Tributary

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  Rodolfo carried her into the small castello chapel, with its lovely, fresco covered walls, and sat down on the third bench. It was cool in the small building, even as the climbing sun warmed the courtyard. “Shh, shh,” he said, settling her anew on his lap, cradling her. “I know, Alessandra. I know your pain. I’m so sorry you must bear it as I have.”

  “How could he…” she sniffed. “How could he not believe me? My own father?”

  “Barbato and his ilk, they specialize in poisoning the minds and hearts of others. In time, mayhap we can reach out to your father. Make him see reason.”

  She clung to his words. Thinking of her father. Her home. Her neighbors. Never seeing any of them again…Which only made her weep with fresh pain.

  “Shh, Alessandra. Shh,” he said, rocking her a little, kissing her brow, her head, somehow able to ignore her embarrassing appearance. Only making her feel accepted. Cared for. Loved.

  Who was this man? This man who had ventured across the border to save her? Who had freed her from her enemies twice over? She looked up at him, and saw that his own brown eyes were wet with tears.

  Never had she been more drawn to him.

  He looked down into her eyes, studying her, considering her. Then he bent closer, silently inquiring, his breath hot across her lips. Sweet. Inviting.

  Tipping her chin up, she moved her lips across his, barely brushing them. She reached up and put her hand against his face and he closed his eyes, sighing, and covering her hand with his own, kissed her palm. Then he turned back to look into her eyes.

  “Alessandra,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Could it be? That two Fiorentini find themselves within Sienese gates? So that we might find each other? To know love?”

  “I am nothing,” she whispered back. “I have nothing. No home. No family. No dowry. I am not worthy of you, m’lord.”

  “I am a man only recently given what he has by new friends and family,” he said, his eyes covering her face. “So we find ourselves in similar circumstances. Alessandra, it is a grief to lose what you know and love. I understand. But you are a warrior, within, beaten as you now may feel. You shall rise again. I see it in you. And this castello, these people, celebrate warrior women, do they not? Far more than any others either of us have ever met, I’d wager.”

  His words held such promise, his handsome eyes twinkling with hope, that Alessandra felt the tiniest spark of light within her. “M’lord,” she began.

  “Rodolfo,” he corrected.

  “Rodolfo,” she said, staring into his eyes, begging him closer.

  And that was all the invitation he needed. He bent his head and gave her the most tender, sweetest, passionate kiss she’d ever known. She got lost in the comfort of it, the reassurance of his arms, the way he pulled her close—and it warmed her to the core, easing aside the bitter cold draft of her father’s betrayal.

  When he drew away, he looked again into her eyes. “Is it possible?” he whispered, giving her a gentle kiss on her cheek, her temple. “Is it possible?” he repeated in wonder.

  And with each rendition of his question, she felt an incredible, mad hope surge, on the darkest day of her life.

  ***

  ~EVANGELIA~

  The messenger arrived late-morning, having ridden all the way from Castello Forelli. I saw him first and rose from my stool beside the easel and parchment upon it. Mom and Dad set down their books and leaned forward, waiting. Gabi turned from the other window and the messenger went directly to her.

  “M’lady,” he said, gasping for breath.

  She turned and poured a glass of water for him, not bothering to ask a servant to do it. We all waited anxiously for him to get ahold of himself, and share what he must.

  I wrung my hands, hating every drop of water he swallowed so greedily. Hating myself for begrudging his thirst, but just wanting the dude to speak.

  “Quickly,” Gabi said, losing patience. “What news have you? Are our men in good health?”

  He nodded. “Yes, m’lady. Our lord bid me come with a most urgent message. He fears you have become double the target because of your…” He paused to clear his throat. “State of grace,” he finally said. “And Lady Evangelia’s hesitancy to wield her bow has become known as well, to our enemies. He wants to be certain that you shall remain here, within the palazzo, under guard. You are not to leave until he comes for you himself.”

  Gabi took a step back, hand at her throat. “What has happened to provoke the Fiorentini so? Did Lord Greco and Sir Luca not return with the girl?”

