TRIBUTARY
By Lisa T. Bergren
Kindle Edition
© 2012 Lisa T. Bergren
Dedication:
To Alexandria (Alessandra, in Italian), Amber and other River Tribe girls, who pressed for more of the Betarrini/Forelli/Greco story…thanks for being as passionate about these characters as I am!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Join the River Tribe
And…Pictures!
She was gaining on him. She leaned hard, pulling on the reins, leaning around a giant oak to pick up his trail again. There! She glimpsed his brown, furry rump, the speck of hooves as the boar dived into the bramble, hoping to lose her.
But he would not lose her. She’d tracked him for hours, losing his trail and then picking it up again. Through two woods and a creek. All she could think of was bringing him back to the villa, tied over her gelding’s back. Cooking fat chops over the fire, Papa curing the hocks. Eating their fill, for once.
Ever since the battle, times had been terribly hard in their house. Her brothers, gone. No beau, coming around to court her. She and Papa circled each other, uneasily, neither of them sure how to proceed as family, alone. But summer was almost upon them. Hope surged. And this boar was a symbol of that new beginning.
She ignored her thirst, nagging at her for hours, and leaned forward, urging her gelding to give his last to the effort. She knew the horse was weary, desperate for drink, but they almost had him! The boar grunted and then squealed as she closed the distance between them. He had to know that his moments were short.
She pulled the brim of her father’s hunting hat low, and lifted her spear in hand, concentrating on naught but the boar, seeing it on a roasting spit this very night, her family washed, ready, eyes bright with hope…
***
“A rider approaches, hard,” Luca said, glancing over at me and Gabi.
“Only one?” Marcello asked. “Are you certain?”
Luca and Lord Rodolfo Greco listened, together, and then shared a long look and brief nod. Still, they edged over to me, Marcello and Gabi, slowly drawing their swords in a protective stance. We were in a clearing, the woods fading for a moment, the shock of a threat startling us all. Things between Siena and Firenze had died down. A skirmish here and there, but nothing like last year. We’d settled into the peace, like a new snow covers the ground.
As the rider drew closer, we tensed, bracing ourselves. I ran my hand over the curve of my bow, but resisted the urge to nock an arrow. It was only one rider. What harm could be coming our way? That three of Siena’s finest couldn’t handle? Not that I was really ready to shoot anyone again. Not since—
I heard the snort of a boar, then glimpsed the hunter, a bit of a man—a boy?—but still coming at a full gallop, long spear in hand, heading straight toward my sister. Did he mean to—
“Gabi!” I shouted, as the men shouted too, moving to intercept him.
But the boar emerged then, running between our horses, making Gabi’s mare rear and Luca’s shy, whipping him around in a circle.
“Aspettate!” I screamed. “Sta solamente cacciando!” Wait! He’s only hunting. No assassin—
But I was too late. Rodolfo charged, angling himself so that the hunter would hit him instead of my sister. He swung his sword, hitting the tip of the intruder’s spear, sending it flying. The hunter’s horse collided with his, faltered, then went down, while Rodolfo held his seat.
“He was hunting! Only hunting!” I yelled, as all three men dismounted and approached the slight man, swords drawn. Confusion filled their eyes. The hunter lay frightfully still.
Gabi and I dismounted.
“Stay where you are,” Marcello growled at us, eyeing the forest beyond the hunter suspiciously.
“Marcello, he’s alone," Gabi said. "A boy on the hunt. For boar, not for wolf.” She edged past him and I followed her lead. We hurried over and crouched next to the hunter.
Gabi paused and then reached out. “It’s a woman,” she said quietly. She eased the hat off and gently lowered the huntress’s head back to the ground, grimacing when her hand came away wet with blood. My sister was right; the huntress was filthy, but clearly all-girl.
“A woman?” Rodolfo said in shock, sheathing his sword, his face a mask of confusion.
It was scary, seeing her lying still. “Is she alive?”
“For now,” Gabi said. She leaned back, considering. Greco bent and ran his fingertips through bright red blood on a small boulder a foot away. Her gelding was back on his feet, nuzzling the girl, as if urging her to move. Luca ran his hands down his hocks and legs. “The horse is in better shape than the girl.”
Gabi pushed the horse’s head away, like he was a big, nosey dog, and went to the girl’s other side. Gently, she ran her fingers along the girl’s neck and head.
“How bad?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” she returned. “I’m no EMT. But I’d guess we need to put her on a stretcher and get her to the castello. Keep her steady, quiet, until she wakes. Mom might know more.”
“To the castello?” Rodolfo said, picking out the lone Italian word among our English. He moved to pick the girl up.
“Nay!” Gabi shouted, reaching out her hand. He pulled back, his dark eyebrows lowering over his eyes. He really was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen, and was still trying to get over his crush on my sister, more than a year after she’d married Marcello. There was this low-lying tension between them you could feel anytime they were in the same room. And proximity didn’t help.
Her tone and face softened. “Moving her might hurt her further. We need a flat surface, a stretcher, to transport her back to the castello.”
“I’ll go,” Rodolfo said. “I can be back fast.”
