DELUGE

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “All of them ill?”

  “Nay. But a higher portion than in our cities. Half, mayhap.”

  “How did these Sienese troops get through?”

  “They divided when they arrived. Half retreated north, to the border. Half southward. There are five hundred men prepared to attack that southern contingent today.”

  This made Luca’s comments all the more clear to me. His desperation to keep me inside the castello. His need for me to be at the ready, to come to the wall, should we be attacked again. And his overarching desire to keep me and our baby safe. But now, even within these walls, I knew that we weren’t entirely safe. “Thank you, Captain,” I murmured, leaving them.

  I turned the corner and leaned against the wall, thinking. So Barbato’s mad claims had taken hold, even among our own. Everyone was going a little crazy… I rubbed my temples. What would happen if our own turned against us? It had never occurred to me before now. Not when so many had shown us such devotion for so long. But the plague, the plague threatened to change everything.

  Gradually, I became aware of the groans and cries from a window high above me. The Great Hall. It was time to go and assist my parents. Steeling myself, I turned and went in, stopping at a basin near the front door to wash my hands.

  The entire hall was filled, the scent of decaying flesh making me gag. Men carried those exhibiting signs of the plague out, to the lean-to infirmary that had been erected outside our walls. There, they were given water, blankets, and could linger by fires, to see if they’d die or survive the dread disease. If we were attacked, they’d be certainly killed. But there was no way around it; we couldn’t keep them within. It was only due to Mom and Dad’s provisioning over the last two years that we had the resources to take care of them at all.

  And within, we still had more than enough to handle. From the weeping and amount of blood, I could see that several men had endured amputations of arms and legs. The scent of burned flesh rose above the others too—the cauterization that might mean they lived. Maids moved back and forth with more linens, carrying away others so soaked in blood that they left a trail of drips down their skirts and on the stones behind them as they moved. Every table in the hall held men, most of them two abreast. Others lined the edges and the dais, leaving only space for maids and knights and my parents to move. The doctor, Sandro Menaggio, had returned to us, thankfully, and the thin man moved wearily down the line, seeking out his next patient. I knew he didn’t seek out the worst hurt—they were least likely to survive. He sought those that might survive if they only obtained a little help.

  He paused when he saw me, and his eyes darted to the corner.

  For the first time, I noted that Mom and Dad weren’t moving among the wounded. Mom was with Dad.

  And Dad looked sick.

  Mom was grasping at his tunic, and Dad was pulling away, shaking his head, as if arguing.

  My heart beat painfully in my chest, stealing my breath.

  On leaden feet, I moved toward them, wanting to know, but not.

  Dad saw me first and stilled.

  I saw it then, as he turned to look at Mom.

  The swellings under his neck, right under the jaw. Those that in a few days would become dark, black buboes.

  No. No, no, no, no…

  “I have to go outside, Lia,” he said to me, in English. “Tell your mom. I cannot live by separate rules and—”

  “All I want for him is to go to our quarters,” Mom interrupted. “Where we can keep him properly comfortable and warm. Where he has his best chance.”

  “Where I have the greatest chance of infecting others,” he said, swallowing audibly. “Please, Adri. I must. Even now I might infect you, Lia.”

  Mom set her mouth in a grim line. “This is not going to kill you, Ben. We have immunities. Somehow, some way—”

  Dad took her arms and shook her a little. “No. No,” he said, his tone softening the second time. “Think, Adri. Even at home, people come down with it.”

  “I’ll go then. To the tomb. And get what we need.”

  “No, Mom,” I said in confusion. “You can’t go out there. There are still Fiorentini about. And if anyone sees you going to the tomb right now…”

  “I must,” she said, gathering her skirts and already turning away.

  It was my turn to grab her arm. “No, Mom. No. What could you need from there?”

  She stared back at me. “There are medicines, I hope. Antibiotics,” she whispered.

  “What? How?”

  She looked around us and then pulled me toward a corner where two men had just been removed. “Orazio and Galileo…they promised to bring back antibiotics and leave them for us.”

