Cascade

by Lisa T. Bergren

  I put a hand to my head. All along I had forced myself to imagine that Mom was back here, safe. Home. In our home away from home. Waiting on us. Worried about us. But never, I thought guiltily, had I worried for her. Too obsessed with your own situation…

  “Come on. We must make it to a Sienese camp and find out exactly what has transpired,” Marcello said, pulling me into motion again. I could hear Luca and Lia follow behind. We crept along the shore of the riverbed, where we could easily duck into cover among the trees and brush if necessary, but also where we could cross the most ground in the least amount of time.

  We put some distance between us and Castello Forelli, fighting every desire within us to rush toward it, make certain our eyes had not deceived us. But no, through the trees, above the parapets, well lit by triumphant torches, were the crimson flags of the evil, conniving, lecherous, murderous jerk.

  I shoulda killed Paratore when I had a chance. Not that I regretted gaining the prisoners’ freedom. But I should have tried harder, found a way. Because never had I hated another human being more than I hated Paratore in that moment.

  As we set off running again, one thought brought me up short.

  Lia looked back at me, a question in the cock of her head.

  “Lia,” I said, fear flooding me like a dive into a frozen pond.

  “What?”

  “What if…what if he has Mom?”

  She turned from me and ran harder than before. A few times, I thought I had lost them. But Luca—when he wasn’t trying to keep Marcello from diving headlong into a battle he could not win—circled around to collect me. We caught up, finding both Marcello and Lia pacing like wild cats caged just off the savannah.

  After a couple of miles, we crested a hill and saw the Sienese encampment just below us. Marcello seemed to make himself stop, wait for me, despite his agitation. The closer we got, the more I was convinced that Paratore had Mom, had everyone I’d ever cared about in the castle, in fact…Cook, Giacinta, Fortino…

  We hurried down the hill, and a scout gave out a warning cry. “Who goes there?”

  “’Tis I, Sir Marcello Forelli,” he called back. “I bring with me Luca Forelli and the Ladies Betarrini!”

  The scout repeated the report, and the camp erupted with activity.

  Twelve knights rode out to meet us, the men dismounting and clasping both Marcello and Luca’s arms, before bowing, with shy grins, to us. We were ushered into camp amid their praises.

  “Saints be praised!”

  “Alive, despite the reports!”

  “Bet they are smarting, letting you four slip from their gates.”

  More came out to greet us, and we realized that the camp held not only knights, but also women and children, people from the villages and farms about us, as well as the servants from Castello Forelli. Refugees. I looked from face to face, returning smiles, but anxiously seeking the one I wanted to see most: Mom.

  Giovanni was there, then, in front, greeting the men, grinning over at us. I noticed he held his shoulder stiffly, as if he’d been injured—from Villa Orci? But then he bent his head and discussed the fall of the castle with Marcello. Marcello wrapped his arm around his friend’s good shoulder, and they walked a few feet away, followed by Luca. I pressed closer, wanting to hear. “Words cannot be uttered that would bespeak my sorrow over it, m’lord,” Giovanni said, shaking his head. “We did all we could.”

  Marcello waved down his apology, but his tone was dull. “From the looks of her, you faced a catapult. Not many men can succeed against such an attack.”

  “We might have withstood it.” He hesitated a moment. “But there were traitors within the gates, m’lord, those loyal to Lord Rossi. They made a way and, in tandem with the enemy, struck fast at our men inside a mere hour after we’d heard from Lady Evangelia,” he said, nodding in her direction as she joined our smaller group. “There was simply no time to rout them. Had we had more…everyone fought so bravely, I—”

  “I know,” Marcello said, nodding. “I know. What news have you of my brother?”

  A darker shadow crossed Giovanni’s portly face. He shook his head. “We’d sent him word of the Rossis’ duplicity. Fortino was attempting to make his way back here this morning when he and his men were surrounded and suffered severe attack.”

  Marcello swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Is he—?”

