Cascade

by Lisa T. Bergren

  He was talking to Lia.

  “Fifteen, m’lord,” she said, as low as she could, still staring at the ground. I saw, then, that she’d ditched her slippers and was barefoot.

  “Fifteen, and still with the voice of a girl,” he said.

  “But decent with a bow and an arrow,” she defended, clenching her fists like he had offended her.

  At home, she had always gotten parts in the school plays. She was rockin’ this role, I thought admiringly.

  The lord laughed. “And your brother? He’s skinny too, but at least he has some height on him. And boots.”

  “He doesn’t say much,” Lia said. “But you don’t want to come against his sword.”

  I could feel the lord’s smile upon me. “Well, I beg your pardon,” he said to the woman. “It seems I rushed to judgment on your sons. If they are as good as they say, they shall do honor to your name.”

  “I prefer they come home alive, m’lord,” she said, as any worried mother might. “Look after them.”

  We just might pull this off—

  He sniffed, as if her demands were wearing thin. “Well, hasten upon your way, boys. Fetch your weapons and join us on the road. We shall be waiting. We have some Sienese dogs to slay on the morrow.”

  We went inside, and Lia sat down, hard, on the edge of the bed. She was trembling. I paced back and forth.

  The old woman came inside and stared at the fire, still apparently trying to keep her word. “’Tis a blessing from above. They’ll take you as close as you’d ever get on your own, to the border. You are as good as the stories say, with your weapons?”

  “We hold our own,” I said.

  “Good. Then enter the battle and run, run as fast as you can, for home. You will be but a long day’s walk from Castello Forelli.”

  I walked over to her, and she closed her eyes. I took her hands, bent, and kissed both her cheeks. “Grazie, signora,” I said with a smile. “Non dimenticherò mai.” I wouldn’t ever forget her. She was one of the bravest women I’d ever met.

  “We owe you so much,” Lia said, bending to kiss her too.

  The woman waved at us as if she thought we were silly. “You brought in my crop,” she said. “When you could have run. It is I who am grateful. Go, now, with God. Back to your own people.”

  I turned and left the cottage, attaching my sword as I walked, Lia at my heels. My own people. Mom. Marcello. I longed for them, longed to be home at Castello Forelli.

  Fortino came to mind, and then Romana. With two days left before their wedding, would they press on? Or had Fortino been called to battle too?

  How had he not been? Hadn’t Marcello said he was a tactical mastermind? It had been his plan to take Castello Paratore. And now Marcello was likely missing. How could Fortino not return, prepare for battle now that he was healthy? He had to be there already.

  Man, Romana was going to be seriously ticked at me if I’d ruined her wedding. In Italia in this era, it wasn’t so much about the ceremony—that was a small affair. But their version of a feast for a daughter of the Nine would put a Beverly Hills reception to shame, dollar for dollar.

  Knowing how she’d treated me before, when she’d been engaged to Marcello, I knew somehow she’d see it as all my fault. I was sure of it.

  I smiled. That was all right. It gave me more time to make sure she’d be good to Fortino. Be a real bride for him. Not some conniving, secretive wench just trying to get out from under Daddy’s arm and make a name for herself. Fortino deserved more. He deserved love. So far, I’d seen a certain fondness, like she’d held for Marcello. But love? I didn’t know that for sure.

  “Gabi,” Lia said. “Quit walking like a girl.”

  I pulled up a little, remembering, and looked to the lord and his men, still a hundred yards away. I ducked my head and changed my gait to a more lumbering, long-stepped rhythm. “Think they noticed?”

  “No. But we have to watch it.”

  “Right.” We walked on. “Lia, if they figure out we’re girls, we immediately fight and run, got it?”

  “Got it.” She didn’t hesitate. She’d probably heard Greco’s men discussing their plans for us—what they’d consider a real reward—as clearly as I had. And if we were caught here, now, Lord Greco wasn’t around to stop them with his bigger plans.

