Cascade

by Lisa T. Bergren

  I moved to the next tent and slipped inside, introducing myself to the man who was keeping the armory, a Sir Pezzati. He was about fifty years old, with a white beard trimmed close to a handsome face and bits of gray at his temples. He smiled at me. “I arrived at the castello after you had departed. Had the pleasure of seeing to your mother’s final training with the staff.”

  I considered him a bit longer. “Then I am grateful to you, sir. Because of that weapon and her training, she lived to see our return.”

  “No gratitude necessary,” he said, suddenly a bit gruff. He checked out my shoulders, as if sizing me up. “Forgive me, m’lady. ’Tis well with you that I do this?”

  “Indeed,” I said. “Go to it. You know what I seek?”

  He grinned. “Everyone in the land knows of the Ladies Betarrini. And you, being Lady Gabriella Betarrini, must be in search of a short broadsword and sheath.”

  I smiled. “I lost mine some time ago. I would feel much better with them at my back again.”

  “Well, I can imagine,” he said. He walked around me, still taking measurements with his eyes but in a fatherly sort of way. He moved off to a table in the corner and fished out a sheath with shoulder straps, then to another, tossing aside sword after sword, seeking just the right one. “Ahh, there,” he said, lifting a fine blade into the air.

  I joined him at the table and took it from him, feeling the heft of it. I backed up and did a figure eight with my wrist, feeling the flow of the sword, then lifted it to look down the length, against the light. It was straight, true, trustworthy. “It’ll do nicely,” I said.

  He lifted the shoulder straps for me, and I slipped it on, then slid the sword into it. I took a deep breath, almost feeling like it was my first real breath in a while.

  “Daggers, too, I assume—”

  His voice trailed off, and I looked to see what had distracted him.

  Marcello stood near the tent flap, staring at me with fury in his eyes. “A minute, sir, with the lady,” he said, demanding rather than asking, never looking fully in the man’s direction.

  Sir Pezzati immediately departed.

  I frowned back. “What is it?”

  “You are arming yourself.”

  “Which is wise in the midst of a war, is it not?” I turned toward the table of daggers, wondering why I was feeling so defensive. And why he was feeling so…offensive.

  “Your battle is over, Gabriella,” he said, coming over to me. I kept my back to him, wondering when he became my boss. He reached around, took a dagger from my hand, and set it down.

  “Marcello, you will soon be away to look for Fortino. I shall go with you.”

  “Nay. You shall flee, deeper south, far away from the battle.”

  I turned to face him, and my braid flopped over my shoulder. “If you go, I go too. We will bring strength to our men, hope. If Marcello Forelli can free his beloved from the very center of Firenze, how much more can he do at the front? Firenze must be quaking in their boots at this very moment, fearing your return. And mine,” I said, tapping my chest.

  He sighed and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, then lowered his forehead to rest against mine. “I must go alone, beloved. And I must know that you are safe, so I can concentrate on my brother.”

  “I can help you, Marcello. Lia and I can—”

  “Nay,” he said, leaning down to cover my lips with his.

  I allowed it a moment, having missed our stolen moments. But as good as it felt, I was not really in the mood for kissing. Not if he was thinking about heading off without me. I pushed him gently back and turned to collect several daggers and tuck them into my belt. I went over to the table filled with sheaths again, ignoring his sigh of frustration, and chose another leg sheath for a fourth blade, to be worn at the calf.

  Once I’d fastened it on, I turned to face him, arms folded. “You can take me with you, or I shall simply follow. And you know what happens when we get separated.”

  He shook his head. “Even you are not so foolish that you would again risk being taken by the enemy.”

  “I will if it means I am aiding you and Fortino!”

  “Gabriella!” he barked, running his fingers into his hair and staring at me with wide eyes. “Do you know what I’ve heard? Do you know what the enemy’s intent is? Do you?”

  I frowned. “Nay,” I whispered.

  His lips clamped together, and he turned away, shaking his head slowly, as if trying to get a grip. “Never mind,” he said, putting out a hand to the side. “Just choose to trust me.”

