by Speer, Flora
“There are tears on her face.” Vanni bent to kiss Bianca’s cheek. He spoke in a soft whisper, yet Rosalinda heard him clearly. “I have a treasure to recover, that has been stolen by a wicked dwarf. When it is mine, sweet Bianca, I will return to lay it at your feet.
“Until we meet again, Rosalinda.” Vanni left the bed and came to Rosalinda, to place a soft kiss on her cheek, too. “When Bianca wakens, tell her that I love her. Are you coming, Andrea?”
“In just a moment.” Andrea took Rosalinda’s hand in his. When she tried to pull away, he would not let her go. “You are my dearest treasure, Rosalinda, and no one can steal you from me.”
“I am not yours,” she responded. “I do not think I can ever be yours.”
“No matter what the future brings, I will always desire you. And I will come back to you.” Lifting her hand, he pressed his lips to her fingers. Then he was gone, leaving Rosalinda to lean weakly against the door while she regretted the things she could not tell him and the life they would not have.
Now that we know everything, do you still want Andrea? Bianca’s question came back to haunt Rosalinda. Yes, she wanted Andrea. And she loved him, whether he loved her or not. She felt as if her heart was torn out of her with his leaving. She wished she could run to him and tell him about the child they had made. She wished he had been honest about his identity from the beginning.
Now that we know everything… Did they know everything? Was it possible that some valuable piece of information was still lacking, perhaps a clue that Andrea’s father was not responsible for the assassination of the Duke of Monteferro? It was the only hope Rosalinda had, and she did not know where or how such information could be found. She did not even know what it might be.
“Not much of a hope,” she whispered, moving to stand beside the bed where Bianca slept. “All I know for certain is that, if they live and if they are successful, those three men will return. When they do, perhaps we can think of a means to prove or disprove my mother’s suspicions.”
She fell silent, one hand on her still-flat abdomen. And then she heard the sounds of horses riding away from the villa.
Chapter 18
“I cannot bear this waiting.” Bianca pushed her hat down more firmly over her head, so her face was shaded. “Vanni and Andrea have been gone for weeks.”
“Just over a month,” said Rosalinda, sitting back on her heels to straighten her spine and shoulders before she attacked the next clump of unwanted green leaves.
The sisters were in the garden pulling out weeds, a task Rosalinda usually hated because it meant she had to stay in one place for a while. Lately she had found it relaxing to put her hands into the earth, to remove the weeds and thus assist the plants to grow and flourish. She supposed the change in her attitude had something to do with the new life growing within her.
“When are you going to tell Mother?” Bianca kept a close and loving watch on her sister these days and she had noticed Rosalinda’s weary movements. She spoke softly, with an eye on Eleonora, who was working a short distance away, cutting herbs while the day was still cool.
“Not until I have to,” Rosalinda said.
“The longer you wait, the more angry she will be when she learns the truth,” Bianca warned. “Especially when she discovers that I have been mixing up our monthly linens to help you hide your condition.”
“I keep hoping good news will come, that Andrea will appear in triumph with unassailable proof that his father was innocent of our father’s death. I fear it is a foolish hope.”
Rosalinda wrestled a particularly tenacious weed out of the ground. She held it up with its long root dangling. “I ought to know better than to rely on dreams and hopes as if they were facts. My hope has been like this root, deep and stubborn, clinging to my heart as this plant was clutching the soil until I pulled it out. Perhaps the time has come to uproot hope, too.” Rosalinda opened her fingers, letting the weed drop into the wooden bucket that sat on the ground between her and her sister.
“This might be a good time to tell Mother. She has been remarkably quiet of late,” Bianca said.
“She is sorry for scolding us so harshly after Andrea and Vanni left,” Rosalinda responded. “I think she misses Francesco, too. Perhaps she even regrets her quarrel with him.”
“How can she miss a man she knew for only a few days?” Bianca murmured.
“It only took you a day or so to love Vanni,” Rosalinda said.
“That was different.”
“Was it? Francesco is a healthy, vigorous man, and a rather attractive one, too.”