  “They did what?” I turned partway from her and took a deep breath. If anyone were to find those in the tomb…

  “They promised. I’m not certain, obviously, they were successful. But if they were…” She grabbed my hand. “If they were, they’re in the back right urn. I must see. If we get some meds in him right away, he’ll have a better chance. Do you understand me?”

  I looked into my beautiful mother’s eyes, remembering her anguish, her grief at losing my dad the first time, and how it made my own grief nearly unbearable. Any time Gabi or I started to feel halfway decent, halfway normal, her grief unraveled us again, taking us back to the beginning, in a way. What a terrible, wretched mess…

  Dad was moving toward the door, taking a blanket from the pile there. We intercepted him. “Wait here,” Mom said. Her voice was tight, high. She was fighting to not lose it. “Just for a moment, Ben. I’ll get your longer boots, an extra pair of socks and a woolen tunic and cloak. It will help, out there.”

  He nodded, wearily, but still insisted on waiting outside the Great Hall. I took him to the side wall, away from most of the other traffic. He coughed, and I could hear the terrifying, heavy muck within his chest, then.

  “Man, Dad, how long have you been feeling so bad?”

  “It comes, fast. Just like we’ve seen in others. Yesterday, I felt weak. Last night, worse, but I just thought I was tired. The cough began this morning, but I hoped…”

  His voice cracked, and that threatened to send me into sobs myself.

  “I-I thought it was just a cold,” he said. “But this afternoon, I noticed the swelling in my lymph nodes. It just took me a couple hours to come to terms with it. And to tell your mother.”

  I nodded, a ball of pain forming in my own throat.

  “We’re not going to lose you, Dad. Not again,” I said, my voice strangled. I sniffed and blinked rapidly. He didn’t need to see me cry. He needed only my strength right now. My confidence. “Luca survived it,” I said. “You can, too.”

  “Yes, yes,” he nodded, but I knew it was as much an effort to reassure me than any clear belief.

  Mom returned and together, we escorted him to the castello gates. People grew silent as we passed, Dad clearly dressed to go outside, but just as clearly weak and ailing. Men and women crossed themselves and prayed under their breath, as if watching a man heading to the gallows. I wanted to shout at them to stop it, to not do that, but knew I couldn’t. They meant well. It was commiseration, in a way. Shared grief. Only I wasn’t ready to grieve my dad again.

  Not again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  EVANGELIA

  A Forelli guard stood in my way. “Forgive me, m’lady, but it’s the captain’s orders that you are not to leave without his knowledge.”

  “My father is sick. I’ll be just outside the gate.”

  He hesitated, and Mom and Dad and I pressed past him. I knew it wouldn’t be long until Luca was out and with us. We found a place near the fire for Dad, and I tried to ignore the fact that the wide space available was likely due to others dying, their bodies removed. I flung out a blanket and Mom helped Dad to the ground. We quickly stretched his cloak around him and then covered him with another blanket.

  I looked around for a squire or maid with a water bucket, then th
ought better of it. I’d bring Dad his own supply, with a clean cup to dip in. Who knew what else the common pail was now carrying.

  The bigger issue was getting Mom to the tombs. If she was right—if the Betarrini brothers had been successful in bringing us a supply of antibiotics—it just might prove to be the edge Dad needed to beat the monster back. But with people whispering of me and Gabi being witches, and their suspicion about us and the tombs, and my promise to Luca to stay in the castello—had I really promised?—oh, and the fact that there might be Fiorentini still about…I had some serious obstacles.

  Two patrols came in then, and Marcello was at the lead. He caught sight of us as he passed, circled around and pulled up right beside us, his face a mask of concern. “Ben,” he said, leaning down and taking Dad’s hand. Forgetting he should steer clear in his desire to get to Dad, in his need.

  “Marcello, I’m glad to see you, Son.”

  I had to turn away. Something about seeing Dad with Gabi’s husband, their true devotion—the same love he shared with Luca now, threatened to break me.

  Marcello appeared at my elbow. “Does Gabriella know?”

  “No. We just discovered it ourselves.”