  CHAPTER 17

  I was glad that Signora Reggello had given us two capes, worn as they were, with their wide hoods. It struck me, then, that Lia probably wore the woman’s, and I, the man’s. There was no way the man had had two extra, not judging by their scant possessions. Most of the peasants around us wore them, especially with the cool autumn night. What would the old woman do without hers? If we lived through this, somehow, I had to send her a replacement.

  Two knights rode up and teased us about being only big enough to spar with the Sienese children but then, in big-brother fashion, warned us to stay clear of Sienese knights. We nodded and trudged along. In time, they left us, and the nobleman in charge pulled up beside Lia. “No boots?” he grunted.

  “Nay, m’lord,” she said.

  He blew out his breath in exasperation, mumbling about his impossible task, turning farmers into soldiers, and moved forward to the next group of conscripted men. In the distance we could see a vast number of tents and numerous campfires. Apparently, that was where we would spend the night.

  The coming dark comforted me. It would help disguise us, and if these men were snoring, they wouldn’t be looking at us. We just had to steer clear of the fires and keep our heads down.

  “Lia,” I said lowly. “Maybe we can again come to the aid of our people.”

  She dared to lift her head and glance at me. I quickly looked to the ground, and she followed suit. “If we can get near enough to those in command,” I whispered, “we can find out their plan for tomorrow. Then…”

  I made a circular gesture with my hand, not daring to say more as two knights approached us again.

  Then, we could make our way to the Sienese, tell them of Firenze’s plans, and help them turn the tide.

  If the Fiorentini didn’t kill us first.

  I thought back to our battle against the Paratore knights. At least in that battle, the men wore either the Forelli gold or the Paratore crimson. How in the heck were we supposed to know who was who in this war? Thousands of us would look just like Lia and me.… We’d be as likely to die upon the sword of one side as the other, once we were intermingled.

  I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

  Belatedly, I remembered the knight beside me.

  “You there, halt,” he said.

  “Me, sir?” I said, putting a fist to my chest.

  “You. Show yourself.”

  I took a half breath. “I cannot, sir. My head, ’tis deformed, since childbirth,” I said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. I kept my head stubbornly down, as if ashamed. “Should the others see me, sir…I might not get my chance to honor my father’s name.” I shook my head as if that was an intolerable thought.

  He hesitated and seemed to think over my story. “Very well, then,” he said at last. “See that you do.”

  When he was ten paces off, Lia nudged me. “You do Dad proud every day, Gabs,” she whispered. “And I, for one, think your head is lovely. Even if your nose does lean to one side.”

  I laughed under my breath. “He’d be proud of you, too, Lia. Both of us.”

  “Mom must be going crazy with worry.”

  I sobered, thinking of Mom and her concern. I could picture her pacing the castle floors, wondering. I worried she had not made it back at all. She was no good with a bow or a sword. Her chief weapon had always been her brain. Which was good—but right now, I thought, fingering the rope of my sheath, I was glad for the heavy steel at my back.

  “She knows we’re strong,” Lia said, reading my thoughts. “We’ll be with her soon enough.”

  “But we cannot enter the castello. Not for another week or so, until we know we aren’t sick.
”

  It was her turn to fall silent. Where was Luca? Was he suffering? Sweating through the feverish dreams? Were there more buboes on his body? For most, the plague claimed and conquered its prey within four days, five tops. He’d been sick now for…I counted back. Three. Three days. Two since we’d seen him and Marcello.

  Thoughts of Marcello made me almost sick with longing. Physically sick. What was wrong with me? I was so crazy in love it surprised me still. I’d never felt anything like it…and practically all I could think of was being with him again. I sighed, acknowledging it. This was no high school crush, this thing between Marcello and me. It was big. Love. Nothing compared. I wished he were here, to plan with me, talk it out. Reassure me. I put my hand to my chest, feeling my heart actually hurt with the need for him. If only I could feel his hand in mine, his arms around me.

  “Gabs, your hand,” Lia warned lowly.

