by Speer, Flora
Bianca sat on a stool at her mother’s knee, with her pet kitten curled up asleep in her lap. Behind her on a pedestal stood the cage that housed a pair of doves. Bianca had covered the cage for the night, but an occasional rustling hinted that the birds were not yet asleep.
Rosalinda was sitting closer to the window than the others. At the words of the poetical Beatrice, she glanced out the window in the direction of the mountains. It was an involuntary motion that lasted for only an instant, but her gaze caught on something on the terrace that should not have been there. A form hovered, its shape indistinct in the falling snow. Rosalinda went still, her vision sharpening.
Most definitely, something was moving on the other side of the glass. She did not think it was one of the men-at-arms. If one of them wanted to speak to Bartolomeo, he would knock on the door.
“’ …on the spine of Italy the snow lies frozen hard,’“ Eleonora continued her reading. “’... in winter when the northeast tempests blow…’”
Rosalinda’s thoughts were no longer on poetry. Instead, she concentrated on the darkness beyond the window, where a real tempest was blowing and where the form she had seen appeared to be moving closer to the glass. A hand – or was it a paw? – lifted in a despairing gesture. Rosalinda had the eerie feeling that the figure was motioning to her.
She was about to rouse Bartolomeo from his poetry-induced torpor and ask him to investigate when Bianca, ever alert to her sister’s moods, transferred her attention from her mother to Rosalinda. At once Bianca followed the direction of Rosalinda’s gaze toward the window. Bianca drew in a deep, gasping breath. Then she let out the breath in a blood-curdling scream that sent the kitten in her lap scrambling to get away from her and caused a furious flapping of wings from under the covering on the birdcage.
“A bear!” Bianca pointed a shaking finger. “A bear is at the window!”
Bartolomeo leapt to his feet and rushed toward the window. Eleonora and Valeria were close behind him.
“Where is it?” Bartolomeo asked, peering through the glass. “I don’t see anything.”
“Something has been out there, though,” Valeria said. “The snow on the terrace is trampled.”
While the others exchanged amazed remarks and tried to see through the window, which was rapidly becoming steamed with their breath, and while Bianca hung back as if she feared the bear she thought she had seen would leap through the glass to attack her, Rosalinda took action. She unbolted and flung open the door leading directly from the sitting room to the terrace. She stepped outside, into swirling snow and wind.
“Rosalinda, come back!” Bianca screamed.
Rosalinda paid no attention to her sister. Instead, she put out both hands toward the shape that stood frozen and staring into the light of the sitting room.
“Come,” Rosalinda said in a quiet voice. “Come inside where it’s warm. We won’t hurt you.”
“Rosalinda!” Bianca’s voice rose to an hysterical shriek.
“Daughter, come back here at once!” called Eleonora, sounding frightened but under control.
“Bartolomeo, come and help me,” Rosalinda cried. “He’s half frozen. I don’t think he can walk alone.”
“Bartolomeo, bring my daughter inside and shut the door,” Eleonora ordered.
“You -” The voice of the creature on the terrace was a broken growl, as if he had not spoken for a long time. You – will – help.”
“Of course I’ll help.” Ignoring his size and his fearsome appearance, Rosalinda took him by the arm. Bartolomeo joined her on the snowy terrace and she gave him a firm command. “Take his other arm. He is having trouble walking. I think his feet must be frozen.”
Together, supporting him on either side, Rosalinda and Bartolomeo got the stranger through the door.
“It is a bear!” Bianca screamed. “Rosalinda, you have brought a bear into the house!”
“Be silent or leave the room, Bianca,” her mother ordered.
Indeed, the creature Rosalinda and Bartolomeo were leading to the fireplace did appear to be a bear standing on its hind legs. It was as tall as a bear, it had a bear’s head, and two bear arms complete with long bear claws were crossed upon its chest. But just under the bear’s open jaw, a snow-encrusted, heavily bearded human face could be seen. Further inspection showed that the bear’s hind legs were missing. The fur that had once covered those legs was now wrapped about the lower legs and feet of a very real man, over what had been a pair of fine, red leather boots. These boots were badly scuffed and had holes in the toes, around which ice had congealed. A doublet so soiled and torn that its original color could not be discerned and a pair of ripped hose completed the man’s remarkable costume.
