Cascade

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “Yeah, except for the gash across your cheek.”

  “Battle scars. We can tell anyone we meet that we’re fleeing the front lines, and be telling the truth.”

  She smiled. “How’re those ribs?”

  “They hurt like crazy, every time I take a breath,” I said. When we’d lain down for the night, I’d discovered it at last. A broken rib or two from my insane leap into the trees. The adrenaline from our escape must’ve masked the pain for hours. Kind of like when moms are able to lift cars to save children pinned beneath. Superhuman kind of stuff. Sad that it was over. Now I had to deal with regular-human kind of pain. “I’d kill for an Advil. Or five.”

  “Let’s look for some foxglove,” she said. “Remember how last year, Mom made us that tea every time we got a headache?”

  “Little late in the season for foxglove.”

  “You never know,” she said, raising a brow.

  “Right, right,” I said. “Thinking positively.”

  Now that we had the road in sight, we moved parallel to it, searching for a good spot to try to cross unseen, to the eastern side—where we could then head south and avoid Lord Greco’s search. We walked six, maybe seven miles that day. But there was never a letup in the stream of soldiers.

  “It’s almost night. We’ll find a crossing spot soon,” Lia tried.

  “Maybe.” Down below us was a vineyard, its straight rows of vines curving along crossbars. “Let’s go down here.”

  We picked our way down a small, dried-up gulley. Here and there were pools of stagnant water. While our throats were parched, we dared not drink from them. We were Colorado girls. Our dad had taken us camping once or twice. We knew a breeding ground for giardia when we saw one.

  We held strong, but when we caught sight of the well in the empty yard, we raced down to it. Lia hauled up the bucket and set it with trembling hands atop the edge. She cupped her hands and sucked in the water. I was right behind her, splashing it in my face in the effort to get more of it down my throat at once.

  “My well will go dry if every fleeing villager that comes through here helps themselves,” said a woman at the door of the house. She wore no weapon, but the threat in her voice said we’d better watch out. She was as tall as my grandma—a good foot shorter than I—but she sounded equally as tough.

  Lia glanced at me.

  “We beg your pardon, Signora,” I said with a slight nod. “But we have been on the road all day, without water. We could not stop ourselves. Might we…repay you with a bit of work?” I glanced around. “I see your vines still bear their fruit.”

  “Husband conscripted into the ranks,” she said, nodding toward the highway, still below us. “He may be gone days, even weeks.”

  I swallowed hard. So it happened on the other side of the line too. Soldiers, taken from their homes, never to be seen again. At least in our day and age they had dog tags, a means to identify them, send word home to loved ones. It was so like Signora Giannini’s story, but this lady was twice her age.

  And now her fruit rotted on the vine. Her means of living, her future, her way to get through the winter…

  She sighed and padded out to the nearest vine, then looked to us. “I am Signora Reggello.” She came over and lifted my hand, saw the calluses there, and gave a grunt of approval, then glanced at the cuts on my face, my arms, the sword sheath I wore over my shoulder. Then she went to Lia and did the same. “You are uncommon peasant women, but do not tell me your names. I am too old to bear the burden of secrets.”

  I glanced at Lia and back to the old woman. “Our men are gone too,” I said. “When the men are gone, women must do what they must to survive, no?”

  She studied me a long moment, then nodded her small, gray head. She gestured out to the vines. “Most of it is too far gone to save. But with your help we could bring in the last of it before it too, turns.”

  “We’re fairly good with a vinekeeper’s knife,” I said, smiling at Lia, remembering that day—only about a week ago?—when we beat Luca and Marcello so soundly harvesting the Giannini vines.

  “Glad to hear it,” she said, tossing up her hand as she turned, as if she truly didn’t care. “First we eat, sleep. Work come morning.”

  Lia grinned at me, threw her hands up, and followed the old, squat woman into the small building.

  CHAPTER 16

  I don’t know if it was the comfort of the woman’s tidy, warm cottage or the thick pasta she’d fed us, or if it was a witness to how totally wiped out we were, but Lia and I slept so soundly in front of the fire, we didn’t even hear the horsemen until they were right outside.

