Dante's Flame

by Jannine Corti-Petska

  “It is all right.” Fabroni consoled her, patting her hand. “Attilo is my son by another woman. One night of indiscretion….” He lowered his head. “I am lucky to have an understanding wife.”

  “Your indiscretions do not concern me. Mayhap you should confess those sins to Father Damiani,” Dante suggested uncharitably. “I demand to know why you willingly risked death to aid an enemy to Naples.”

  Clutching each other’s hands, the Valentes reserve collapsed. Fabroni whispered to his wife, assuring her God would see them through their mistakes. “Alfonso has taken good care of us through the years. We could not turn our backs on him.” He rose, imploring Dante, “Please do not pass judgment on us—”

  “You would ask that of me after what you have done?” He took a heated step toward Fabroni, but Cristiano’s foreboding figure loomed large in front of him.

  “Do not do anything foolish,” the Florentine warned and remained a barrier until Dante soothed his urge to attack the shopkeeper.

  “I will know one thing,” Dante said the instant the Medici moved away. “Where is Alessandra?”

  Cristiano visibly tensed. “What say you?”

  “My wife is missing, and I believe Benito is behind her disappearance.”

  Fabroni’s shocked innocence gave Dante’s heart another shattering blow. “I pray to God he has not harmed her, but I cannot help you.”

  “I can.” Attilo’s wary gaze slid from his mother to his father, his lower lip quivering. He had heard what his father revealed about his birth. In Dante’s beleaguered mind, the boy had the rest of his life to deal with the devastating truth. Alessandra’s life was a more pressing issue.

  Dante faced the boy. “What do you know?”

  Attilo moved his tearful gaze to him. “Benito is taking her to Pozzuoli.”

  “Why?” The depth and thunder in Cristiano’s voice alarmed the boy.

  “I heard…him say she was a…an interfering bitch and he would silence her forever.”

  Cristiano did not stop Dante this time when he descended upon Attilo and dragged him into the main room. Breathing raggedly from his anger and the boy’s weight, Dante spoke harshly. “Why would he take her to Pozzuoli?”

  Fighting back tears, Attilo shrugged. “Benito said he knew the perfect place where her remains would never be discovered.”

  Dante’s mind raced. What in Pozzuoli could swallow a human whole for no one to find?

  “I heard him say the Romans knew well the benefits of boiling caldrons,” Attilo added.

  “Who was Benito talking to?”

  Fabroni spoke up. “It could have been only one of two others. A French soldier who goes by Beltane or Father Damiani.”

  “The priest—?” Livid, Dante strode swiftly across the room and grabbed Fabroni’s shirt in his fists, dragging him closer. “Was the priest in on your scheme from the start?”

  Fabroni nodded with regret.

  Alessandra’s confessions. That was how Benito found out she had overheard him at the bay. She was likely troubled over Benito’s plot to kill the queen and told no one but the priest. He tightened his grip. “Know you why Benito would take her to Pozzuoli?”

  “If I did, I would tell you. You must believe me when I say I would not harm Alessandra.”

  “What of Beltane?” Dante had distrusted the man from the start.

  “All I know about him is he lived in Milan for many years and speaks our language, though not well.”

  Releasing Fabroni, Dante turned to Cristiano. “I am riding to Pozzuoli. Will you remain here until Captain Lemont comes for the Valentes?”

  “Please,” Fabroni pleaded. “Attilo knew naught of our pledge to Alfonso. He is innocent of our crime.”

  The man spoke the truth, Dante knew, but he wasn’t in a forgiving mood and refused to ease their worries. “That will be up to the French captain to decide.”

  “Go,” Cristiano urged. “I will follow as soon as they are taken into custody.”

  Not two steps from the door, Dante rocked to a halt. Pozzuoli. Romans. Those two words rumbled off the walls of his mind, driving him to think harder, more precisely. Boiling caldrons.

  He spun around, anger suffusing his face bright red. “Campi Flegrei.” The Phlegraean Fields. It made sense now. What Alessandra would suffer twisted his intestines painfully.

  “I know the area,” Cristiano offered. “It is just over two leagues from here.”