Gabi and Marcello nodded, and Rodolfo mounted and raced out of the clearing as if this girl was his own sister.
Gabi and I shared a long look. The mighty Lord Rodolfo Greco had been through a lot in the last year. He basically made a play for Gabi and lost her for good to Marcello. All his holdings in Firenze had been taken and he’d been banished from ever entering the city again, an enemy of the republic.
All because he chose us over the city of his birth.
Marcello had done what he could to mitigate the pain. He granted Castello Paratore, and most of the land we’d won in the battle, to Rodolfo. But that put him perilously close to the border. While the castle was in his name, he was forced to remain with us, a little farther south, for protection. Hanging out at Castello Greco merely invited assassins to try and bring him down. But hanging out at Castello Forelli brought its own kind of tension. Which was probably why he was so on edge when the huntress raced toward us…
And now he’d be wracked with guilt. We’d seen many die of far lesser injuries in this era. If the girl was paralyzed, even partially, she was unlikely to live long. Even I knew that the stress on her inner organs would be something we’d be ill equipped to handle. Mom had tried to save a paraplegic man last month, to no avail. It was one of the hardest parts of living here…to know that medical conditions readily handled in our own time often proved impossible in medieval Italia. Infection was our biggest enemy. As scary as this girl’s unconsciousness or potential paralysis was…it was the blood that r
eally freaked us. An open wound.
“Lord Forelli,” Luca called.We all looked up. He’d lifted the saddlebags across the hunter’s horse. Beneath was a blanket. Even muddy, it was clearly embroidered.
With the emblem of Firenze.
We all froze, staring. Marcello broke first, turning, hands on his face, looking up into the new green leaves of the massive oaks high above us.
“The Fiorentini,” I muttered in English, toward my sister, “they won’t like this. They won’t like it at all.”
“No they won’t.” Slowly, she lifted her brown eyes to meet mine.
“I can’t do it, Gabs.” Not again. Not after last year’s battle. The Santis, the Hercolanis, all murdered. Not after so narrowly escaping ourselves. It couldn’t all be starting again, could it? Because I couldn’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t.
Gabi reached out and put a hand on my shoulder.
But she had no words of comfort for me.
***
Rodolfo paced for hours outside the Fiorentini girl’s room, chin in hand. Marcello tried to talk to him, persuade him to retire to his quarters, but he refused, somehow believing the whole incident was his fault. Sighing, Marcello left him to continue his pacing, and pulled up a stool on the far side of our patient. Gabi reached across the girl to take his hand and squeeze it. “Hai fatto quello che potevi,” she said. You did what you could. Mom nodded her agreement.
I leaned against a wall, waiting to be sent on whatever errand Gabi needed done, wishing Adela, Luca’s sister, was here, rather than in Roma, visiting friends. She’d received some training in the healing arts—such as they were in medieval times—and was pretty good with concocting foul-smelling herbal blends that actually seemed to work.
Luca was dozing at a table, his head on his crossed arms. I shook my head. The guy could sleep anywhere it seemed. And wake chipper as happy as if he’d had eight hours in a Marriott king-sized bed.
It was completely aggravating.
I closed my eyes and thought of fine hotel sheets, silky and smooth to the touch. I was homesick. Seriously homesick. Like none of my family seemed to be. Everyone else seemed to have settled in. Each of us had had our speed bumps, but generally, they all seemed pretty content. Meanwhile, I was a mess. Becoming more grumpy and agitated with every passing day. Torn between my family, my adorable boyfriend, and the longing for home. Meaning twenty-first century Colorado.
A knight appeared at the door. “M’lord, there are two men at the gates, asking if we’ve seen a girl matching this one’s description.” He nodded toward our unconscious patient.
Luca was up, rubbing his face. “Want me to see to it?”
“Nay,” Marcello said. “I want you to see them in.”
Gabi looked at him in surprise, and I saw that Rodolfo had paused outside the door.
“You want us to allow the Fiorentini in?” Luca said.
“They are two men,” Marcello said. “What harm can they do? It will create much more difficulty for us if they know she is here and they cannot see that we’re doing our best to care for her.”
“Understood, m’lord. I’ll show them the way,” Luca said.
We all glanced at one another. Rodolfo finally came in and went to the girl’s bedside, taking her hand in his. “Wake, friend, from your slumber,” he urged. We all know what he was thinking—if she could regain consciousness before her people saw her…
But she did not stir.
They arrived shortly thereafter, two men, one burly, one slight. Luca and three knights followed them in. “Alessandra!” said the smaller one, rushing to her side, kneeling and stroking her head.
“You know her, friend?” Marcello said.
The man continued staring at her, caressing her forehead. “My daughter, Alessandra Donatelli.” His eyes hardened. “What happened to her?”
“She was hunting, and ran into us,” Rodolfo said, stepping forward. “We were startled. She fell from her horse and struck a rock.”
The bigger man stepped forward, his eyebrows lowering in a combination of confusion and recognition. “I know you…”
Rodolfo ignored him, focusing on Signore Donatelli. “She came at us so fast, wearing a hat…we didn’t know—”
“Why…you are Lord Greco!” said Donatelli’s companion, taking another step to face him and clenching his fists as if he meant to strike.
