Rose Red

by Speer, Flora

  Mariano’s worry about his daughter was well founded. Five years after Mariano’s death, the Duke of Monteferro was assassinated by a political rival who brought in his own army of mercenaries to take over the small but wealthy city-state. Knowing her children were certain to be murdered as well, since they could be considered the only legitimate heirs to Monteferro lands, the quick-thinking Eleonora gathered up her daughters and a few belongings and made a hasty escape from the city. With her husband’s majordomo and close friend, Bartolomeo, his wife, Valeria, and a dozen men-at-arms who remained loyal to the murdered duke’s family, Eleonora sought sanctuary at Villa Serenita. There, known only as La Vedova, the widow, to the few inhabitants of the small and isolated nearby village, she and her daughters embarked upon a reclusive life.

  During the ensuing fifteen years, Eleonora had found her only relief from constant worry for the safety of her daughters in the creation of a garden on the sheltered southern side of the villa. There, it was warm enough for a plum tree to grow, along with an apricot tree, and other tender plants. A low wall of the same pale yellow stone used for the house and outbuildings enclosed the garden, and within it Eleonora planted lilies, lavender, thyme, rosemary, and other useful herbs, including a few Florentine iris near ä small pool.

  In tribute to the daughters she loved more than life itself, Eleonora added two rosebushes to her garden, planting them on either side of the steps leading down from the terrace at the back of the house. One rosebush bore pure white flowers, while the blossoms of the other were bright crimson. The bushes bloomed most profusely during the long, warm days of June, though occasionally one or the other would send out a few late-season flowers, as if to bid a sweet farewell to summer’s fleeting warmth.

  Rosalinda hastened through this garden, pausing for only an instant to breathe in the air that was scented by her mother’s herbs. As she brushed past the rosebushes, she noticed one red blossom. Quickly she plucked it, deciding she would wear it in her hair that evening.

  Like Bianca, the white roses Eleonora had planted in her name were dainty and delicate, and they breathed forth a pure, sweet scent. But the red roses planted in Rosalinda’s name unfurled many more petals to each bloom and their fragrance was rich and mysterious, beguiling Rosalinda’s senses when she inhaled it, making her wish for something more than the placid life she lived at Villa Serenita.

  She did not know exactly what it was that she wanted, only that she longed for someone to speak to her and to touch her in a new way, a way in which no one had ever spoken to her or touched her before. With her nose buried in the soft red petals, Rosalinda dreamed of laughter and music, and of falling stars blazing across the velvet night sky. She imagined warm masculine lips gently touching hers, in the way in which she had once observed Lorenzo, one of the men-at-arms, kissing his wife. After a long moment Rosalinda gave a wistful little sigh, went into the villa, and ran up the stairs to her room.

  * * * * *

  Luca Nardi was the older brother of that same Valeria who was Bartolomeo’s wife and Eleonora’s dearest friend and constant companion. The House of Nardi had long served as bankers to the family of the late Duke of Monteferro and, thanks to Luca’s honesty and cleverness, a fair portion of the duke’s wealth had been saved from confiscation after the assassination. Thus, Eleonora was not destitute and she was able to provide for the people who had escaped into the mountains with her.

  At first the men-at-arms had thought of themselves only as warriors, but as time passed, they had been compelled to learn additional skills. A few of them had become expert hunters who made valuable contributions to the villa larders. Other men-at-arms were skilled carpenters, while some tended the livestock. All of them worked in the fields when necessary. They still took their turns at sentry duty and regularly attended weapons practice, joined now by their sons. For, by the good offices of Luca Nardi, the families of many of the men had been spirited out of Monteferro to join their husbands and fathers in the safety of Villa Serenita. There, some of the younger men had married the teenaged daughters of others and, within a few years, a self-sufficient community was established under Eleonora’s rule, with Bartolomeo as her second in command in charge of defenses and masculine concerns.

  Over the years Luca Nardi made periodic visits to Villa Serenita, always bringing with him a single, trusted servant and two pack horses loaded with supplies that were not locally available. Eleonora and her daughters regarded Luca as an old friend and always made him welcome.