Bartolomeo removed the snowy bearskin from the man’s broad shoulders, while Rosalinda bade the stranger sit near the fire and warm himself.
“Give him Bianca’s stool,” Eleonora said, and at this direction from her mother, Rosalinda pulled the stool forward.
“Madonna,” the man gasped. He was staring at Eleonora. He tried to bow to her but he was already swaying on his feet and when he moved, he nearly lost his balance. Rosalinda and Bartolomeo caught his arms, once again steadying him.
“Do not trouble yourself with formal courtesies just yet,” Eleonora said. “Sit down on that stool. And, since you appear to be able to speak, tell me who you are.”
“I – am – Andrea.” The man transferred his burning gaze from Eleonora to Rosalinda. “I knew – you – would help.”
“Certainly, we will help you,” Rosalinda said to him. “Do sit down as Mother advises.”
“It was a command,” he said, sitting.
“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Rosalinda suppressed a chuckle before she turned to practical matters. “Bartolomeo, I think we should remove his boots at once. His hands are as cold as ice, and his feet must be, too.” She began to struggle with the bearskin thongs that held the fur wrappings around his ankles. Those same thongs, she now noticed, were also holding his ruined boots together.
“You won’t be able to untie the thongs, Rosalinda. We’ll have to cut them.” Bartolomeo pulled his dagger out of the sheath at his belt and went to work on the thongs. “Valeria, bring us a basin and a pitcher of hot water.”
“Warm water,” Valeria corrected her husband. “Hot water will burn his frozen skin. I won’t be long.” She left the room.
“Did you come here alone?” Eleonora demanded. When Andrea did not answer she repeated the question, adding, “I mean to have an honest response from you, fellow.”
Andrea winced. Rosalinda could not tell if it was from her mother’s peremptory tone of voice or if the sudden release of his swollen feet from their wet, cold covering had elicited the response.
“Answer me,” Eleonora commanded, “or I will have Bartolomeo cast you back into the snow without that evil-smelling skin and in your bare feet.”
“From the way my feet are burning, madonna, putting them into snow would be a kindness,” Andrea ground out between clenched teeth.
“I am sure they do burn.” In contrast to her mother’s nervous harshness, Rosalinda was sympathetic to Andrea’s plight. “Whenever my fingers start to freeze in the cold, they hurt when they begin to warm again. But I am happy to see that none of your toes are blue. They are only white. One of the men-at-arms told me last winter that blue toes are a sure sign the frozen toes will later turn black and drop off, and perhaps the entire foot, too. I think you will be spared such a fate.”
“You will not be spared my wrath if you do not answer my questions, fellow,” Eleonora stated. “Do you come here alone, or are there others with you? If so, how many are there, and where are they?”
“Answer her, Andrea,” Bartolomeo advised him in a kinder voice. “If you have companions who are lost in the storm, perhaps we can find and help them, too.”
“I wish you could.” Andrea’s brown eyes glistened with sudden moisture. “There were three of us. I lost the others weeks, perha
ps months, ago. I am not sure how long it has been. I think they must be dead by now,” he ended on a choked sob.
“What were you doing, wandering for weeks or months in these mountains?” Eleonora asked.
“Madonna, I cannot -” Andrea’s eyes closed and he slid from the stool. Bartolomeo caught his head just before it hit the floor.
“Buffone,” Eleonora muttered. “Has he really fainted, or is it a trick?”
“He is not a clown at all, Mother,” Rosalinda protested. “From what he says, he may have suffered a great tragedy. Furthermore, I think he may be a person of some importance, for his clothes were once very fine.”
“He could have stolen the clothes,” Eleonora objected.
“His speech is that of an educated man,” Bartolomeo noted.
“All the more dangerous for us,” said Eleonora.
By this time Valeria had returned with the large pitcher of warm water and the basin Bartolomeo had requested, along with several linen towels. Together she and Rosalinda began to soak Andrea’s ice-cold hands and feet.