  I dropped it, remembering myself. Marcello, where are you? Can you hear me? I willed my thoughts to him, as if they could pass through the air. If only we had been able to remain together…how much different I would feel with him here, beside me…We’re heading back to the castello. Remember? That’s what you told us. Please, please be on your way too. Meet us there, my love. Meet us there.

  We reached the edges of the camp as night fell. I never thought I’d be happy to be entering a camp, but my crazy lovesickness made me glad for the distraction. Here, there were makeshift tents, little more than blankets perched precariously on branches to fend off some of the chilly evening breeze. At the center were the more elaborate, regal multicolored tents with Firenze’s flag flying from the top of each, visible in the flickering light of the fires.

  Few but the commanders’ tents seemed occupied, with everyone gathering around massive bonfires that climbed twenty feet in the sky. They were celebrating. Doing their man-thing, beasting up before battle. We saw men to our right painting their faces with mud. Others with stripes—laughing and shouting. They might as well be boys at Boulder High, jumping up for chest bumps, I thought.

  I looked to my left as we neared the center of camp and glimpsed a couple of lords in their tent—this one a deep crimson color with fringe across the top of the doorway. Was this the big boss? The real guy in charge? Two noblemen were poring over a curling parchment map on a table as we passed. One glanced up at me, and I hurriedly looked to the ground.

  I didn’t know them. But then I laughed at myself. The only nobleman of Firenze I knew was Lord Greco, and he was still searching the road for us. I smiled. Never would he think that we’d dare to be here, among his men. It was perfect. Really, really perfect.

  “You boys!”

  Okay, almost perfect.

  Lia nudged me, and we went to stand before the nobleman who’d dragged us from the vineyard. We paused before him.

  “You’ve been assigned to assist the cooks.”

  Kitchen duty? I frowned. “Nay, m’lord,” I said. “We must see battle come morn. Please,” I added awkwardly.

  He grabbed my hand and lifted it to the firelight. “Your hands are not strong enough to wield the sword upon your back.”

  “You might well be surprised,” Lia said, lifting her head, apparently forgetting herself. Fortunately, her back was to the fire, her face in deep shadow. “Give me a target. Now. In the dark. If I don’t hit it, we shall report to the cooks without complaint.”

  The nobleman pulled back a little. “Very well,” he said tiredly. He waved around. “Surprise me.”

  Lia searched for a suitable target. Remembering the light, she didn’t turn too far in one direction or another.

  I sighed in relief. One clear look at her pretty face, and our hoax would be totally over.

  “Is that your tent?” she asked, gesturing toward a structure, three over. She’d matched the color of his tunic to it.

  “Yes.”

  “The flag at the top? Do you have another?”

  “I do, but—”

  No! Don’t do it!

  She didn’t hear my silent plea. In two seconds she had an arrow atop her bow and the string pulled back, taking aim. Men paused around us, watching.

  Her arrow flew toward the flag flapping in the breeze, one moment illuminated by the fire, the next in utter darkness. What if it passed by just as the wind—

  But no. The arrow pierced the flag and dragged it down to the tent ceiling like a downed duck. The men beside us cheered and thumped Lia on the back. But we froze.

  Because she may as well have screamed…that’s how many people were looking our way.

  I could feel the heat of the men’s gaze on us. Now the nobleman was torn between being pleased with her skills and being ticked off about his flag. That wouldn’t go over well with his boys, to see a flag pierced by an arrow before the day’s battle had even begun. They might consider it an omen or something. I bit my lip and stared at the ground, fighting back an insane urge to laugh.

  “Where did you learn such archery skills?” he asked.

  “Piercing pigeons nibbling at my grandmother’s vines,” she said evenly.

  “Very well. See that you pierce some of our enemy on the morrow.”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Follow the line for your bowl of stew, and see that you bed down for the night over there, with the others.” He pointed a threatening finger at us. “No revelry for my troops this night. Only rest. Understood?”