  “I will fetch a French soldier to watch them,” Dante said. “Then you and I will ride to the fields.”

  ****

  Alessa buried her nose in the crook of her arm to keep from choking on the sulfurous vapors creeping into the grotto. The sun had long ago set, and the grotto was pitched into blackness. Her stomach growled from hunger, her throat and lips parched. She would choose starvation over burning alive in the hot pits of hell, though she feared Benito was right. Mayhap a swifter death would be a relief compared to suffering.

  Tugging on her restraints, she flinched and bit down on her bottom lip when the rope burned her wrists. She might eventually free herself if she continued sawing her flesh against the coarse fibers. Would it be better to lose a hand than die alone and in agony?

  “Almighty,” she declared into the black of night. When did she turn into a sniveling child?

  Working diligently, biting back the extreme torture, she moved her left wrist to and fro. Tears streamed down her cheeks. All the while, she thought about Dante, his dishonesty blurred now as she faced her demise. If only he was there to hold her in his strong arms. She’d stroke his jaw and run her fingers over his tender lips.

  Her struggle to free her wrists was for naught. She could not bear the pain. When blood trickled down her forearm, she gave up.

  Throughout the night she listened to the hissing sounds from the fumaroli, a cruel reminder of her dwindling mortality. Or was it the devil taunting her last hours of life? She turned her gaze upward. “If you are listening, please, God, do not let me die this way. I would welcome a miracle, if you so choose it.”

  As if her prayer was answered, she noticed a bit of light swaying beyond the grotto’s entrance. She followed it, praying Dante had found her. She hunkered down as far as her restraints allowed.

  “Alas, there you are.”

  Father Damiani’s bulk appeared, his face distorted, sinister in the candle’s flickering flame. “I have taken a great risk to find you, my dear. I should have waited until the light of day. This flame could very well set off an explosion should it come too close to the vapors.”

  Praying the priest had a change of heart, she appealed to his service to the Lord. “God will forgive you your sin. Please, untie me before Benito returns. I promise I’ll not run.”

  The priest cocked his head. “I have done naught in God’s eyes to forgive. Tsk, tsk. I fear I cannot untie you.”

  Her heart sank. The miracle she prayed for was slowly fading into the night. “Why not?”

  “Because he knows Benito will kill him,” came an eerily familiar voice that sent a multitude of shivers down her back. When the man stepped into the small halo of light, Alessa gasped. His resemblance to Benito was stunning. “Do not fear, Signora Santangelo. I am not here to harm you. I will leave that pleasure to my brother.”

  “Brother? I…do not understand.”

  “Same father, different whoring mothers.” He squatted before her, curling one rough finger under her chin. She jerked away. He recaptured her chin, squeezing it in a heartless grip. “Benito said you were a nice piece. Mayhap I should mount you before you die.”

  She’d spit in his face if her mouth hadn’t gone dry. Instead, she reproached him with a word so vile, she had never in her life uttered it. He backhanded her swiftly, and her body snapped back, tugging excruciatingly on her shoulders and chafed wrists. Righting herself, she refused to cower and angled her head to show her intact spirit.

  The man rose, eyeing her maliciously. “Benito will return as soon as he has taken care
of the queen.”

  “And the gold?” Father Damiani inquired.

  “Beltane is overseeing the loading of it onto my ship.” He sneered at her. “It was fortunate the French captain posted Beltane to guard the bay.” He made a snickering sound as he walked away. “Meet me back at our camp.”

  Her eyes darted to the priest. “Why did you turn against the church?”

  He acted genuinely surprised by her question. “I did not turn against the church.”

  “Do your vows mean naught?”

  His smile disappeared into his plump cheeks. “Come now, dear girl. A priest is a mere mortal, tempted by life itself. I am not God.”

  Neither was he a priest in her eyes. “My husband will kill you when he learns about your involvement with Benito.”

  He pressed his hands against his midsection as he laughed at her empty threat. “He will never find you.”