“They did seem to have much in common.” Bianca frowned, considering Rosalinda’s words. Then, in a disbelieving tone she said, “Our mother and a man?”
“Why not?” Rosalinda asked. “She has been alone for fifteen years.”
“I am sure she has not acted on her feelings,” Bianca said. “If, indeed, she has such feelings.”
“Oh, of course she will not have such feelings.” Rosalinda glanced at her parent and then at Bianca, and a slight smile tilted the corners of her mouth upward. “She is a mother, after all.”
“You are teasing me,” Bianca said.
“Am I? We both know Mother is used to hiding her emotions.”
“Not when she is annoyed.”
“Have you ever seen her weep for our father?” Rosalinda asked. “Or heard her bewail the ill fortune that sent her into exile at a young age, to live out fifteen years of her life in an isolated villa? She never displays jealousy of the happiness that Valeria and Bartolomeo have in each other, nor is she anything but pleased at joyous events in the lives of the men-at-arms and their families. We take her interest in all of us for granted, but I think she has been lonely beyond our knowing.”
“She is thirty-eight years old.” Bianca stared at the slim figure of Eleonora in her old blue dress, hat over her pale hair, basket on her arm, moving among the herbs.
“Not too old to love,” Rosalinda said. “Or to be loved.”
“I never thought of our mother in this way.” Bianca’s voice was filled with the wonder of a new discovery.
“Neither did I, until I loved Andrea,” Rosalinda said. “Now I understand her better with every lonely day that passes for me.”
“If what you say is true,” Bianca observed, “she must be as worried as we are. And because she sent Francesco away with angry words, she must be desperately unhappy, regretting her anger now that he is in danger. I know that is the way I feel about Vanni.”
“Now you know why I keep postponing my shocking revelation,” Rosalinda said. “I don’t want to add to her burdens. And, as I said, each morning I hope the new day will bring good news.”
* * * * *
During the darkest part of the night, a gate in the wall surrounding the city-state of Aullia swung open to admit a small group of men. Other men awaited them inside, and together they made their way through the shadowed streets to the ducal palace. There, at a side entrance, secret words were exchanged and more men joined the group. Their footsteps were soft but unrelenting as they headed for the reception chamber where Antonio Guidi and Niccolo Stregone were. Any palace guards who opposed the group were swiftly silenced, though these were few in number, for the Guidi were not greatly loved, by either their subjects or their paid protectors.
Antonio Guidi was not the actual ruler of Aullia. He was merely the representative of his older brother, Marco, who was the head of the family and who made his residence in Monteferro. Antonio was a soft, lazy man who habitually overindulged in food and drink, and who saw no reason to place himself in unnecessary danger. When he saw the two dozen hardened mercenaries who filed into the reception room uninvited and who then took up positions around its walls, Antonio feared the worst. Seeking shelter from the swords and daggers that gleamed in the hands of the mercenaries, he at once placed himself between Niccolo Stregone and a wide table. Then he saw the two men who had come into the room on the heels of the mercenaries, and
Antonio Guidi knew there was no place of safety for him.
“Bastiani!” Antonio Guidi’s voice broke on a gasp of fear as he faced the helmeted condottiere.
“Good evening to you, Antonio,” said Francesco Bastiani. In vivid contrast to the other man’s well-fed, overdressed figure, Francesco stood tall and hard-muscled beneath his armor, ready for action and alert to any danger. He put out a hand to slow the forward progress of the younger man, also wearing armor, who had entered the room with him. “I urge caution, my lord. You do not want to chance losing all just at the moment of victory.”
“Andrea Sotani!” Antonio Guidi’s eyes bulged as he recognized the person with Francesco. “You are supposed to be dead. Stregone swore to me that you both were dead.”
“Don’t you know by now that you cannot believe this treacherous councilor of yours?” Andrea taunted softly. He sent a contemptuous glance toward Stregone.
“How dare you set foot in Aullia?” Niccolo Stregone demanded. “The Sotani family has been exiled from this city.”
“Not exiled,” Andrea said. “Murdered.”