  I sighed and moved over to him to take his hand. “Marcello, tell me. What is this new threat against you?”

  “Not against me,” he said, staring at me as if knowledge of it tortured him. “Against you. Your escape—Gabriella.” He shook his head. “It has infuriated them, to the point of distraction. The new bounty offered for your head would buy any man a thousand acres, cattle, a home.”

  I stared back at him numbly. “My head. Literally. Meaning, they only need show up with my head to collect their prize.” I swallowed quickly, not wanting him to see, feel my fear.

  “I do not know if we can keep you safe, even deeper to our south. Enemies shall track you wherever you go. We must get you home. Somehow. If only there was some way—”

  “Home?” I asked blankly. Castello Forelli was decimated, overthrown…“Siena, you mean?”

  “Home,” he said softly. “To Normandy.”

  I stared back at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. After all we’d endured, made it through…did he not clearly see that we were meant to be together? Forever? I shook my head. He was willing to give up on us, on love, to keep me alive. It was both infuriating and amazing at the same time.

  He gave me a barely perceptible nod, misery in his eyes. “Do you see now?”

  I smiled suddenly. “Yes.”

  “Why are you smiling?” he asked, looking irritated.

  “Because, it’s perfect, really. They want my head. And who will be most eager of all to capture it? Paratore. We can deal with him once and for all.”

  He shook his head, clearly disliking my tone.

  I stared over to the flame of the torch and then back to him. “How do you catch a bear, Marcello?”

  His frown deepened. He refused to play my game.

  “With bait,” I answered for him. “And a very big trap.”

  CHAPTER 29

  “Absolutely not,” Marcello said, walking between the tents. Men and women parted before us, eyes wide, wanting to look away but rubbernecking at us in spite of themselves.

  “Marcello, simply listen. It was your idea to begin with. You have yet to hear my entire plan! The tombs are on that little knoll, between the two castellos. If we can draw them all in there, surround them, you can reclaim both again for Siena.”

  “Come,” he growled, grabbing my arm and yanking me into a tent.

  “Ow!” I said, pulling it from his grasp and frowning at him.

  He ignored my complaint. “So you wish to be at the center of them all,” he said, “surrounded. By every last Fiorentini knight. And then you make your escape. I hear you, Gabriella, as loud as church bells. Are you so eager to be rid of me now that you’d gladly risk death?”

  “Rid of you? ’Tis you who seem anxious to be rid of me.”

  He gave me a helpless stare. “Only to keep you safe. Only for that.”

  I stepped toward him, reaching out, wanting to apologize, ease the pain behind his eyes. “We shall leave, but only as before. With the intention of return. In a month’s time, when all is safe.” I paced away, but then frowned. Why wasn’t he going for this? My mom, my sister, and I would be well, safe, while he secured the territory for our return. Did he not get it? “I simply provide bait for your trap. I’ll be out of the fray while you trap the bear and reclaim the land that is rightfully yours.”

  “’Tis not perfect.” He shook his head. He looked down at me, misery in his eyes. “I cannot, Gabrie
lla. Do not ask it of me. If we were certain you could reach the tumuli, I’d consider it. But to get you there…it’d be a miracle if you made it.”

  “Think of it. Castello Forelli fell because the traitors surprised our men, attacking from the inside. Where is the last place the men of Firenze expect me to be? Fighting from the inside, the center of battle.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Risking your life—I’d rather die myself, a hundred times over.”

  I snorted, hardly ladylike, but he was ticking me off. “Ah, so it’s all right for you to risk your life, but I cannot? What you feel—” I said, reaching out to lay a hand on his chest. “Marcello, I feel the same. I cannot lose you. I cannot. And if we are in danger, if Firenze wins this battle, you will be imprisoned or worse.” It was my turn to shake my head. “Nay, that is intolerable for me.”

  He stared down at me for a long moment and then wrapped me in his arms. I relaxed and melted into his embrace. He kissed my forehead, then moved down my cheek to my lips, kissing me for a long time, deeply, searchingly, as if he were trying to memorize me—

  I read his intent a second too late. He’d interwoven his fingers in my right hand. Swiftly, he turned my wrist and twisted it to my back. “Ouch! Marcello, what are you doing?”