  On this first evening of Luca’s latest visit, Rosalinda arrived in her mother’s sitting room slightly out of breath, just as Luca was beginning to distribute the personal goods he had brought at the request of household members.

  Eleonora’s cool look stopped her tardy daughter just inside the door. Rosalinda noted that Bianca was already there, standing beside their mother, quiet and composed as a lady should be, in a blue silk gown. Valeria, in dark red brocade, and Bartolomeo, in a deeper red doublet and brown hose, both looked happy to see Valeria’s brother again. Eleonora wore gray and silver brocade, with her still-lustrous gold hair piled high beneath a sheer silver scarf. All of the ladies’ gowns were similar in style, with low necklines, long sleeves, high waists, and flaring skirts. Even Luca, who as a newly arrived traveler might be forgiven a crumpled appearance, was freshly bathed and clothed in his dignified dark blue banker’s robe that reached below his knees, with matching hose and shoes.

  Seeing how elegantly attired the rest of that company was, Rosalinda felt sadly disheveled in her hastily donned russet silk gown. Her face was still damp from washing it and her hair was smoothed back with her hands instead of being properly brushed and re-braided, and the red rose she had plucked from the garden was tucked loosely behind one ear. She tried to straighten her skirt but caught her mother’s stern eye and immediately stilled her fluttering fingers, folding her hands at her waist as a lady should.

  Upon a wall of the sitting room, a portrait of Girolamo Farisi hung. Candlelight reflecting on the surface of this painting suggested a gleam of humor in the eyes of the late Duke of Monteferro. Regarding her father’s likeness, Rosalinda wished she could remember him, but she could not. She had been only three years old, little more than a baby, when he was killed, and so she was forced to depend upon the portrait and the recollections of others. She wondered if, like her, he had always been so preoccupied with more interesting matters that he was frequently late for meals. And if he was, had his wife recalled him to recognition of his social duties with the same look that had just put Rosalinda in her place?

  “As always, I wish I could bring more,” Luca said, handing Eleonora a package containing a book for her library. He then presented fabric for a new gown to Valeria and a thick sheaf of parchment to Bartolomeo, who used it to keep the estate records and for the writing he did late at night. “But if I were to lead a train of packhorses or carts loaded with goods to the villa, we would attract notice. I will do nothing to draw unwanted attention to this area. Even after so many years have passed, there are still people in Monteferro who fervently wish you and your daughters dead, Madonna Eleonora. Many folk believe that you are dead, that you were all killed along with the duke and your bodies hidden to prevent a public uprising at the outrageous murder of innocent babies.

  “Your best hope of safety continues to lie in that mistaken belief. Thus, two or three times a year, I pretend to make a retreat to a monastery built high in these mountains. In fact, I do stop at the monastery for a few days both before and after I come here, in case anyone should enquire too closely as to my whereabouts. Thanks to you, madonna, I now have a reputation as a deeply religious man,” Luca ended on a chuckle.

  “As long as I live, I shall always be grateful to you, Luca, for your faithful honesty toward my family,” Eleonora responded. “Wherever I am, there you are welcome.”

  “As always, it is a great joy to see you again, madonna. And no small pleasure to reassure myself of my sister’s continued go
od health.” These formal courtesies completed, Luca embraced Valeria and also Bartolomeo, who in his exile from Monteferro was serving Eleonora as majordomo as well as supervisor of the estate surrounding the villa.

  The evening meal was more lively than usual with Luca there. He regaled those around the table with the latest gossip of the world beyond the mountains.

  “Genoa and the Holy Roman Emperor have allied against the power of Venice,” Luca said. “Sienna and Florence are at odds again. The Sforza duke of Milan rules his city with an iron fist and holds out against all challengers. By next month or next year, or even next week, these alliances will change again as friends become enemies and enemies, friends. These dukes and princes cannot be trusted, as you know to your great sorrow, Madonna Eleonora. Gesu, what a time in which to live! I fear this constant warfare born of greed and treachery will never end. It’s bad for business, you know. Bankers are forced to make loans to the rulers of these battling states so they can wage their foolish wars. The loans are seldom repaid. And then the bankers suffer.

