La Brigantessa

by Rosanna Micelotta Battigelli

  Gabriella’s insides contract again and she relents, nodding. She sees Dorotea’s face relax approvingly. Gabriella walks over and sits on one of the stumps, and when the brigantessa follows her, she tilts her head questioningly. “The chief wants me to reassure you that you are in no present danger,” Dorotea says, one corner of her mouth twitching as if undecided whether to stretch itself into a smile. Gabriella notices something flash as Dorotea gestures, and when her hands become still, Gabriella sees that it is a gold ring with a red stone. As the brigantessa sits down on a stump opposite her, Gabriella’s gaze is drawn to a glint above her boot. A polished dagger.

  “A brigantessa is especially vulnerable,” Dorotea says huskily, meeting her gaze. “She has to learn to protect herself without depending on the help of her fellow brigands or brigand chief.”

  Gabriella doesn’t know what to say. She tentatively bites into the bread and chews it slowly, looking at the ground.

  “You’ll come to no harm here.” Dorotea’s voice has softened, and Gabriella looks up, wondering what severe circumstances induced her to go into hiding. To become a brigantessa. Dorotea’s eyes are strangely compelling—pools of silver-green with a speck of black for a pupil. Shadowed arcs hang below them like half-moons. With a grey bandana drawing back most of her hair, she is all sharp angles. No tender jawline, no shapely lips, nothing at all that hints at tenderness.

  Dorotea’s eyes narrow. “The chief has made it clear to us that you and Don Simone are to be protected at all costs. He has asked me to be your guardian.”

  “Guardian?” Gabriella murmurs. “Don Simone—”

  “You need more than the protection of a priest here.” Dorotea’s mouth twists into a grim line. “Prayers aren’t quite enough to keep the lawmen away. Or brigands from other bands.” She slides her hand down one trousered leg until it clasps the alabaster handle of the dagger. “And you can’t always know whom to trust.” She releases the handle and leans closer to Gabriella. “You can trust me, Signorina.” Her eyes flicker. “You will be safe with me.”

  A bird call makes her turn sharply to the entry into the clearing. “That is Tomaso’s signal,” she says, rising. “He has seen something from his lookout or heard some news from one of the goatherds in the area. I must go.” She begins to walk away, then turns to Gabriella.

  “Forget who you were or where you came from,” she advises gruffly. “You’re a brigantessa now. You’re going to have to learn to live like one. If you want to survive.”

  ALFONSO DRINKS THE NERVE TONIC the pharmacist recommended and grimaces. He takes a swig of the wine to rid himself of its foul taste and starts sputtering. The wine is no better. He chides himself inwardly for not demanding the same wine he had the night before. Looking up from a corner table in the dining room of the tavern, he sees Valerio walking over to him. The boy has an excited air about him and Alfonso wonders if he has gleaned some valuable information about Gabriella.

  He motions for him to sit down. “What is it, Valerio? You look like you have something of importance to share with me.” He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

  Valerio nods. “You will be happy to hear who I encountered at the roadside fountain, Signor Alfonso. It was no other than Colonel Russo. He was there with some of his officers. I heard them talking amongst themselves about their mission in Calvino, searching out a brigand chief by the name of Stefano Galante. Imagine, a capo brigante!”

  Alfonso straightens in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “Did they capture him?”

  “No, but they arrested a dozen men. They’re bringing them to the military station in Caulonia.”

  Alfonso has a troubling thought. He looks at Valerio squarely. “What did you tell Russo?” He deliberately keeps his voice calm, reluctant to show Valerio that he is upset over the news of Russo’s presence even if Russo is doing what he is supposed to be doing, as leader of the forces of repression against the brigands. “Did you tell him we were searching for Gabriella?”

  “Yes, of course,” Valerio nods emphatically. “And Colonel Russo said he and his men are also engaged in the search for her and her brother. And the priest. He told me to tell you that he’ll be stopping in to see you in the next day or two.”