  ****

  Dante and Cristiano rode faster than the wind to reach Campi Flegrei. Dawn was less than an hour away, and already light filtered through the cover of clouds. Although sweat blanketed his body, the temperature was cold enough to form white puffs of clouds from his breaths. What of Alessandra? She couldn’t possibly keep warm with what she had worn when she ran from the castle.

  “Over there,” Cristiano pointed out.

  Dante squinted through the pale light to see streamers of smoke drifting upward like a flag undulating in a brisk breeze. The closer they rode, the smell of sulfur wafted stronger, and his gut clenched all the more, knowing his wife had been left to die among the ancient region of lakes and fires. The last major eruption was more than two hundred years past, but what remained was just as lethal as hot, flowing lava.

  “There are grottos and rooms built into the hillside,” Cristiano said.

  “We will go to those first.”

  They pulled up and dismounted. Near the steaming craters, Cristiano stayed Dante’s advance. “I will warn you now. There are only a few grottos where she is safe. Pray she was not taken to the Grotta del Cane.”

  Wary, Dante asked, “Why?”

  “The fumes there are deadly. Anyone who enters does not come out alive.” He moved forward. “Follow me, and take care where you step. The ground is soft. Should you misstep and fall into a crater, the bubbling mud will quickly melt the flesh from your bones.”

  Dante shuddered. He vowed he’d not leave this hell without his wife. That she was close, he had no doubts. Her presence seeped into his soul.

  If only they had a candle to help mark their path, but the danger of an open flame outweighed his urgency to find Alessandra. He’d be no good to her if he was dead. He used what light there was to make out shapes of mounds and boiling craters, their hissing adding to the sinister atmosphere. At one point, Dante thought he saw someone just past La Solfatara, but he quickly discounted it as willful thinking.

  Dante followed Cristiano alongside a particularly active crater and stopped at a shallow cutout in the hillside. Just as they were about to enter, Dante noticed another movement. This time, it was real. His keen eyesight cut through the varying shades of haze and recognized the portly shape standing on a slight hill overlooking a fissure. What came next caused him both joy and grief. Escorted up beside the priest, Alessandra cautiously took each step. With her hands tied in front of her, balance was a distressing issue. One of the two other men closed his fingers around her upper arm and yanked her closer to the crater’s unstable edge. She tottered forward and back.

  Alessandra’s terrifying scream rent the air, stilling the beating of Dante’s heart.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Her muscles turned to stone as Alessandra dug her feet into the soft dirt and pressed back against Benito’s brother, Renzo. He wasn’t pushing with his full weight, else she would have already plunged in the fiery crater. Beside her, Father Damiani moved his lips in whispered prayer.

  “Benito desired to do this heinous deed by his own hands,” she claimed, desperate to stall her coming death.

  Renzo wrapped her loose hair around his fist and yanked back. Alessandra winced. “I am merely preparing you.”

  “You are unfairly taunting me,” she corrected. His palm cracked against her cheek. Her hands came up instinctively to the warmth on her face.

  Beltane stepped forward though not too close to the edge. “I left you both to load the gold.” He nodded at Alessa with warning, “Benito will not be happy with you.”

  A slow, malicious grin curved Renzo’s mouth, and he pulled her head back by her hair. “Think you he will care if I taunt the wench. Faith, Benito’s heavy hand has already given her fair skin color.” He released her and his grin vanished. “I should kill her now and save us all from her treacherous meddling.”

  “I did not meddle intentionally,” Alessa insisted. “I found the cave by chance.” Her pounding heart roared in her ears. Renzo forced her head to tilt downward. She tried to avoid looking into the crater, but she had no where else to turn her sight. “If you let me go, I will return to Venice and never mention this to anyone.”

  Renzo bellowed with amusement, then slapped the back of her head. “Lying whore.”

  Beside her, she heard Beltane’s breath suck in. Alessa crept her gaze up to find Cristiano holding a sword to his back.

  “Ease away from her, and I will spare your life,” she heard Dante say. Elation soared at the sound of his voice.

  Alessa moved away carefully before turning to see her husband’s arm around Renzo’s chest and his knife pressed to the man’s throat. She swallowed her delirium. But they were not out of danger yet.

  “Who are you,” Dante demanded to know.