  “They did, m’lady,” he said with a polite nod, wringing his hands. “But the girl has plainly suffered abuse.”

  Mom turned away, groaning. We all knew what it meant.

  “’Tis abuse the Fiorentini claim the men of Castello Forelli subjected her to,” the messenger went on to say. He shook his head. “She’s in poor form, m’lady. Her hair shorn. Beaten.”

  “At Lord Barbato’s hands, of course,” Gabi said, taking a step toward the window, remembering. “That man is capable of anything.”

  “All they need is another excuse,” Mom said. “They’ll say it’s rationale to take you or Lia. Anyone, really.”

  “And publicly execute you. An eye for an eye, and all of that. He’s right,” Dad said, gesturing toward the messenger. “Under no circumstance are you two leaving this palazzo. Understood?”

  We nodded, seriously freaked again. The Fiorentini had wanted us before, but now, if they’d gotten worked up into a frenzy…Memories of the assassins they’d sent to track down the brotherhood returned to me. I decided I was all for double-guard duty.

  “Where is Alessandra now?” I asked.

  “Back at Castello Forelli. Her father has disowned her for declaring it was a Fiorentini who abused her, and Lord Foraboshi declared her mad. He intended to put her away, into a nunnery, but she turned to Lord Greco for help.”

  Lord Greco. A smile edged my lips as I shared a look with Gabi. Maybe the girl hadn’t been so Firenze-minded that she couldn’t see the handsome former-Fiorentini who’d ridden to her aid. I was just glad she hadn’t set her eyes on Luca.

  Gabi shook her head, remembering herself, her responsibilities. “What else would Lord Forelli have me do, while I await him here?”

  “M’lord bids you see to informing the rest of the Nine and send messengers to his brothers near Siena to bar their gates. He has sent word to those beyond Siena.”

  I shared a look with Dad, my hopes that our guys might soon be with us again crashing alongside Gabi’s. If Luca were here, I might be able to draw a full breath…

  That’s when we heard the alarm bells. First one church’s. Then another’s. I went to the window, but could see little besides people scurrying out of the piazza below it. Sienese knights in formation trotted through the far gate.

  Another stranger hovered at the doorway, accompanied by one of our men. “Permission to enter, m’lady?”

  “Come,” Gabi said, lifting her chin and waving him inward.

  “News from Firenze, m’lady,” he said with a nod. “I am to pass it along to each of the Nine.”

  “My husband is in battle on behalf of Siena. I shall receive it on his behalf,” she said, all-stately-Don’t-Mess-with-Me.

  “The Fiorentini have mandated that each citizen’s arm be inspected for the mark that your husband and his captain share with Lord Greco.”

  “It was one of the brotherhood who assisted Signorina Alessandra in her escape,” interrupted the messenger, “reaching Sir Luca and Lord Greco.”

  Gabi paled and I rushed to help her to a seat, feeling more than a little queasy myself. “Not again…” She moaned. I felt as light-headed as she looked.

  “They mean business, Gabs,” I said in English, in her ear. “They want to finish what they started a year ago. We have to concentrate on those who yet live.”

  She seemed to gather herself then, nodding. “Is there anything else?” she asked the Sienese messenger.

&
nbsp; “Nay, m’lady.”

  “Good then. Please. Carry on with your task and inform the others.” She turned to the messenger from Castello Forelli. “If that is all, go to the kitchens. They’ll see to you from there.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” he said, giving her a bow and leaving the room.

  Together, we slowly met our parents’ eyes. “They’re nothing but a bunch of thugs,” Gabi grumbled. “Gang-bangers.”

  “Vendettas go way back,” Dad said. “Fact of life, here.” He leaned closer. “Now what did he mean when he mentioned your ‘state of grace’?”

  She abruptly stood. “We don’t have time for this. I must see to getting word to the brotherhood.”

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “Gabi. Maybe it’s time you tell them. Go on. Just do it.”