  We nodded and moved, trying not to rush and give away our desire to escape him. We stood in line for half an hour to receive our big ladle of watery stew, then sat down to eat it. It was bland, tasteless, but we made ourselves eat it anyway, knowing we’d need the strength. I covertly stared across the fire, counting the men within my line of vision. There were more than a hundred in this circle, and there were nine others like it—with more men beyond in makeshift camps. Somehow we’d landed in a group of pros, mercenaries eager to enter another fight. More than a thousand here…

  My heart stopped for a second and then pounded painfully.

  What if this wasn’t the only camp? How many more men fought for Firenze?

  “Wait here,” I murmured to Lia. I rose, stretched, and ambled toward the latrines. Just before I reached them, I veered left and moved behind the noblemen’s tents, then between two, testing the boundaries. No one stopped me.

  Lia fell in step beside me. I sighed, seeing her bare feet beside mine. “I told you to stay back there,” I said lowly.

  “You need me,” she returned.

  We passed the crimson tent, the color eerily reminding me of the Paratores. But Lord Paratore was vanquished. Released from Siena’s prison, yes, in exchange for a hundred of Siena’s. But without a home. Honor. Or ears.

  Marcello believed it likely he was ostracized from noble company, even banished from Firenze-held lands.

  Unless…

  I paused at the empty tent doorway, where I’d seen two nobles leaning over a map. It still sat there, but there was no one else in sight.

  “Gabi.”

  “Go to the side, between the tents,” I whispered over my shoulder. “Keep watch.”

  I was inside, blinking in surprise at my own stupid bravery. Focus, Gabi, focus. Two candles burned on a side table beside a narrow bed. I turned and released the rope that held the tent door to one side. It swung across the empty space and stilled, giving me a crazy sense of safety. I grabbed the candles and went to the map.

  The first thing I saw in the corner made me want to throw up.

  Prepared for Lord Cosmo Paratore.

  He was here. Somehow, he was here.

  He’d marshaled enough support to come, undoubtedly to try to regain his name, if not his land. I didn’t know those two guys who’d been in here earlier, but it wouldn’t take much for Lord Paratore to identify me or Lia, disguised or not.

  I shuddered, remembering his accusation. They’re not who they say they are! And my order, to cut off his ears…

  Gabi, this is important. It was my own
voice but deep and demanding. Different, somehow. And yet known.

  I focused on Paratore’s pen and corked ink well on the desk. He’d been here, writing. I shook my head as if I could shake out the scary memories of the man as easily as water from my ears.

  I reached out trembling hands and leaned down on the table to force myself to study the map, feeling the seconds pass with each pound of my heart. Clearly, I was looking at Siena’s and Florence’s territories. I could see the jagged line of the border. I could see the Roman road we had traveled to get here, the camp, marked with an indigo-inked star. “Firenze’s finest,” I muttered.

  Across the valley from us was an indigo square, just between the border and Castello Paratore and Castello Forelli. There, the border line had been changed, hatched out, moved to denote the lands won that night last summer. Along the border, there were four others. Sienese troops assembling, I guessed.

  I frowned and my eyes returned to Castello Paratore and Castello Forelli. Except on this map, Castello Forelli had been renamed Castello Rossi. And lands far beyond Forelli borders had been shaded in and labeled Rossi too.

  Was it an error? A shiver of foreboding ran down my back.

  My frown deepened as I forced my eyes beyond the name.

  There were five squares.

  There were seven stars. Three more were among them, drawn with a finer line and a date: 21 Sept.

  September twenty-first. I counted back, trying to figure out what day it was now.

  The twentieth, best I could guess. So, if I was reading this right, four thousand more soldiers would be on the border come tomorrow.

  Men passed by, laughing and shouting. I straightened, easing a dagger from the back of my roped waistband. But they moved on, and I forced myself to take a deep breath and study the map again.

  Arrows pointed to the two stars on either end and swept around, through Umbria and Lazio—the traitorous neighbors—coming around and behind Siena’s men. These were dated 22 Sept.

  Was Siena prepared for this onslaught? How could they know what was soon upon them?