“Nay!” Marcello said, stepping between them. “Be at peace!”
“I served in your contingent, before you turned traitor!”
Rodolfo finally met his eye. The muscles in his jaw tensed. “There were many nuances of my decision of which you are unaware—”
“Should have figured that you would hide here,” the big man sneered, glancing over at Marcello with hatred. He said the word here as if we were living in some sort of swampy pit rather than Castello Forelli. Luca and another knight came up behind Marcello, ready to move with but a word from their lord.
“There will be no good end to such a conversation,” Marcello said, keeping his tone calm, his voice low. “Let’s speak only of Alessandra. She is what you are here for, correct?”
“Yes,” Signore Donatelli said. “What is the matter with her?”
Marcello eyed him. “She came at us with a spear. One of my knights intercepted her, and their horses collided. She went down to the ground, and hit her head on a rock.” He frowned and shook his head. “She has not awakened since.”
“We shall take her,” Signore Donatelli said, rising. “Back home where we might see to her ourselves.”
“Nay,” Mom said, rising with him. She reached out a hand. “Please. Let us watch over her. I’ve had some experience with—”
“You propose we leave this man’s daughter here?” barked his friend, looking at her incredulously. “When we’ve spent two days trying to find her?”
“Hear me,” Mom said, focusing on Alessandra’s father. “I have some knowledge on how to treat your daughter. She shouldn’t be moved. And you can see that we’ve treated her as one of our own, can you not?”
“She is not your own,” spat the big man, again stepping forward in a threatening manner. Marcello gave up and turned away, while Luca and the other knight restrained the man by each taking hold of an arm. “She belongs with us!” he bellowed.
“Cease your threatening tone,” Marcello said, “or you shall be escorted out to wait on your companion.” He sighed. “We only want her to remain here until she is well.”
“We shall see to her healing,” said the big man. “Release her at once!” He tried to wrench free, but the men held on.
Marcello took a deep breath and clenched and released his fists, trying to control his temper. “What is your name?”
“Signore Motini.”
“Signore Motini, you and I both know that if we release her, and the worst happens, we shall be held accountable. Our only choice is to treat Alessandra as a welcome guest. Not a prisoner,” Marcello’s eyes shifted to Signore Donatelli. “You are both welcome to remain here, with her, until she is—”
“We cannot stay here!” spat Motini. “We’ll be considered the likes of him,” he said, jutting out his chin in Rodolfo’s direction. “Banished from Firenze!”
I had to hand it to Rodolfo. They were about the same size, but I knew he could take this Motini dude in seconds. I’d seen him in battle. But he merely glowered back at him, his dark eyes frightfully steady, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Remove him,” Marcello said.
The men did as he asked. But it took all four of them.
Alessandra’s father looked stricken as his friend was taken away. The hall door slammed and we were finally left in silence.
“I know that this is a most confusing situation,” Marcello said, staring into the older man’s eyes. “Upon my life, no further harm will come to your daughter. Give Lady Betarrini but five more days to tend to her.”
“Marcello,” Gabi whispered. He couldn’t make such promises. We didn�
�t know if the girl would ever regain consciousness. What would happen if she died?
But Marcello only focused on Signore Donatelli. “She must stay here. To move her shall certainly only invite death near. If I thought it was best for her to leave, would I not send her off with you, gladly?”
The man looked up and into Marcello’s eyes for a long moment, while we all held our breath.
Signore Donatelli considered him, then nodded. “Upon your life. You shall return her to me in good stead.”
Marcello reached out his arm, and the girl’s father took it. “Upon my life.”
Alessandra heard the men talking, at first, as if they were in another room. Then gradually, she realized they were close. Right beside her. Gradually, her head stopped spinning. But try as she might, she could not make her eyes open, speak, or move her arms.
What ails me? She thought in a panic. Why can I not move?
She redoubled her efforts to move, to speak, all to no avail.
Swirling in terror, she forced herself to listen to the men, to try and place their voices. To draw comfort from them. Why did they sound like strangers?
“You cannot continue to punish yourself so, Rodolfo,” said a kind, male voice.
“Punish myself?” scoffed the other. Rodolfo? “There is no need. God is doing a fine job of it.”
“You had come so far. Then this bit of a Fiorentini arrives and you fall back into your whirlpool of doubt.”
“Mayhap I’ve only deluded myself,” Rodolfo said. His tone was dark, tortured. “Convinced myself I belong here. That I belong anywhere, now. I only draw Marcello’s enemies closer, by my presence.”
“Nay. You made a choice. An honorable choice. Truly, our sails were set long ago, when we took the mark of the brotherhood. Can you not learn to go with the wind?”
The screech of wood on stone told Alessandra that one of the men stood, or brushed against a chair. “And what if I cannot forgive myself?”
The second man let out a scoffing laugh. “You place yourself in the Savior’s position alone, man! What a preposterous notion—to forgive oneself? He has done the task. Forgiven all sins, past and present and future. You accept the power of it or you do not.”
Tributary Page 1