  She froze, a blush climbing her neck. “I don’t know what he was talking about. Or what you are.”

  “I’ll see about sending word to the brotherhood.” I stared hard at her. This was for her good, my little niece or nephew’s good… “You tell them.”

  “Lia…”

  “Gabi’s pregnant,” I said.

  And as my sister sputtered in rage, my mother gasped, and my father put his hands on his face, I walked out, in search of paper, pen and men to carry new messages of warning.

  ***

  By early afternoon, they were weary and frustrated. Every move they made, the Fiorentini countered. But they did not engage in full attack. They continually stabbed at Marcello’s men, and then withdrew.

  “They toy with us,” Luca said, panting, rubbing the back of his hand over his sweaty lip and forehead.

  “Indeed,” Marcello said. He studied the retreating backs of a contingent of Fiorentini, as they crossed the creek bed, and Rodolfo and Celso came up on his other side.

  He turned to wave over a scout, on horseback. When the man reached him, he said, “The Fiorentini resist full attack. Take another and circle around them. See if they await reinforcements.”

  “Yes, Lord Forelli,” said the man, and immediately wheeled his horse around and galloped off.

  “It makes no sense, though,” Luca said. “We are as yet outnumbered, and they have the advantage of Alessandra’s supposed abuse to fuel their men. Why not press in, now?”

  “They know we can merely hole up in Castello Forelli. They’re awaiting something else…” His chin lifted and his eyes whipped over to Luca’s.

  “Nay,” Luca said, frowning, shaking his head. “They would not attempt it. The women are safe within Palazzo Forelli, in the heart of the city!”

  “They might,” Rodolfo said, miserably. “Lord Barbato tortured Alessandra. Made her tell him all she knew.”

  Luca and Marcello turned to face him. “And?” Marcello growled.

  His miserable look told him what they feared most.

  “So they know of Evangelia’s hesitancy,” Luca said, sounding as if he were trying to reassure himself as much as them. “Lady Gabriella and her parents will see Evangelia comes to no harm, to say nothing of the ample guards we assigned.”

  Marcello met his eyes. “’Tis that. They know she is weak. But they also know something of Gabriella.”

  Luca’s sandy brow lowered. “And that is…”

  “She carries a child.”

  His brows lifted and he whooped, slapping Marcello’s upper arms as if he’d just heard the finest news all day. Which it was, of course. But Marcello waited for him to understand.

  Gradually, the joy faded into understanding. “Ahh. But won’t a She-Wolf with child be all the more fierce in her defense? And the only men capable of reaching them would be of the likes of those that went after the brotherhood…We killed them all.”

  “Nay,” Rodolfo said. “That is an elite force, the pride of the Grandi. They would have replaced them by now. And they’d be burning to prove themselves anew.”

  Marcello was already moving toward his horse, the men with him, studying the sun, now well on its way down. “They shall see her as twice the delectable target she once was, and Evangelia an easy conquest.”

  The muscles in Luca’s jaw twitched as he ran toward their horses, slightly ahead of Marcello.

  “The Fiorentini did not intend to fully engage us here today,” Marcello said. “They meant to distract us. They gave up Alessandra, but intend to take our own.” They doubled their pace, swinging up into their saddles. “Rodolfo, Celso, see to a full retreat of the men. Bar the gates of Castello Forelli and see to her as if she were your own.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” Rodolfo said. Celso echoed his call.

  Marcello turned to Luca. “You and I must ride, as fast as we can, to Siena.”

  “Right beside you,” Luca said.

  ~EVANGELIA~

  I awakened from a nightmare in which I held Luca, bloody and wounded, in my arms as he gasped for his last breath. I sat up, panting, my face wet with tears and stared into the darkness. It’s just a dream, I told myself. Just a dream. I threw off my sweat-soaked covers and on shaking legs, went to the window, unlatching and opening the shutters to allow the blessed cool of night wash into the room. I leaned out on the wide, stone sill and lifted my face, feeling the breeze dry my tears.

