forehead. He’d lose his mind if he didn’t find his wife soon. “Where else do I look?”

  Etienne’s expression was serious now. “I will gather a few men and search the outer city.”

  The royal guard spoke up. “I shall inform the queen. She will assuredly make her guards available to you.”

  Dante looked from one man then the other. “You have my gratitude.”

  ****

  Alessandra was battle weary, but not defeated and continued to fight for her freedom as she sat upon the neck of Beltane’s horse. Uncomfortable, her muscles were sore from trying not to touch him. It was useless, though, for her body sagged tiredly each time her mind wandered.

  The setting sun cast an orange glow over the uneven land ahead. Soon she would know her fate, which was already made clear. Benito meant to do away with her. How he planned to kill her was what frightened her. Would she suffer a slow, agonizing death? Or would it come swift?

  No, no, no! She’d not succumb to her cousin’s wickedness. Staring at the road ahead, Alessa noticed streams of smoke rising into the air. One could imagine their ghost-like shapes beckoning a traveler into their steamy center. The acrid smell reached her nose, and she tried to breathe minimally so it wouldn’t burn her lungs. She squinted to see farther, searching for the smoke’s origin. She saw no fires. Only broken land covered with craters.

  Her body turned frighteningly cold. This place was what the Greek’s called Heaven and Hell, the Campi Flegrei—the volcanic region with hundreds of craters she had heard tales about from travelers in Venice. Was she to burn to death in the fumaroli, the steam from pools of boiling mud?

  Struggling anew, she caught Beltane off guard and managed to leap to the ground. Her ankles jarred, and shards of pain shot up her legs, but fear kept her from giving in to it. She fled away from the craters, praying fervently to make it to the forest and lose herself within its dark niches. The soft ground beneath her feet hindered her escape. Benito caught her by her hair and dragged her to Beltane.

  “Bitch.” Her cousin backhanded her across her face, forcing her to collide with the French soldier’s horse. Heat spread across her cheek, yet she’d not give Benito the satisfaction of seeing her cower or cry.

  Benito grabbed her hands in front of her and looped coarse rope tightly around her wrists. She bit back a whimper from the barbed fetters digging into her skin. Tears perched on the rim of her eyes, though none broke free. He pushed her ahead, unsteadying her close to a boiling pit. She flapped her arms to right herself, all the while breathing with difficulty from the steam.

  Benito and Beltane wrapped the lower half of their face in a piece of cloth. She’d have asked for one, too, if she thought they’d be generous enough to share.

  “My husband will search for me.” A lame threat, to be sure. She didn’t know if Dante would come looking for her. After what she’d overheard, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to.

  Benito laughed wickedly. “And he will join you in death should he find you.”

  “What do you want of me?” she asked, choking back the biting smell. The taste of it clung inside her throat.

  “Naught of you,” Benito answered. “It is unfortunate you have learned about our plot. No
w you must be destroyed.”

  “Imprison me until after you carry out your plot.”

  “Hah! What fantasies you weave. Think you I would let you go, knowing you are able to identify who was behind murdering the queen and helping Alfonso overtake Naples.”

  “I will say naught. I promise.”

  He spoke no more. Alessa glanced at Beltane. Something inside of her jolted with notice. Images of the night she had been found with the dead French soldier flashed in her mind. The more she stared at him, the more recognition set in.

  Their eyes connected, his marked with derision. “It was you,” she accused. “You killed the soldier and left me to take the blame.”

  Beltane sneered. “It almost worked, if it had not been for your lover.”

  The murderous tone in that single word created a cold void in Alessa’s stomach. “How is it you know our language?”

  Benito shoved her again. “Be quiet and walk, else I will end your life right now.”

  Up ahead, carved into the limestone, she noticed a grotto. Hope returned, and her heart fluttered. Perhaps Benito meant only to frighten her. He’d not kill her, at least not yet. It would give Dante time to find her.

  “How did you know it was I who learned about your plot against Queen Isabelle?”

  Her cousin spoke with malice. “I was most fortunate you confessed your guilt.”

  “Father Damiani?” Shock numbed her mind. Carefully stepping around the jagged edge of numerous craters, Alessa feared she’d lose her footing and tumble into one. She forged ahead with caution, knowing if she allowed her fear to take over, it would consume her senses and disable her natural instincts.

  Inside the grotto were Roman ovens. Clearly this ancient land had once been ripe with life. The volcanic activity, she assumed, was the reason no one dwelled in this region any longer. At least she was safe from the fumaroli in here.

  Benito shoved her down to the dirt. She observed him guardedly as he pulled up her arms and attached her rope to a cutout in the wall. He secured it tightly then stepped back, his eyes narrowed upon her.

  “Now who will you confess to?” he taunted. “Mayhap God will hear your prayers, for no one else surely can.”

  “Where are you going?” Subtle panic washed over her when he retraced his steps to take his leave.

  “I have an appointment with the queen.”

  “I will need food and water.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted into a sinister smile. “I think not. Starvation will make your death in La Solfatara most welcomed.’

  La Solfatara, the largest, most violent of the craters. Alessa sank back to the rock wall, defeated.

  ****

  Dante flew up the steps leading to the second floor. His booted feet barely skimmed the stone. He rushed into his bedchamber, and his hopes dashed. There was no consoling him, no rationalizing about his wife’s disappearance. Alessandra’s penchant for roving about mattered no more. She was in trouble. He felt it in the marrow of his bones.

  He sensed another standing behind him and turned sharply, giving Agata a start. She cowered and trembled, fraught with worry. It was no surprise to him. She and Alessandra had grown close in the short time they had known one another.

  “You have not found her my lord?” Her meek voice was barely audible.