  “But enough of such depressing subjects,” Luca went on with a smile. “As to more cheerful news, the Duke of Ferrara is to marry the famously beautiful daughter of King Ferrante of Naples.”

  Rosalinda sat with her back straight, as she had been taught to do, and she smiled and spoke when she was expected to respond to some question or remark directed at her, but she had little interest in gossip about people she did not know. She did know her mother well, however, and Rosalinda was aware that beneath the superficial talk there was an unspoken conversation going on at the table. She could guess why it was so. Eleonora was protecting her daughters. Again.

  “Good night, my dears.” At last Eleonora rose from the table, the others rising with her as a mark of courtesy. She looked first at Bianca and then at Rosalinda. “It is time for you to be in bed.”

  At once the dutiful Bianca kissed her mother’s cheek and said good night to the other adults. Rosalinda followed suit, though somewhat reluctantly. She was sure the most interesting part of the evening was about to unfold and, as usual, she and her sister would miss it. As she mounted the staircase behind Bianca, Rosalinda glanced back to see her mother leading Luca, Bartolomeo, and Valeria across the hall toward her private sitting room.

  “Always, they have secrets,” Rosalinda muttered.

  “You don’t want to know their secrets,” Bianca told her.

  “Oh, yes, I do.” Rosalinda paused outside her sister’s bedroom door. “They think we are still children, but we aren’t anymore. Were we not living in this strange exile, both of us would have been married years ago. We would be mothers by now and no one would treat us as if we were ignorant babies. Don’t you want to be treated like a grown woman, Bianca? Or do you want to continue to live like an untouched nun for the rest of your life?”

  “Of course I want to marry. I can remember how happy Mother and Father were together, always laughing, always touching hands. I remember the beautiful warmth that emanated from them and enfolded you and me in their love. I want the same kind of affection for myself. I want it for you, too, Rosalinda.”

  “In that case, let us make a solemn vow,” Rosalinda suggested. “Let us swear that we will marry only for love.”

  “For love alone.” At once, Bianca nodded her agreement with this sentiment. “I do solemnly swear to you, Rosalinda, that I will marry only if I can be assured of enjoying the kind of love our parents knew.”

  “And so do I most solemnly swear the same.” Rosalinda put out her hand and Bianca clasped it. They stood there in the upper hall, smiling at each other, until Rosalinda spoke again. “Let us hope the loving men who ask for our hands will also be brave and handsome.”

  “How I wish it could be so,” Bianca said with a little laugh. “But the truth is, in our situation we are not likely to meet any suitable men who would dare to offer for us. The vow we just made is meaningless, however much we wish our dreams could come true.”

  “I think we ought to take steps to change our situation,” Rosalinda declared, “and work to make those dreams into reality.”

  “No!” Bianca’s face went white, her eyes widened with fear. “You must promise me you will do nothing foolish. Rosalinda. You simply do not understand how

  an impulsive act on your part might be the end of us, and of Mother. I could not bear to see violence done again. You were not there on that dreadful day. You do not know how terrible it was. I want no blood spilled on my account.” Bianca shuddered, covering her face with both hands.

  “Hush, don’t cry.” Rosalinda’s arms were around her sister’s heaving shoulders. “I won’t cause trouble. I promise.”

  It took a while, but eventually Rosalinda was able to convince her sister to undress and go to bed. She sat beside Bianca, holding her hand until the troubled blue eyes closed and Bianca’ s breathing was quiet and even.

  Upon leaving her sister’s room to go to her own bedchamber, Rosalinda noticed the gleam of light coming from the lower floor. When she looked over the stair railing, she could see that the light came from her mother’s sitting room, where the door was slightly open.

  Feeling a bit unnerved by her sister’s display of fear, Rosalinda moved down the stairs, heading toward the source of light and comfort, to the room where her mother was. No one was in the hall to stop her. The house was empty and silent. The few servants at Villa Serenita were the wives or the children of the loyal men-at-arms who had come north from Monteferro under Bartolomeo’s command. At this late hour none of them were about. Save for the light around the edges of the sitting room door and the quiet murmur of voices from within, the villa slept.