  Giovanni shook his head. “I know not. Try as we might, we have not been able to obtain word. There are so many injured, m’lord, so many dead…”

  “And Lady Rossi? Lord Rossi? Where are they?”

  “Presumably still in Siena, m’lord.”

  Marcello frowned.

  “Giovanni, what of our mother?” I asked, glancing back at Lia. I couldn’t bear to wait another moment.

  “Your mother?” His face broke out in another big smile, and he shook his head. “We now know where the She-Wolves of Siena get their fighting prowess. She took out five or more men as we fought our way free of the enemy. And she’s been a godsend in the camp, taking her healing to—”

  “Wait. M-my mother?” Lia sputtered. “She’s here? She fought in the battle?”

  “Your mother,” Giovanni repeated with a gentle smile.

  “But she wields neither sword nor bow,” I said. Did he have her confused with someone else? Mom had always bowed out of our swordplay and archery lessons with Dad. She’d called herself a pacifist.

  “Nay, I do not wield either sword or bow,” Mom said from a few feet away, her long fingers wrapped around the hilt of a staff that was as tall as she was.

  “Mom!” Lia cried, rushing to her waiting arms. I limped after her and fell into their shared embrace.

  “Oh, girls, my girls, how glad I am that you are back with me, safe.” She backed up and touched my face, then Lia’s, then returned to me. “You are whole? Unharmed?”

  “Nothing that won’t heal in time,” I said. “And you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, moving a hand to her arm. She’d been injured. How badly?

  I shook my head and reached for her staff, checking out the scary-looking points on either end, the weight of it. I looked over to her. “I thought you said you could never hurt another living thing.”

  She gave me a small smile. “There is something about having your daughter abducted, your other daughter racing to save her, that makes a woman willing to inflict harm.” She shook her head. “I did not enjoy it, but every man I removed, I saw as one fewer between us.” She pulled us into her embrace again. “Oh, girls, I don’t know what I would’ve done had anything happened to you.”

  “Thank God we are all well,” I said, thinking over the words only after they were out of my mouth. I studied Mom’s face. She seemed so broken, vulnerable, open. Looking at me and Lia like…I didn’t know. She was just different, new somehow. But then, facing death did that for a person. It made them appreciate life in a whole new way.

  My heart was full, my sense of gratitude almost moving me to tears. And I did believe God had something to do with it. There had been so many opportunities for us to fail, turn the wrong way, be captured again, die. Clearly, our Maker had something else in mind for our future. And I, for one, was overcome. I reached out to wrap an arm around Mom and Lia, and with Marcello and Luca nearby, my heart swelled.

  So many ways it could have gone wrong…My mind moved to Paratore. “Mom, tell me about the night Castello Forelli fell.” We sat down on a log and looked out over the men as Mom spoke.

  “The men fought hard, sending arrows into the forest every time an enemy knight dared to show his face. But they knew there was only one way into the castello.” She paused to glance at me. “They knew if no one was letting them in, they had to break down the gates. The archers were merely distractions. The catapult was firing by morning, massive boulders that battered the gates. At the same time, fifteen men inside turned on us, killing many of our men before we realized that we had traitors within our ranks. Pietro had sent for
reinforcements the day before, but Siena was in need of assistance on all sides, including fortifications at the front. There was no way to fend off those who attacked us, from within and without.”

  “How did you escape with your lives?” I asked. Knowing Paratore, he had probably envisioned total devastation. If Marcello and I returned, it would be to every one of our loved ones dead. He was hardly known for acts of mercy, especially when he was so bent on revenge.

  “Pietro,” Mom said, nodding over to the man. “He and his men held a line so that every one of the castle’s people could escape.”

  “But it wasn’t free and clear for you.”

  “Nay,” she said, shaking her head and staring at a nearby torch as if remembering that night all over again. “There were so many. And they did not wish us to escape. So bloody…again and again I saw men die. Again and again I narrowly escaped. It was there that I was forced to either fight or die. As your mother,” she said, “I seemed to be a particularly attractive target.”

  I gave her a sad smile. “Sorry about that.”