  “Forgive me, beloved, but I do this to make a point. Press me, and I shall see no other recourse but to leave you behind, tied to a post and under guard.”

  I frowned up at him in shock. “You would not.”

  “I would,” he said, frowning back. “To keep you safe. To keep you alive.”

  “Sir Forelli!” called a man outside. “Sir Forelli!”

  Marcello gave me one last, long stare and then let me go. I regretted not kicking him in the shin with everything I had in me. Of all the outrageous—

  “Sir Forelli!” Pietro called, opening the tent flap. “Come!”

  Marcello left with him. They ran down the line of tents to the edge of camp. I hobbled along behind. Men were surging around me, shrugging into breastplates and shoulder guards, urgently preparing for battle.

  “Gabriella! Gabi!” Lia cried, shoving her way through to me. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Where’s Mom?” But then I saw her, making her way over to us, staff in hand. She looked regal. Like a queen. Calm. Unafraid.

  Together, we reached the top of the hill. Across the valley was the back wall of Castello Forelli, and before her was line after line of soldiers bearing the flag of Firenze.

  Lia blew the air out of her cheeks and casually pulled her bow from her shoulder. “Do they mean to attack? Because we do not—”

  A trumpet sounded, and the men across from us cheered, their voices eerily following their actions by a second’s delay.

  “Knights in formation!” Marcello bellowed. Men all around us quickened their pace.

  But my eyes remained on the enemies across from us. They parted at the center, and we heard laughter, triumphant cries. A man stumbled forward, hands tied before him. He was naked, gruesomely bloody. Who was it? A prisoner? My stomach clenched inside as a man reached out to whip the prisoner’s back, sending him to the dirt.

  “Who is it?” Mom asked, stepping up beside me.

  But then I saw Marcello take a step, falter, bring a hand to his chest.

  No, it can’t…please, no. No!

  It was Fortino.

  Men on our side shouted and cursed, eager to charge, to free one of their lords. Others held them back, waiting on Marcello’s orders.

  Paratore trotted down the hill, past Fortino—who now lay unmoving—and on toward us, flag bearers on either side of him. He waited halfway down the hill, unwilling to go any farther. Blasted, cursed, wretched excuse of a man…

  Two knights rode up, Marcello’s mount between them. He was atop it in seconds. He searched the crowd until he found me. “Gabriella, you must get out of sight. Are you mad?”

  All eyes moved to me.

  I nodded, no fight left in me, and turned to go.

  Luca walked beside us, and I knew then that he’d been assigned guard duty. I glanced over my shoulder. Before the men closed ranks again, I saw Marcello turn and ride low and hard to the valley floor. To his brother.

  Luca relayed to us what was coming down, as we remained well hidden behind ten rows of soldiers. “Marcello has dismounted. He’s talking to Paratore now.”

  He frowned and watched for another few moments. Some of our men shouted and groaned.

  “What? What’s happening?” I said.

  “Paratore is turning, leaving.” He looked hard at me. “And they’re taking Fortino with them.” He pried his way through the men, apparently to find out more. In his agitation, he left us behind. I glanced at Mom and Lia, fighting the urge to claw my way to the front myself. “What’s happening?” I asked the tallest. “Can you see?”

  “Sir Marcello returns,” he said distractedly.

  “Why does he not call for the attack?” cried a man. They were anxious for vengeance, so soon after the capture of Castello Forelli and her surrounding lands. Many of them were farmers and shepherds on those hills, but in this moment, they were unified as knights. The men surged, moved as a group, chanting, shouting. “A morte Firenze!” Death to Firenze!

  They quieted as Marcello drew near. “Men of Siena,” he called, “they have taken Lord Fortino Forelli prisoner, demanding a trade price that m’lord himself refused, regardless of his ill health.”

  “What?” called a man.

  “What did they want?” called another.

  “Immediate surrender and retreat.”