  Consumed by curiosity about what was being said behind that door, Rosalinda crept forward on tiptoe. When she was nearer, she could hear her mother speaking in a low, passionate voice.

  “So,” Eleonora said with barely contained pleasure, “at last the man who plotted my husband’s death has met a similar fate. Federigo Sotani, the Duke of Aullia, is dead. This is good news indeed, Luca. It would appear there is justice in the affairs of men, after all.”

  “Madonna, I know you have always believed that the Duke of Aullia arranged for your husband’s assassination,” came Luca’s voice, “but I still find it difficult to accept that accusation.”

  “In truth,” Bartolomeo put in, “from what you have said over the years on this matter, Luca, no one knows who backed Marco Guidi in his family’s bloody rise to power in Monteferro. It might have been the Duke of Aullia, as you maintain, Madonna Eleonora. Or it might have been Venice. The Venetians have spies everywhere and, where profits from trade are involved, murderous intrigues are not beneath them. Or it could have been someone else, someone with a secret motive of his own.”

  “Do not overlook the most obvious conspirator,” Luca said. “We now know that Niccolo Stregone was a secret advisor to Marco Guidi at the time he seized power in Monteferro.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Valeria, “but we also know that Stregone fled across the border to neighboring Aullia soon after we escaped from Monteferro, a fact that indicates he quickly fell out with the Guidi and feared for his life.”

  “He then took service with the Duke of Aullia,” Eleonora noted. “Which only proves the truth of my contention. The Duke of Aullia was in some way involved in the death of my husband, Marco Guidi was little more than the duke’s puppet in that sad affair, and Stregone was the connection between Aullia and the Guidi family. Murderers and thieves always stick together for their own safety.”

  “And now the Duke of Aullia has been assassinated,” Valeria said in a pensive tone. “How interesting that Stregone should be in each city when its duke was killed.”

  “Stregone.” Eleonora repeated the name in a voice throbbing with hatred. “That nasty dwarf is vicious, devious, and diabolically clever.”

  “He is therefore a very dangerous man,” Luca added, “who would not stop at murder if the murder would benefit himself in any way. Which,
madonna, is why I believe he was deeply involved with your husband’s death, either in the planning or as the actual instrument of the murder.”

  “I thank all the saints in heaven that I no longer have anything to do with any of these matters,” Eleonora said. “Where once I was entangled in the maneuverings of those power-hungry rulers, now I care more for my beloved children and my garden than I do for wealth and power. I find I sleep more securely here at Villa Serenita than I ever did at Monteferro.” She broke off suddenly, turning her head to listen. “Who is there, outside the door?”

  “It’s Rosalinda.” She pushed open the door to step into the room. “I wanted to talk to you, Mother. I am worried about Bianca.”

  “It is much too late for you to be awake, child,” Eleonora scolded.

  “Indeed, it is late.” Bartolomeo interrupted with a smile for Rosalinda. “I am certain Luca must be tired after his long journey. Madonna Eleonora, with your kind permission, may we continue our discussion tomorrow?”

  “Yes, you are right, old friend. You are all excused. Sleep well.” Eleonora waited until her company had left before she held out a hand to Rosalinda. “Come here, child, and tell me what is wrong with Bianca.”

  Rosalinda did as instructed, pulling a stool near to the chair where her mother sat. Eleonora took her daughter’s hands and held them while Rosalinda recounted how, twice in one day, Bianca had been overcome by her dreadful memories.

  “Ah, the poor child,” Eleonora murmured. “No matter how she tries, she cannot forget the terrible sights she beheld at too young an age.”

  “I think the distress she felt today was my fault,” Rosalinda confessed. “Whenever I venture too far from the villa for her comfort, Bianca becomes frightened. Knowing that, today I made the further mistake of telling her I saw a bear.” Rosalinda then told her mother, as she had not told Bianca, the entire story.