  “We should not tell her. She’ll want to come to him.”

  “Oh, Marcello, I can’t do that. You’ve seen it yourself. Dad has a battle ahead, and if he loses, he only has two or three days.”

  “Tomorrow. Leave it until tomorrow. She needs another day of rest.”

  I took a deep breath and shook my head. “I do not know if I can. She’ll be furious.”

  “She shall insist we bring her to him. And in her weakened state,” he whispered, “I fear she might be more susceptible to the plague. Do you not fear the same?”

  I bit my lip, thinking. “On the morrow, then, and if he gets much worse, I shall tell her immediately.”

  He nodded, knowing it was my best offer. Luca arrived then, and as Marcello had, knelt by Dad’s side and took his hand. “Ben, nay, nay,” he murmured. Tears welled in his eyes and fell down his face, which did me in. He caught sight of me and rose, coming to take me in his arms. “It will be all right,” he whispered. “Your father is strong. He will be well. You will see.”

  I tucked my head against the side of his neck. “Luca, I need something.”

  “What is it, love?”

  “I need you to get us to the tombs.”

  He took hold of my shoulders and leaned away. “What?”

  I could guess at all his suspicions. “It’s the Betarrini brothers. They’ve left some medicine in the tomb for us. At least, they were supposed to. If they were successful then—”

  “Evangelia, you are not going out there. There are still rogue bands of Fiorentini about. I don’t even care for you being outside the walls. There is a bounty upon our heads, but you and Gabriella, especially.”

  “That hasn’t changed for years,” I said.

  “Except that Barbato quadrupled the bounty on any Betarrini or Forelli.” Even saying it made him move slightly in front of me and look about. “’Tis enough to make even a loyal Sienese think twice about moving north of the border,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  I frowned at that. “I cannot live in fear of our own. Or even in fear of the Fiorentini.”

  “I understand,” he said. “But you must see that it makes little sense to go out there. I shall go, alone.”

  “That makes no further sense to me,” I protested. “Then it shall be you in danger.”

  “Nay, I shall keep his neck from a noose,” Marcello said with a sly grin, coming near. His smile quickly vanished. “We can trust no others in knowing where we travel, given the rumors that abound. Let me look in on Gabriella, then let us be about this errand before nightfall descends.”

  My heart was in my throat. I knew no one was better qualified to go out into the woods as the sun set, but the idea of our husbands heading into dangerous territory when Dad was ailing, putting them in further danger than they already were…for the first time, I wished I was a bit more like Gabi, just taking off to take care of it myself. Worrying about my own safety was less stressful than worrying about my husband and brother-in-law.

  I set out to find a fresh bucket and cup to give Dad water, as well as some bread. When I returned, I saw that Luca had assigned a patrol of six knights to stand guard around my Dad and Mom. I wanted, with everything in me, to take care of him inside the walls of the castello, and when Gabi found out that he was sick and outside the walls…I sighed. The whole thing was such a wretched, terrifying mess.

  Dad was shivering, his fever soaring. His eyes looked sunken in the sockets, his skin pale. Mom covered him with another blanket. Instinctively, I reached out to touch his arm, but Mom grabbed my wrist. She gave me a sorrowful shake of her head. “The baby,” she whispered. “You must protect your baby. If you get sick…I will care for your dad. I’ve been more than exposed already.”

  I swallowed hard and settled to my knees, aware of the dread chill of the winter-cold ground. A smoky haze settled all around us in the twilight, fed by the gruesome funeral fire that the men were still stoking. It lent a spooky feel to our beloved woods—making me all the more certain that enemy soldiers might attack us at any moment, or that Luca and Marcello might get captured.

  Anxiously, I listened for their return, disappointed several times when it was merely new patrols, riding in to report, rather than the Forellis with medicine from the future. Medicine that might save my dad again. An hour passed. Then two. “C’mon,” I whispered. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…

  Dad fell asleep, still shivering so hard that his teeth chattered. I wanted to weep when Mom curled up beside him, wrapping her arm across his torso. She cast aside the handkerchief that covered her nose and mouth, ripping it away as if it stifled her. She settled her face on his chest and tugged him closer. Tears drifted down to the bridge of her nose and dropped onto Dad’s tunic. I found another blanket and covered them both, letting my hand rest on her shoulder a moment, then turned to watch the path on which Luca and Marcello should have already appeared.