  She reached out and squeezed my shoulder and Lia’s, too. “Such is the burden I must bear, having raised two heroines and, therefore, enemies.” She shook her head. “I could not be more proud of you.”

  “Who taught you to use this?” I asked, picking up the staff.

  “Once you were gone, I could not spend all my time in the library. I was going nuts. And after I got word that you’d been exposed to the plague, I had this terrible sense of foreboding, fear. I wasn’t sleeping at all. So I asked the men to choose a weapon for me. Given my height, this apparently was a good choice.”

  She took it from me and dug one end into the dirt between her feet, then passed it back and forth in her hands.

  “Your weapon will become like a second skin,” I said, simply. “Whenever I’m without my sword, I feel naked. Which I am right now. Any idea where I might get another?”

  Mom looked toward the center of camp. “That tent”—she pointed—“is the armory. You’ll find what you need there.”

  My eyes went down twenty or more tents to the spot. It was fairly uniform and impressive for a camp that had been thrown together by an army in retreat. “And is there a tent where a girl could ditch a wedding gown and find something more suitable for the battlefield?”

  “Meant to ask you about that—”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I said hurriedly. I didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened if Marcello hadn’t arrived when he had.

  “There is a tent near the armory where you might be able to find some men’s clothes and make do,” she said, studying my face as if she could make out the story in the lines around my eyes.

  “Thanks.” I nodded. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, reluctantly letting go of my shoulder.

  “Fetch me a new quiver of arrows and an extra bowstring, will you?” Lia said. “I want to stay here with Mom.”

  I walked down to the center of the tents, nodding and smiling as people—my people—recognized me and called out greetings or reached out to shake my hand. While the soldiers of Firenze were but a mile away, I felt safe here, among my own. I knew, instinctively, that every last one of them would fight to the death to save me and my sister, and now my mother. And I would do the same for them.

  Seeing a man emerge from a tent, a new cape over his arm, I opted to start there. Suddenly, I could not wait to strip the remnants of the dreadful bridal gown from me, as if I might free myself of all the horrific memories it carried at the same time.

  Giacinta looked up at me when I entered. She cried out, rushing into my arms. “M’lady, how we feared for you!”

  “And I you,” I said.

  “Saints be praised,” she said, clasping her hands before her, “You’re home. Well, as close as you can get to it for now.”

  “For now,” I agreed. “You escaped unharmed?”

  “Right as rain,” she said proudly. “Though I owe my good fortune to your mother. She saved me not once, but twice, from being carried off by Paratore’s men.”

  I raised a brow in surprise, still trying to envision my mother in battle. “I am glad,” I said.

  “As am I, obviously. Now,” she said, standing back to look me over. “I imagine you seek something to wear.” She leaned over and fingered the silk of my sleeve. “Heavens. Did they try to force you into marriage, m’lady?”

  “Do not ask,” I said. “Please. What would you suggest? I understand that you have more men’s clothes than women’s.”

  Giacinta turned and went through one pile, then another. I saw that some had blood upon them, others holes and gashes. Stripped from the dead, I figured, stifling a shiver that ran down my back. It made sense, though; the dead were no longer in need of clothing. And men returning from battle…their clothes were in rags.

  Giacinta lifted a cape. “Black will have to do,” she said. “Now, if only we had a gown or two.”

  “Do not fret,” I said. “Just a clean pair of leggings and a tunic will suit me fine. Best for riding and fighting anyway.”

  Giacinta frowned over at me. “Oh, no, m’lady. You must remain here, where ’tis safe. We just got you back!”

  I gave her a small smile and ignored her concern. “Leggings, Giacinta? Any leggings without holes this big?” I asked, lifting up a pair with a hole the size of a dinner plate in the rear.

  She giggled and dug again, then lifted a pair. “Here! Oh, and look!” She pulled a lovely tunic from the pile. It was huge, but it was green, with gold thread embroidered through it, clearly once belonging to one of the Forelli knights. A knight, now dead.