“If we take off the rest of his wet garments, he will warm faster,” Valeria said to her husband.
Bianca had remained silent during all of this. Now she drew closer, staring at Andrea in fascinated distaste, as if she feared he might jump up and seize her at any moment.
“He is ugly,” Bianca said, noting the heavy beard and the long, unkempt hair. She wrinkled her dainty nose. “Now that he is warming up, he smells like an animal.”
“That’s partly because of the bearskin,” Bartolomeo informed her. “It hasn’t been properly cured.”
“He is a young man,” Valeria said. She was using Bartolomeo’s dagger to slice through the filthy fabric of Andrea’s doublet, making short work of both doublet and underclothes. “See, Bartolomeo, his throat is not wrinkled. And he is not a poor man. This dirty shirt beneath the doublet is fine linen.”
Rosalinda was staring at the manly chest beneath the linen shirt. Andrea’s skin was pale and smooth, with dark hair across his chest. His ribs stuck out in hard ridges and as Valeria pulled down his hose, Rosalinda could see how hollow his belly was, as if he had not eaten for a very long time. She also noticed how the hair on his chest trailed downward in a line....
“Rosalinda, come away,” Eleonora instructed. “It is not right for a young girl to undress a man.”
But he is my bear. Rosalinda almost said the words aloud, but caught herself just before they left her tongue. For a reason she could not have explained save to say that all her instincts told her it was so, she was certain it was this man, covered with the bearskin, who had warned her away from a dangerous rock fall. She was also fairly sure he was the man who had been using the gamekeeper’s cottage. So few strangers came to this part of the mountains that he must be the one.
“Rosalinda!” Eleonora repeated in growing exasperation.
“Would you find a blanket?” Valeria asked Rosalinda. “After I remove his clothes we can wrap him in it. Madonna Eleonora, we will need a bed for him. Perhaps Bianca could see to the preparation of a guest room while Rosalinda locates the blanket.”
“Excellent suggestions.” Eleonora nodded her approval of this means of removing her daughters from the vicinity of an unclothed man. “Do as Valeria asks, girls.”
Rosalinda and Bianca went up the stairs together, both heading for the room where extra linens were kept.
“Make up the guest room on the south side, where we usually put Luca,” Rosalinda said. “It is the warmest of the unused rooms. After I take the blanket to Valeria, I’ll help you carry in wood to build a fire.”
“I wonder who he is?” Away from the sight of the dirty, ragged man, Bianca had lost much of her fear of him.
“He will tell us when he is able.” As she spoke, Rosalinda threw open the door to the linen room.
“You find this exciting, don’t you?” Bianca sighed. “How I wish I were as bold as you. I acted very badly, didn’t I? All that screaming and saying nasty things about a poor soul who is almost dead from the cold. Now Mother is annoyed with me.”
“She never stays angry with either of us for very long.” Rosalinda paused with a thick woolen blanket in her arms. “I think Mother was afraid, too, at first, only she has learned to hide her fears better than you do. For all we know, Andrea may be innocent of any evil intent. I cannot believe that everyone in the world wants to see us dead.”
“I know you are right,” Bianca said. “Are you angry with me?”
“Of course not. You are the dearest person in the world to me. I love you too much to be angry with you. Although,” Rosalinda teased, “sometimes I am just a bit irritated, especially when you scream in my ear as you did a little while ago.”
“Our lives will change with a sick man in the house,” Bianca said.
“With Valeria’s good care and plenty of food, he may not be sick for long.” Rosalinda’s gray eyes sparkled at the thought. “From the way the snow is falling, Andrea will not be able to leave very soon. This winter may not be as boring as I expected.”
* * * * *
Upon returning to the sitting room, Rosalinda discovered Andrea still lying before the fire with his eyes closed. Eleonora and Bartolomeo were discussing how to deal with the unexpected guest.
“One man, alone and unarmed,” Bartolomeo said, “cannot do much harm if we are careful. Not in this weather, which will allow no escape after an evil deed. And, certainly, he is harmless while in his present condition. I will watch him closely and if I think it necessary, I will set a guard on him.”