  The gates came open and four patrols rode out, twenty-four men in pairs, heading directly north. I stood up and walked over to Captain Pezzati. “What is it? What’s happening?”

  “Lady Evangelia,” he said, turning me aside as he eyed the horizon in protective fashion, “Might I ask—where were Lord Forelli and the captain heading?”

  I paused, judging his expression, trying to figure out what was going on. “I think they hoped to find aid for my father. The same doctor that healed Orazio Betarrini,” I said. It was close enough to the truth.

  His gray brows furrowed. “Why did they insist on going alone?”

  “Captain,” I said sharply. “What is it? What has happened?”

  “They’ve been cut off, surrounded. Our men are trying to get to them. I must insist you come inside.”

  “Nay,” I said, my heart pounding. “I am through with hiding inside the walls. Even within, my enemy hunts me! Look there, to my parents. My sister is on her own recovery bed, my husband in danger. I shall lend my hand to the effort in the only way I can.”

  “You don’t mean to—”

  “I do. Prepare two more patrols to accompany me to the front lines.”

  “Nay, m’lady. I cannot allow it.”

  “I am not asking you, Captain. I am telling you.”

  “But Sir Forelli specifically ordered me not to—”

  I drew close enough to be nose to nose with him. “If Sir Forelli dies while I was here, arguing with you, I shall never forgive you, Captain. Now assign all the knights you need to give me adequate company. Or I shall be away on my own.”

  Turning on my heel, I strode into the castello, my heart pounding. I knew it was extremely dangerous, to head out. And there was no way I’d do it alone. But I couldn’t just sit here. Not when I could do something to aid my husband! It was something, something I could do to fight back the dragon that suddenly
threatened to steal my joy from every angle possible—my sister, my father, my husband…

  I got to the quarters I shared with Luca and hurriedly tucked my braided hair beneath a scarf and donned leggings and tunic—intent on masquerading as a man, hoping to be less of a target—then strapped on my quiver and arm guard, grabbing hold of my bow. I immediately felt stronger, more assured, armed. More She-Wolfy.

  I turned and latched the door when I saw him. The dog, Gordo, on his side in the corridor, panting. Swallowing hard, I went to him, knelt and touched him. His nose was dry and hot. He was listless, not even raising his head when he saw me, only whimpering. I rose, closed my eyes, and went to the guard at the turret door. “The dog back there,” I said with a strangled voice, gesturing over my shoulder, “is sick. See to it that he is put down and his body burned in the pits. Burn the gloves you use to carry him.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” the knight said, face impassive, more interested in my curious manner of dress. To most in this time, animals were a nuisance, seldom beloved pets. Sick animals were put down without a thought. And in these years, that accounted for many. What was one more?

  I trudged on, focusing on Luca and Marcello, refusing to give in to the tears that threatened to take me down. We’d already lost the cats and two other dogs to plague. Now, Gordo, my favorite. He was still the pudgy puppy in my mind that he was when we first saw him in Venice. The animals had likely spared us from infection for some time, keeping the castello free of rodents. But now the last had fallen victim.

  It was all so wretchedly unfair. I wanted to shake my fist at God and shout, “Enough! Enough, already!” Inwardly, I did so, then freaked out, worried that God would then take my dad for sure to show me who was Boss.

  But Father Tomas’s words came back to me. “God is all about life, not death. Death is his enemy’s domain.”

  The enemy had taken Tomas and Adela. Our friends and neighbors. Luca and Marcello’s blood brothers. Now, even, our last pet. I knew that Mom hadn’t bought them as pets…they’d been meant as defense. But a girl couldn’t just say no to puppy-dog eyes. And Gordo’s eyes, and his dark black spots and curly fur…My breath caught.