  “He is Benito’s brother, Renzo,” Alessa said.

  Dante was as stunned as she to learn about Benito’s well-kept secret. His murderous gaze slid to Beltane. “You have done your queen and your country an injustice,” he spat. His malevolence slid to Father Damiani. Dante looked at everyone but her. Wasn’t he happy to see her alive?

  The priest stepped back nervously. “I am merely a humble servant of God.” His voice quivered. “If I refused to go along with Benito’s plans, he threatened to kill me. So you see, I had no choice in the matter.”

  “You are a disgrace to God,” Dante charged.

  “I fear you are too late to save the queen.” Renzo’s sneer sank despairingly in Alessa’s stomach.

  Dante whirled the man away and shoved him to the dirt. “The queen is very much alive, and the gold in the cave confiscated.”

  Renzo scrambled to his feet and launched himself into Dante. They rolled body over body, moving dangerously close to the crater’s brink. Alessa detested the helpless feeling that came over her. She couldn’t stand by and do naught. She picked up a handful of dirt to toss at Renzo’s face.

  “Do not be foolish,” Cristiano told her. “If you miss, you could blind your husband instead.”

  She hadn’t given it a thought. Could she do naught to help her husband? Alas, the opportunity she was looking for came sliding toward her when Renzo knocked Dante’s knife from his grasp. She snatched it up and waited for the right moment to plunge it into Renzo’s back. Cristiano’s voice of reason stopped her again.

  “Almighty! I cannot just stand here. I must help him.”

  “You would do best to let him fight his own battle. There is more to your husband’s wrath than capturing these traitors.”

  Dante and Renzo exchanged brutal punches. Alessa cringed each time Renzo’s fist plowed into Dante’s face or stomach. When they separated, they stared one another down, both breathing exhaustively, yet neither willing to admit defeat. Renzo moved first, rushing into Dante, whose back was to the crater. Alessa clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming and distracting her husband. Renzo forced Dante ever closer to the rim. Dante fell to his back. When Renzo leaped forward, Dante helped him up and over. Benito’s brother sailed through the air, his blood curdling scream silenced the instant he dropped face down into the boiling p
it.

  Alessa ran to Dante, but he pulled her away. “No, do not look,” he rasped, holding her in his comforting embrace. His chest rose and fell raggedly, his heart beating fiercely against her ear. He took his knife from her hand, slipped it into its scabbard, then cradled her head between his hands. “You are safe now, bella mia.”

  Sì, she was, and she vowed naught would ever come between her and Dante again. That was, if he still wanted her to be his wife. He let her go and faced the priest.

  “Do not try to run. There is nowhere you can hide that I’ll not find you,” Dante threatened.

  Father Damiani’s head jerked when he nodded, and his jowls trembled comically. The next instant, his eyes bulged and he crumbled to the ground, an arrow protruding from his back. From the side of the grotto, Benito showed himself with another arrow in his bow aimed directly at her heart.

  “It is a pity my brother had to die.” The cold manner in which he spoke chilled Alessa to the bone. Benito stepped around the priest’s lifeless body, the cocked arrow steady upon her. “More is the pity he did not take you with him,” he said to both her and Dante. “Now I must clean up the mess.”

  Cristiano poked Beltane’s shoulder with the tip of his sword, and he yelped like a wounded animal. It was just the distraction Dante needed. He flung his knife across the space, and it imbedded deep into Benito’s chest. Her cousin’s wide-eyed expression fell on Dante, as if to deny the fatal blow. Tense moments passed before he collapsed into unconsciousness and drew his last breath.

  Still wrapped in Dante’s one-armed embrace, Alessa burrowed her face against his chest, breathing in his delightful scent. It mattered not that he was damp with sweat. All she cared about was the man she loved.

  “When you are ready, we will ride back to Naples together,” Cristiano said. He forced Beltane up a narrow incline to where the horses grazed.

  Alessa tilted her head back and gazed up at Dante, thrilled to find a loving shine in his eyes. “How did you know where to find me?”

  He brushed back the stray hairs sticking to her face. She knew her skin was smudged with sweat and dirt, but she cared not.