  The men cried out in complaint and then grumbled, the sound like a wave crashing and then washing over a shore.

  “We shall battle them in hours,” he said, “and fight to win my brother Fortino’s freedom, as well as the land that belongs to us. Are you with me?”

  The crowd shouted their assent, radiating the fury that had fueled men in battle since the dawn of time. Lips curled back, muscles rippled, weapons were raised. After a moment, they parted, and Marcello came through, followed by Luca, Pietro, and Giovanni. Marcello took my hand and continued to stride forward, down the hill to our tents. I ran to keep up with him.

  “Marcello, I—”

  He held up a hand to shush me. “Please, m’love. A moment.”

  Mom, Lia, Luca, Pietro, Giovanni, and I followed him into his tent, which held nothing but a bedroll and a few clothing items, as well as some maps, open on a table. My mother and sister hovered by the flaps of the doorway, while the men moved to either side of Marcello, arms folded in front of their chests. We waited as Marcello paced back and forth, his eyes moving constantly. In the last twelve hours, he had lost his home and now perhaps his brother. He rubbed a hand through his hair and then squeezed the back of his neck, as if it might force the right plan to his mind.

  “He’s not dead yet,” I said quietly. “Do not give up on him, Marcello.”

  He frowned at me. “Do you not see? I must.” He paused and looked up to the top of the tent, his face awash in anguish. “If you could’ve seen him, Gabriella…” He put his hands over his mouth and took a deep breath, then turned to us. He stared at me for a moment, started to speak, and then abruptly shut his mouth.

  “They wanted more than surrender and retreat,” I guessed. “They wanted us, too.”

  “As expected,” he said, meeting my gaze, misery in his eyes. He looked to my mom and sister. “All three of you now.” Mom looked a little pale. “What’s worse is that Paratore has a very good idea you are here, now, with us. You must be away in all haste, for—”

  “M’lord,” Luca said from the doorway. “Rider, coming hard.”

  Marcello stepped up beside him and opened the other flap so that the scout could enter. The young man, little older than I, looked nervously around at us and then back to Marcello. “M’lord, there is word of three separate armies on the move toward Siena.”

  “Three?” Marcello said. “Fro
m whence have they come?”

  “Umbria, m’lord.”

  “What does that mean?” I whispered to Giovanni. “How many men?”

  “Fifteen hundred. Mayhap more.”

  “And they shall arrive at Siena’s gates…” Marcello led.

  “By sundown, on the morrow, m’lord.”

  “She may be able to withstand such a force, but they’ll be looking to us to aid them,” Marcello said to Luca.

  Luca nodded once.

  “M’lord,” I said, my heart picking up its pace. “What if they don’t intend to try and breach Siena’s gates? What if they arrive as a fearsome show of force, merely to push the Sienese into surrender?”

  The men frowned at me, not understanding.

  “What if,” I went on, “word has not reached Siena about the Rossis’ treachery? What if…Lord Rossi, Romana, are calling the Nine together, even now? To see through what we would not? Betraying the Council of Nine. Murdering all but one.”

  Marcello searched the ground, thinking it through. It had been days since Lia had arrived with word, but the focus had been on turning the tide of the Fiorentini armies back from the border, defending the castles. Giovanni had not been certain that word had reached Siena…only Fortino.

  “Send two scouts,” he said to Luca at last. “Our fastest riders. To warn the Nine. And tell them that we will be there on the morrow.” His tone was firm, furious, but his eyes held fear.

  And that scared me more than anything.

  CHAPTER 30

  At sunset, I found Marcello on a hill above camp, looking toward Castello Forelli. I slipped my arms around his waist and leaned my head against his back, between his shoulder blades. “I am sorry, my love. For all you have endured this day.” Would Fortino even survive another night of captivity, as ill as Marcello had described?

  He remained quiet but placed his hands over mine.

  “I am thankful that you were spared,” he said, turning to face me. “That you’re here, with me.” He leaned his forehead down to touch mine and pulled me closer, eyes closed. “If only we did not so soon have to part…” We stood there a moment, sharing the grief, the fear.