“Is your brother dead, then, like your father?” Antonio Guidi asked in a hopeful voice.
“I don’t think I am going to answer that question,” Andrea responded, grinning in a way that made Antonio Guidi shiver in spite of the heavy velvet robe he wore. “Instead, I will let you wonder if I plan to extract a painful vengeance from you for the death of more than one member of my family. I will tell you that I have a large army camped outside the city walls.”
“Antonio, don’t listen to him,” Stregone said. “He is lying and he’s trying to make us distrust each other.”
“If the Guidi were wise,” Francesco remarked, “they would have distrusted you from the first, Stregone.”
“Guards!” Antonio Guidi shouted to the armed men standing around the room. “Seize these men! Take them to the dungeon.” Not a soul moved at his command.
“In the year since you murdered my father, you have ordered too many of their comrades to the dungeon. Your mercenaries won’t follow you any longer,” Andrea said. “Now it’s your turn to visit the dungeon, Antonio. Guards, take him below.”
“Yes, my lord.” The guards stepped forward. “Shall we take Stregone below, too, my lord?”
“Well, Stregone?” Francesco moved toward the little man, who stood glaring at the guards as if daring them to lay a hand on him. “Will you stay here with us and provide the information we seek, or will you take the gamble that these men will let you live long enough to reach the dungeon? They do not view you with kindness, you know. Which is why they were so easily suborned to Andrea’s side.”
“Don’t expect me to give you information that will help you to take Monteferro into your hands in addition to Aullia,” Niccolo Stregone said, with a sneer for both Andrea and Francesco.
“That won’t be necessary,” Andrea told him. “We already have Monteferro in our hands. We had other subjects in mind for your interrogation.”
“I will tell you nothing.” Stregone’s lips were drawn back in his feral version of a smile. “I don’t believe for a moment that you hold Monteferro. Whatever information you want, I’ll keep it to myself.”
“You may change your mind after a bit of tender coaxing on the rack,” Francesco said. At his signal, the guards took Stregone by the arms and forced him out of the reception room behind Antonio Guidi. “After a few days of torture, a double beheading in the piazza might be nice,” Francesco remarked as prisoners and guards reached the door.
At these words, Antonio Guidi’s knees gave way, a weakness that required the guards escorting him to carry him out of the room. Niccolo Stregone was braver than his master. He laughed, a bitter, harsh sound. Pulling his arms out of the grasp of his guards, he left the room on his own, his pointed chin high, his dark eyes hurling daggers at those surrounding him.
* * * * *
In Monteferro, a similar scene was being enacted. Vanni was already inside the city, hidden in Luca Nardi’s house. Near midnight, Vanni and Luca appeared at the entrance to the ducal palace and were readily admitted by the guards, who knew Luca and knew he came often to the palace at odd times.
Marco Guidi was as astonished as his younger brother to discover how easily a hated despot could be overthrown. But he was not the soft weakling that Antonio was, and so he fought until Vanni brought him to a halt with a wicked thrust to his sword arm.
“I am sorry about this,” Vanni said to him. “Madonna la duchessa Eleonora Farsi begged us to shed as little blood as possible, but you were determined to resist.”
“Eleonora Farisi?” Marco groaned as he spoke the name, but whether it was from the pain in his arm or from the realization that his rule was over, neither Vanni nor Luca could tell. “There is no stopping a determined woman, is there? But Eleonora Farisi has no living male heir.”
“She has two healthy daughters,” Vanni said, “the older of whom I intend to marry.”
“I knew we should have killed the entire family when we assassinated the duke,” Marco said.
“The same way you tried to kill my family?” Vanni asked. “I hope it makes you miserable to learn that in addition to me, my brother is very much alive and so is Francesco Bastiani, whom you also tried to kill. The two of them are presently at Aullia. I trust they are in control of the city by now.”
“Give me a dagger and let me die,” Marco Guidi said.
“We are going to do our best to keep you alive,” Vanni told him. “For the present.”
“If you want to be secure in your rule of Monteferro,” Marco Guidi warned, “you will have to kill Niccolo Stregone. While he lives, your life is not safe, nor are the lives of Eleonora Farisi and her daughters.”