  As the sounds registered in my ear, sending a jolt to my heart, I shook Lia and put a finger to my lips. I tossed aside the blanket and crawled to the shutters. From the lower corner, I dared to nudge one aside and peek out.

  Lord Greco was there with twelve knights, talking with Signore Reggello.

  Lia peered over my shoulder. “Dang it, that didn’t take long.”

  I looked around the one-room cottage, desperate to find a hiding place, but there was nowhere but beneath the bed—way too obvious. Lord Greco was pointing to the shed, demanding knights search it. He sent two more toward the cottage, despite the woman’s complaint. His expression told me he didn’t really expect to find us here. He was merely looking everywhere he could.

  “Gabs,” Lia whispered, hurrying over to the bed even as she shouldered her bow. She stepped up and jumped to grab the rafter above, swung her leg, and curled up to the top.

  I didn’t know if I’d have time to climb it in time, or if my ribs could handle Cirque du Soleil stunts at that point, but I had to at least try. I ran, sprang from the bed, and did the same as my sister. I’d just rolled on top of the rafter, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth against the scream of pain that threatened to burst from my lungs, when the first knight came in, followed closely by our hostess. A second was right on her heels, hovering in the doorway. Slowly, steadily, I pulled my skirt up and out of their line of vision, clenching it in my fist. It was the only move I dared make.

  The first man went to the blanket spread out before the fire. It was the tracker. He bent, lifted and smelled it. What? Was he a bloodhound or something? He turned to Signora Reggello. “Ha avuto ospiti stanotte?” You had guests last night?

  At his words, the other knight moved fully into the room.

  “Nay,” the woman said. “The nights are getting colder, and my husband has been conscripted into Firenze’s troops. I sleep better there.”

  He walked over to her, closer to me and Lia.

  Please don’t look up…please, please, please don’t look up…

  Then he bent down and smelled her. Seriously. He took a big whiff like he was checking out supper on the stove. It was totally creepy. Because I know he was comparing what he’d smelled on the blankets—us—to her. He knew.

  “Search the rest of the cottage,” he ordered the second knight. Then he dragged the woman by the arm out to Lord Greco.

  The second knight nosed around, tossing aside the blanket and pillow on the bed, peering underneath it. Then, with an eye toward the door, he snitched a half loaf of bread from the table, took a bite, shoved the rest under his tunic, and went outside, leaving the door open.

  We could hear Signora Reggello arguing with Lord Greco outside. I looked up at Lia. If our hostess was in trouble, we’d have no choice but to come to her rescue.

  “You gave shelter to two women last night,” he ground out. “Tell me the truth now, or it shall not go well for you.”

  “Yes, all right, yes!”

  “Why did you not tell us this immediately?”

  She remained silent a moment.

  “Why? Are you a traitor?”

  “Nay! My own husband serves alongside you and these men! I did not know they were Sienese. They appeared only as women in need, without menfolk to guard them. Pretty girls like that…” Her voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.

&nb
sp; “You believed we hunted them for pleasure,” he said evenly. “Where did they go? When?” I didn’t have to see him to know he was probably shaking her or getting in her face.

  “I know not! I went to milk the cow, and when I returned, they were gone and you were riding up.”

  “The truth, now.”

  “That is the truth! I swear it!”

  I tensed, getting ready to swing down as the fear in her voice increased. “Please, m’lord, spare a loyal woman. Please.”

  I changed my handhold, thinking through how I could get down and cause the least amount of pain.

  “It was only when they promised me assistance with my vineyard that I gave them shelter. Would you not have done the same, were you in my position? Even now, the grapes rot upon our vines.”

  He sighed. “Do you swear to send word to me if you catch sight of these women again?”

  “I swear it, m’lord. I swear it.”

  I could almost hear his sigh of frustration. He laid plans to send two men to the south, two to the north, and two back to the east, from where we’d come. “The rest of us and I shall divide and check each villein’s face,” he said. He thought we had merged into the crowds along the western road.