  For once he didn’t protest her formal address. Dante wagged his head in sorrow. “I fear I have exhausted my search. Captain Lemont has dispatched a group of soldiers to scrutinize the outer city. There is naught more I can do.”

  Distraught, he sank into a nearby chair and rested his head in his hands. His despair sank deeper when he recalled how she had learned about his dual life. He had planned to tell her the truth, when the time was right. To overhear his confession, she’d never forgive him his deceit. He could only hope she might live to forget it, though he knew he never would.

  “My lord?”

  Dante heaved a sigh. “What is it?”

  “I may...I could...”

  He bolted out of his chair, too agitated to parry words with the maidservant. “What is it, woman?”

  “The signora and I—” She twisted her fingers in her smock.

  “Have you anything to say?”

  She nodded hesitantly. “The signora and I did something, I fear. We walked to the bay two days past, after you were called away by Captain Lemont.”

  “I will hear more.” Even though his stomach roiled from her admission.

  “We came upon a cave purposely hidden by brush. We ventured inside and found chests filled with coins and other treasures. Two men entered not long after.”

  His gut constricted painfully.

  Agata mumbled a short prayer before she proceeded. “We hid farther in and listened to their conversation. The signora recognized the voices but could only identify one.”

  Dante forced himself to remain rooted to the floor, though he was unable to stop his hands from clenching and unclenching.

  “It was her cousin, Benito.” Agata swallowed nervously. “He and the other man were talking about aiding Alfonso.”

  Bedamned, it was the proof he needed to take down the Valentes. “Can you take me to this cave?”

  Her head jerked with a nod, and she had trouble looking into his eyes. “The signora took two coins.” She moved with small, timid steps to Alessandra’s side of the bed where she kept her journal.

  The wait agonizing, Dante rocked back and forth, praying his intestines would not burst from his anxiety twisting them into knots. The maidservant pulled out the leather book and shook it. She slipped a finger into a slit on the cover. Two gleaming coins fell onto the bed. He marched over and scooped them up, staring at the pieces of gold as if they might divulge the entire truth of the Valentes’ ruse. At last he had proof. He and Etienne had been right to suspect them. For the moment, his knowledge was a victory he could not celebrate.

  “I must find Captain Lemont posthaste.”

  “There is more, my lord.”

  Dante’s heart pounded fiercely.

  “The signora’s evil cousin is plotting to…to kill the queen.”

  “No,” he whispered. But then it all fell into place. Do away with the queen and deliver the gold to Alfonso. Dante hurried from his chamber but paused only to say, “I commend your bravery in coming to me with the truth. However, I will deal with you and my disobedient wife after I bring her home.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Dante came upon Etienne afield outside the city walls, speaking with two soldiers on horseback. The French captain’s features were grim. Dante waited anxiously for Etienne to dismiss the men then blurted, “The queen’s life is in danger.”

  “How know you this?”

  “My wife’s maidservant.” He unfurled his fingers to reveal the two gold coins lying in his palm. He recounted what Agata had told him, concluding with his fear that Benito somehow learned about Alessandra’s knowledge of his plot and intended to kill her.

  “I will dispatch half my army to the queen’s castle, then ride with a dozen more to the cave.” The captain wheeled his horse toward Castel dell’ Ovo. “Once I am assured Queen Isabelle is safe and I have retrieved the chests, I will arrest the Valentes. In the meantime, see that they do not leave the city.”

  Divided between his allegiance to the French and knowing his wife’s life was at risk, Dante came close to disobeying Etienne’s order. After turning the city upside-down searching for Alessandra, he could do naught but go to the Valente home.

  Evening would soon descend. Dante worried about losing the light of day. Growing more agitated by the minute, he momentarily forced Alessandra from his mind, though his heart was connected to hers beating with fear.

  He entered the city, relieved to find it almost deserted. At Fabroni’s shop, Cristiano’s huge white destrier stood untethered close to the building. Having the Medici present might keep Dante from killing Benito if the misbegotten showed his face.

  The shoemaker’s shop was empty. Vo
ices drifted down from the second floor. His hand covering the dagger at his hip, he rushed up the stairs. In the main room, Cristiano and Fabroni sat across from one another, deep in conversation. Amalia came in from the kitchen and stopped short upon seeing Dante. Rage filled him like never before. How could two people spawn a devil child like Benito? He knew their traitorous qualities helped mold their oldest son, even if both were not as blackhearted.

  “Where is Benito?” Dante asked.

  Fabroni glanced briefly at Cristiano. “He left at the first light of dawn.”

  Dante pinned Amalia with a feral look. “Sit beside your husband, signora.”

  The Medici remained silent behind his confusion. Dante was thankful he did not interfere. Not willing to give Benito the chance to stab him from behind, he removed himself from the open doorway. His dagger remained in its scabbard at his hip, but his hand stayed nearby.

  “We have discovered your cache,” he said directly. “Alfonso will never see what you have amassed.

  Fabroni’s features went slack. Amalia, on the other hand, kept hers remote. “I’ll not deny it,” Fabroni stated.

  “You hid your treachery well,” Dante scoffed.

  “How did you learn about us?” Fabroni’s distress was evident in the tick beside his eye.

  “The how of it is not important. Yet I would know why you are helping Alfonso.”

  Amalia rested her hand discreetly on her husband’s arm, but it wasn’t lost to Dante. He wouldn’t doubt it was her way of ensuring another of their secrets remained hidden. Thankfully, Fabroni had a bit of good conscience left. “Benito is not our son.”

  Shock infused Dante’s mind. The man’s admission was the last thing he expected to hear.

  “His mother was a Spanish whore and his father a noble serving under Alfonso. His mother died birthing him. Alfonso asked us to take him in. He said we would want for naught as long as we cared for Benito.”

  Amalia bit back tears. “I was unable to bear children,” she admitted quietly, as if ashamed.