“That,” said Vanni, “is very likely the only subject in this world upon which you and I agree.”
* * * * *
“In the name of heaven, Vanni, will you kindly get rid of all these servants?” Brushing past half a dozen bowing men, Andrea stalked into the reception room at Monteferro. He was followed by Francesco Bastiani, who looked no happier than Andrea at the escort that had accompanied them from the palace entrance.
“It has been like this for the past four days,” Vanni said, waving the servants aside with a blithe gesture. “They are so delighted to be rid of the Guidi family that they are falling over themselves to anticipate my every wish.
“Besides, Andrea, you are the representative of our nearest neighboring city, the first head of state to visit since I took control of Monteferro. Thus, you must be greeted with the proper degree of magnificence. It would help if you were to dress the part,” Vanni ended with a frown for his brother’s serviceable green wool doublet, matching hose, and riding boots.
“Do your people know how high their taxes will be to pay for all of this?” Andrea’s searching glance took in the rich furnishings of the room and the retainers clustered in the doorway, hanging back at Vanni’s gesture.
“That’s another reason they love me,” Vanni said. “I have promised to review the matter of taxes. For years the Guidi have been extorting every ducat they could from these wretched people. As a result, the treasury is full.”
“How nice for you.” Andrea’s tone was dry. “In Marco Guidi you have had the better brother to rule your city for you. Thanks to Antonio Guidi and his extravagances, Aullia is close to bankruptcy. My treasury is empty.”
“You’ll find a way to turn things around. You always do.” Vanni’s confident grin lasted only as long as a single heartbeat. Noting that Francesco was dressed in the same simple manner as Andrea, Vanni asked his brother, “Am I correct in guessing that this is not a congratulatory visit? What’s wrong? And who is ruling your city in your absence?”
“I left Domenico Ricci in charge,” Andrea responded, naming one of the condottieri.
“I know him well,” Francesco said, to reassure Vanni. “Of all the mercenary captains at Aullia, he’s the best. We can trust him.”
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br /> “You haven’t said what’s wrong.” All laughter gone from his face, Vanni met his twin’s eyes. “It’s serious, isn’t it? If it weren’t, you never would have left Aullia so soon after taking it.”
“I have the worst possible news for you,” Andrea said. “Niccolo Stregone has escaped.”
“Gesu!” Vanni swore. “How the devil did that happen?”
“In Stregone’s usual way,” Andrea said. “Flattery, bribery, a bit of treachery in turning two otherwise decent guards against each other. I have often wondered how Stregone is able to twist the minds of men so they will do what they know is wrong. He even got his own dagger back. Or so we think. It’s missing. You remember it, don’t you, Vanni? It’s the same dagger that killed our father and wounded you.”
“I am not likely to forget it,” Vanni replied, rubbing at the arm once slashed by the weapon.
“I sent men out to search for him as soon as we discovered he was gone,” Andrea continued. “We have learned that Stregone kept a horse and a packed saddlebag ready and waiting for him at a farm just outside the city, a fact which suggests he did not entirely trust his friends the Guidi brothers. But what really worries me is that, when Francesco and I questioned the guards who were watching Stregone and who were suborned into letting him escape, both claimed before they died that Stregone mentioned your interest in a certain fair-haired lady who lives quietly in the mountains.”
“You had the guards tortured into making confessions?” Vanni spoke as if he found this impossible to believe, and he looked relieved at Andrea’s response.
“You know how I feel about a confession wrung out of a man by torture,” Andrea said. “It cannot be relied upon. Subjected to enough pain, a man will say anything to secure relief. No, it was not me, but Stregone who stabbed the guards who helped him. No doubt it was his idea of a fitting reward. He used that cursed dagger of his, and he did it in such a way that the men were sure to die, but would live long enough to impart the information to me. He was careful to tell the guards that his spies have discovered where Eleonora Farisi and her daughters are living. Stregone wanted me to know where he is going, and he was sure I would come to you and tell you what I know. This is his way of issuing a challenge to us.”