  And when I opened my eyes, I saw a dark form swinging toward me. He hit my chest with his boots, knocking me to the floor, and my head bashed against the stone. I blinked, stunned and dizzy, then felt the blade across my neck, a man lifting me, behind me now, even as my guard knocked on my door. “M’lady? Is all well?”

  “Tell him you are well, you only tripped,” ground out the voice in my ear. He pressed the knife against my throat.

  “Be at peace,” I called out, my voice sounding strangled. My assailant eased his pressure a bit. “I only tripped in the darkness.”

  “M’lady, you sound…distressed. May I enter?”

  “Tell him you have to get dressed first,” whispered the man, lifting me to my feet. He was only a little taller than I, but strong, fiercely strong. And then I knew. The dark clothing, the ropes. More of Firenze’s assassins. “Now,” he said, pressing his knife in to my flesh. I could feel the wet trickle of blood as he dragged me to the window. “We have your sister.”

  Gabriella.

  “M’lady?” called my guard.

  “Let me only don a gown,” I called out.

  “Yes, m’lady,” the guard said, sounding contrite for even pressing it now.

  “I hear you can climb a rope,” said the man in my ear, as he set me on the windowsill, my legs dangling over the edge.

  “I have done so, yes,” I whispered back, my heart pounding.

  “Your sister has a knife to her neck. Cry out or try and escape and she’ll be found dead on the palazzo steps come morning. Understood?”

  I started to nod, but then realized I was likely to end up with my neck sliced if I did so. “Yes.”

  “Good,” he said. “Grab hold of the rope.”

  Then, with no further warning, he shoved me.

  I gasped and dangled there for a long moment, then began to slide downward, wincing as the passing rope burned my hands. The man climbed out of the window above me and I yelped as our rope swung, and prayed it wouldn’t break. Where were the guards, stationed about the base of the palazzo? Or those above us? Had they all been killed?

  My attacker came, faster than I, driving me toward the ground. As soon as I reached it, I stumbled, then was immediately grabbed, gagged, tied up and carried away.

  We moved across the wide expanse of il Campo—Siena’s main plaza—then down a street, a man carrying me over his shoulder as if I was nothing but a sack of grain. His shoulder drove into my belly, making it almost impossible to breathe, but I forced myself to concentrate. I thought there were five others with us.

  How could this be happening? Did they not really have Gabi? Was it all a ruse to get me out of the palazzo in silence? I’d been such a fool. To open my shutters. But then he’d probably just have jimmied the latch and stolen in as
I slept. I consoled myself with the thought that it was better, the way it had happened. If I’d been asleep when he entered, it would have freaked me out all the more.

  The leader sounded a warning and they split up, sliding into hiding places, in doorways, behind a wagon, down an alley. The man set me down on my feet and I felt my knees give way, like they were jelly. Had I hit my head harder than I thought? My captor wrapped an arm around my waist, as if he sensed I was about to faint.

  I briefly considered trying to make a break for it. If I could free my bleeding hands, take out the gag... But I first had to know if they told the truth—if they had Gabi. Had to help her, if I could. As if sensing my impulse, my captor wrapped a steely arm around my neck and we both remained still as two drunk men, swaying and singing, made their way past us and down the street.

  His companion whistled, and we were once again on the move, this time with me running barefoot between two of them. We emerged in a small piazza they called “Pozzo Secco.” Dry well. Siena was riddled with them—the city’s one major drawback. She was too high and too often arid. It was a constant threat, because under siege, she’d not last longer than a month with every citizen inside her gates. Not if they wanted to drink water.

  But I knew of this place. Marcello had come home from a meeting in which the Nine had discussed giving several contrade—the districts of Siena—new access to the city’s aqueduct, allowing dry wells to again flow. “After four generations, Piazzetta del Pozzo Secco shall become Piazzetta del Pozzo Bagnato,” he’d groaned, basically saying the piazza of the dry well would become the piazza of the wet well. “What do you wager that we’ll get water to flow to those, and others will then run dry?”