“And when he leaves us, which he surely will do if he recovers,” Eleonora said, “what then?”
“As he appears to be a gentleman, perhaps he will give his word of honor not to reveal where we are,” Bartolomeo suggested.
“Have you forgotten how little honor means beyond the safety of these mountains?” Eleonora asked.
Unnoticed by her mother and Bartolomeo, Rosalinda went to Valeria, who had finished stripping Andrea of his wet clothes. The remnants of his linen shirt lay draped across his loins. The fire had been built into a roaring blaze to warm him. Rosalinda could tell that Valeria had bathed him, for a bowl of soap sat on the hearth, along with a second pitcher of steaming water.
Andrea had long, straight legs and his hands and feet were slender. On the little finger of his left hand he wore a plain ring with a single ruby deeply embedded in the gold band. The stone winked in the firelight when Valeria moved his arm. Andrea’s fingernails were broken and not very clean in spite of Valeria’s efforts with water and soap, but that was to be expected of a man who had been living in the mountains for weeks. His left arm bore three long, almost parallel red scars, evidently of recent origin and evidence to Rosalinda of a mauling by the bear whose skin Andrea had been wearing. Apparently, the bear had attacked him and that was why Andrea had killed it.
Rosalinda watched his broad chest rise and fall with each breath he took, and she noted how breathing seemed difficult for him. The painful thinness of what had once been a powerful male body roused a fresh stirring of sympathy in her heart.
“When he wakes, we should feed him some chicken broth,” Rosalinda said, kneeling beside Andrea. Together she and Valeria unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around him.
“There are more claw marks on his back,” Rosalinda went on, noticing a second trio of scars across Andrea’s left shoulder. “How did he fight off the bear?”
“Bartolomeo found two daggers in his belt and took them into safekeeping,” Valeria answered. “They are the only weapons he carried. A remarkable feat, to kill a bear with only a knife, but I think that must be what happened. Most of the discoloration on his clothes is from dried blood. I imagine some is Andrea’s own and some came from the bear.
“Let us hope he does not develop lung fever. He is so emaciated that I do not think he could withstand the strain of a serious illness.” Valeria sat back on her heels. “I have done all I can for him her
e. I trust Bianca will think to heat bricks to warm his bed.”
Andrea appeared to be either semiconscious or half asleep from exhaustion. He was not much help to them when Bartolomeo, Rosalinda, and Valeria pulled him to his feet and, once standing, he was unable to walk. With a groan from the effort, Bartolomeo slung Andrea over one shoulder and headed for the stairs.
Chapter 3
“I will sit with him tonight,” Rosalinda volunteered.
Andrea was sleeping in the bed Bianca had prepared for him, with heated bricks wrapped in cloths against his feet and plenty of blankets to cover him.
“No, you will not,” Eleonora said.
“Though at present he is too weak to harm anyone, still, your mother is right,” Valeria said to Rosalinda. “It would be most improper for you to remain alone in a bedchamber with a man overnight. Bartolomeo and I will take turns sitting with Andrea. If Madonna Eleonora agrees, you may see him in the morning. Let us hope he will be well enough by then to provide answers to our questions about why he was wandering in the mountains and what brought him to the villa. In the meantime, he desperately needs uninterrupted sleep and warmth.”
Eleonora at once concurred with these remarks, and Rosalinda had to be content to know she would see Andrea again within a few hours. She could not dispute Valeria’s contention that the man needed sleep. There were dark shadows under his sunken eyes, and every sharp angle of the gaunt shape beneath the bedcovers proclaimed a weariness beyond anything Rosalinda could imagine.
Even in exhausted sleep, he drew her to him. Her fingers itched to stroke his pale cheeks above the dark beard. She longed to see his face clean-shaven. But, shaven or bearded, he was her bear, who had saved her from a dreadful plunge down a mountainside. By warning her of the rock fall, he had established a connection between them; by coming to the villa to seek shelter from the storm, he had allowed her to repay the debt she owed to him. In so doing he had bound them together by a second thread of circumstance.