  “They shan’t be difficult to spot,” said a knight. “They’ll be the only two beauties heading toward Siena!”

  The others laughed, but I did not hear Lord Greco’s low, melodic voice join in.

  “They are far more elusive than we anticipated,” said a knight. “May I suggest an addition to the bounty upon their heads? I, for one, find this cat-and-mouse game…stirring.”

  Judging from their response, the others seemed to like that idea. A shiver ran down my back as Marcello’s warning again ran through my head.

  “Nay,” Lord Greco said sternly. “Your reward shall be in glory and gold, as discussed. I have far greater plans for the Ladies Betarrini. They shall be of extreme value to us in our negotiations with Siena.”

  His troops quieted.

  “Anything?” Lord Greco asked, obviously speaking to one of the men.

  “Nay,” the man returned. The tracker. He’d been off, trying to find our trail again. “The road is quite rocky here, impossible to find their path. Our only chance is to find them among the people.”

  Lord Greco turned his attention back to the old woman. “Did you give them clothing? What were they wearing?”

  “Nay. They left with the same clothes upon their backs that they arrived in. Plain gowns, white blouses. Very dirty. Nothing noble about them.”

  “And their hair?”

  “Falling down like young girls’,” she said. “Like they hadn’t had a comb through it in days.”

  “They still had their weapons with them?”

  “Yes, m’lord. One with a sword at her back, one with a bow.”

  That was all they needed. They set off. But Lord Greco lingered. “Remember your oath, signora,” he said.

  “If I catch sight of them, I shall run to the road and give word to a soldier,” she said.

  I eyed Lia. Soon Signora Reggello would be back. I didn’t want to kill her. So what? Tie her up and leave her? She might die of dehydration before someone found her. There were a hundred vineyards and farms around here. Maybe a neighbor would check on her…

  The rest of the men rode off, and the woman returned to the cottage. She paused beneath us. “The bats in my belfry may come down now.”

  I studied her, silent in my shock.

  “But don’t let me see you,” she said.

  I smiled, understanding after a second. She’d promised to run for help if she caught sight of us. I nodded to Lia, and she swung down and I followed. It hurt more coming down. Or maybe since I wasn’t rushing, quite so scared, I felt it more.

  “If you knew we were in your rafters, why did you not hand us over to them?” I asked her back.

  “It is not my way to betray those in need,” she said, bending to set a stick upon the smoldering fire. “And you, clearly, have more than your share of enemies.”

  “But your husband—he fights for Firenze.”

  “As he should,” she said with a nod. “But that is none of your affair. It would go on even if the Ladies Betarrini had not helped capture Castello Paratore.” She waved dismissively toward the window. “Women are naught but pawns in the affairs of men and war. We must tend to our sisters.” She glanced over her shoulder, in our direction, but stopped short of actually looking at us. “You shall change into my husband’s clothing. Disguise yourselves as boys. Bind your chests, wear a hood. And get across the border as soon as possible.”

  She stood, went to a chest, and pulled out two threadbare tunics, shirts, and tights. It was fortunate for us that they were clean. And that Signore Reggello was taller than his wife. Quickly, we stripped and took the bandages that the old woman handed over her shoulder.

  “Man, Gabi, that’s gotta hurt,” Lia said, unwrapping the bloody bands from my torso—a medieval version of a bra.

  “Yeah, a bit.”

  I glanced down and saw the blue and green bruising across the lower right of my ribcage for the first time. The blood had come from a gash on my chest. Another branch. My sister began winding a new, fresh strip around me.

  “I’ll do it tightly. It’ll be good to support those ribs—and take you down to a B-cup.”

  I returned her smile.

  “Do you have any foxglove tea?” Lia asked over her shoulder as she tucked the end of the rags in at my waist.

  “I might have a bit. I’ll put some on over the fire. There’s some porridge here too.”

  “Grazie, Signora.”