  I took it from her, feeling the full weight of the somber gift.

  “Here’s a shirt for beneath it,” she said, lifting the puffy sleeved garment for my inspection. “Only a bit dirty,” she said, spotting the smudge at the top right shoulder.

  “It is perfect,” I said. “Thank you.” I gathered the clothing and moved to the tent door, then realized I did not know where I could change. “Giacinta, do you think you could assist me in changing in here?”

  “But of course, m’lady,” she said, with an immediate bob of her head. “Just let me speak to a knight outside, so that he might take temporary duty and keep anyone from entering.”

  I nodded. While she was away, I dug through a pile of boots but couldn’t find a matched pair. The process depressed me, made me think of so many men, dead on the battlefield, among the broken stones of the castello…

  “There, we’re ready now,” Giacinta said softly, as if sensing my mood. “Shall I help you off with that gown?”

  “Please,” I said. Did my tone betray my anxiety? I wished I could take a deep, hot bath, but I doubted that was a possibility here, this night.

  She unbuttoned the back and then helped me ease off the tight sleeves. I stepped out of it and then pulled the underdress off. Giacinta gasped, seeing the bruising across my back that had spread from my ribs. “M’lady—”

  She caught herself, and I didn’t jump to explain. I didn’t wish to remember those moments behind me; I preferred to contemplate what lay ahead.

  I stepped out of the pantaloons and could feel the heat of her stare on my leg, but again, I resisted the urge to explain. It was what it was, and I was past it. Or wanted to be, anyway.

  I yanked on the leggings, and she handed me a fine leather belt. “Much nicer than the rope I wore last,” I said with a smile, running my finger over the finely treated material. “It’s almost…feminine.”

  She smiled and then lifted the shirt up and over my head. It slipped down over me, and I was thankful it did not carry with it the odor of the man who once wore it. Then the tunic was over my shoulders, reaching almost to my knees. Its previous owner had to have been a very large man. I mentally went through the knights I had known, the biggest among them, trying to figure out who it might be who had died.

  “Best not to think of it, m’lady,” Giacint
a said, reading my face.

  “Agreed,” I said.

  She let the cape spread between her hands and wound it over my shoulders. “That will help keep the autumn chill from you.”

  “Indeed.” I turned and, after briefly considering going barefoot, put on the cursed bridal slippers again.

  “May I do your hair for you before you leave, m’lady?” she asked.

  “That,” I said with a sigh, “would be lovely. It’s been intolerable ever since I left the castello.” Other than the updo those servant women had created…

  She gestured to a chair and returned with a horsehair brush. She began at the bottom and moved up my hair, pulling out the countless tangles and knots. My hair told the story of where I’d been, among the swirl of the river Arno, running through the forest. Quietly, she set aside a bit of ribbon embedded with beads, a piece of hay, tiny branches, leaves, even a couple of small rocks. I laughed inside, wondering how Lia could have let me travel all the way here looking like Medusa with a head full of snakes.

  “Was it quite awful, m’lady? What you endured?”

  “In turns,” I said. “At times horrific. Other times miraculous.”

  She stepped back and gave me a sad smile. “Well, I am glad that the Lord saw fit to bestow the miracle of your return upon us.”

  I paused. Had anyone ever considered me a miracle? Just by being present?

  She shook her head. “Forgive me, m’lady. But I have no pins and no hair net.”

  “That is all right, Giacinta. Just a quick braid?”

  She nodded and set to work, quickly pulling my hair into a tight braid, tying it with a leather band, and setting it over my shoulder. She came around me. “Pretty as a princess. You and your sister will give the men hope, being among us again.”

  “Thank you, Giacinta.”

  “Pleasure, m’lady,” she said with a curtsy.

  I moved out of the tent, and the knight outside gave me a bow. “Lady Betarrini.”

  “Thank you for guarding us.”

  He bowed again and then strode away, joining two knights who awaited him and studied me with curiosity. I did not know them. They must’ve hailed from a nearby town or Siena itself.