  We finished binding Lia’s chest and put on the shirts, keeping the tights up with ropes, tied at the waist. We slipped into the tunics and then tried the boots. They fit me, but there was only one pair. Lia shrugged. “Let’s hope no one looks at my feet.”

  “As long as we carry weapons, they’ll ignore your girly slippers.”

  “I hope,” she repeated.

  I turned to face the old woman’s back. “We owe you a great deal, Signora.” I glanced at Lia. “We cannot very well take to the road now, as Lord Greco searches it. I suggest we give you a day’s work in the vineyard, as we agreed, spend the night, and set off come morn. If that is an acceptable risk to you, that is.”

  She raised her head, shocked that we weren’t fleeing immediately. “What if you are spotted?”

  “What’s to see?” I asked with a grin. “Naught but two peasant workers, boys, among your vines. And in a day’s time, I wager we could get every decent grape to a wagon. Don’t you agree, Evangelia?”

  “At the same pace but with twice the finesse as menfolk,” she returned.

  “I’d be most grateful to you,” said the old woman, her voice thick with emotion. “With what we could bring in, I might make it through the winter without needing to sell the cow.”

  I paused. Never in my life had I not had a glass of milk if I asked for it. Or food, for that matter. The longest I’d ever had to wait for a meal was a couple of hours when I was “starving.” The way she spoke, with her crop mostly gone, I envisioned cold winter days stretching out with nothing to eat. The cow provided milk and cream, to use, drink, or trade for other food. She had to keep the cow. I knew it, understood the importance of such a thing, for the first time. What if her husband never came home from this battle? What if what she had on the farm was all she would ever have?

  “Come,” I said to Lia, now determined. “We shall work on the far side of the land,” I said to our hostess. “Far from your line of vision.”

  By noon we’d finished half the vines. It was painful to pass by the clusters of collapsed orbs that had once been fat and promising grapes but now were nothing but spoiling raisins. It was like finding piles of dollars shredded to bits. So much waste.…

  I stood and shielded my eyes, staring down at the relentless columns of men that moved toward Siena. Was Siena sending equal numbers to meet them? Thi
s was swiftly moving to all-out war. Fortunately, few looked in our direction. To them, we were but peasants gleaning from the vines, picking off the last of the harvest.

  “For the crows,” Signora Reggello called out above us, setting a board down atop the edge of the well.

  We smiled at each other and trudged to the top, first taking deep drinks of water and then inhaling the cheese and freshly baked bread. We sloshed it all down with a mouthful of wine from the jug—she would’ve considered it an insult if we hadn’t—and then returned to the vines. As evening came on, swiftly becoming chilly, the stream of soldiers down below slowed to a trickle. We’d not caught sight of Lord Greco all day. By now, he was probably at the front. Maybe he considered us lost, our trail cold, his potential glory evaporated. Maybe he’d finally found something better to do. I hoped. He and that tracker dude freaked me out. They were way too dedicated to finding us. What had he meant, anyway? Far greater plans…extreme value to us in our negotiations with Siena…

  Those had been some loaded words, all right. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to find out.

  “Gabs,” Lia hissed. I looked up and saw what had alarmed her. A finely dressed lord and six men were coming up the farm road on horseback.

  I adjusted my hood. Lia had braided my hair and tied it with a triple knot, but I was still worried it’d come out.

  The men stopped at the top of the hill before the cottage, and the old woman went to meet them. She talked with them for a long time, gesturing angrily to the vines. Then she sighed and looked to us. “Boys!” she called. “Come at once, grandchildren.”

  I glanced at Lia and she at me. We ducked our heads and trudged up the hill, trying to walk like guys.

  “You have been conscripted, boys,” the old woman said, as soon as we were near. “With the Lord’s blessing, you shall see this battle through and return to me within a fortnight. Fetch your weapons. I shall get some provisions for you.”

  The nobleman sighed heavily. I could feel his eyes move over us, assessing, and he snorted in derision. “Why is that we can only find scrawny recruits in these hills? How old are you?”