  Alfonso nods slowly. Damn. He wanted his search to be a private affair. At least, private from Russo. Yes, he asked Russo to intervene and help find Gabriella. He wanted the law on his side; besides, Russo’s men could comb the area more efficiently than he could.

  But somehow, he couldn’t help holding on to the dream that he would be the one to find Gabriella first. He had to find her first. He was so close. The trattoria owner’s niece, Dorotea, seemed so certain that she could find Gabriella and bring her back to the tavern. The last person Alfonso wants around when that happens is Russo.

  Alfonso struggles to keep his annoyance from Valerio. Stupid peasant! Doesn’t have the sense to keep his mouth shut. He should have ordered him to wait here at the tavern instead of traipsing all over the place, chattering like an old washerwoman by the river. He turns to the boy with a forced smile. “Let’s hope he will come to tell me he has found Gabriella.”

  Valerio nods vigorously.

  Alfonso makes up his mind quickly. He must send Valerio back to Camini. If luck is on his side and Dorotea comes back with Gabriella before Russo shows up, then he can’t have Valerio in the way. He puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I am confident Gabriella and her brother will be back in Camini in no time. With Colonel Russo and his men in the vicinity, there is no need for me to go any further. I will stay here and wait for him, but there is no need for you to do so.”

  “But—”

  “Your grandmother needs you more than I do at present, Valerio. You have taken me this far, and I am most grateful for your diligence in ensuring a safe journey.” He pulls out his money pouch from a slit inside his vest. He withdraws several coins and hands them to the boy, a sum that is double the amount he had promised. “I am obligated to you.” He puts up a hand when Valerio starts to sputter an objection. “You must take this, Valerio. It will help ease your nonna’s financial burdens.”

  Valerio looks at him misty-eyed. “Grazie, Signor Alfonso. You are very generous.”

  “You’re welcome, my boy. Now get going. I have every reason to believe I will be back in Camini with Gabriella very soon.”

  Valerio nods and leaves. Through the open shutters, Alfonso watches as Valerio makes his way over to Spirito, untethers him, and plods off with a happy whistle.

  “Good riddance,” Alfonso murmurs. “Go back to the hole you came from.” He bangs his fist on the table and a robust server comes scuttling out of the kitchen, wiping her greasy fingers on her apron.

  “Bring me your best Greco,” he orders. “This wine is shit.”

  GABRIELLA CAN SMELL THE SCORCHED LANDSCAPE long before the brigand chief tells her they have reached the outskirts of Calvino. They dismount in silence, and after Mastro is tethered, Gabriella quickens her pace to try to keep up with Galante’s long strides. From various heights on Mount Galante, they could see fires smouldering across fields like crimson veins, igniting dry bundles of hay or flax, devouring huts and barns. Now, as they approach the houses on the outer edge of the hamlet, the undistinguishable clamour they heard on the slopes becomes clear. Women are shrieking, their faces distended and streaked with soot. Their children are wild-eyed and crying, their noses dripping with black-tinged mucous. They are clinging to their mothers’ skirts while their mothers circle about, pulling at their hair, pummelling their own chests in frantic despair. When they see Stefano, they rush to him, tugging at his cloak, their voices a chorus of agony.

  Gabriella stands a few paces behind him, horrified. She hears them telling him how the forces of law descended upon Calvino like a plague of locusts, smashing their way into homes, hurtling the women aside to search for their husbands and when they found them, either in the fiel
ds or returning to their homes, beating whatever information they could out of them. Some of the women weren’t so lucky as to get tossed aside; they were dragged into back rooms and interrogated, before being stripped and ravaged, sometimes by a half-dozen soldiers.

  Gabriella gasps and chokes on her own saliva. Her eyes fill with tears. She wants to cover her ears to any further atrocities, but she can’t seem to feel her fingers or limbs. Someone shoves past her to get to Stefano. “They destroyed my family,” the woman sobs, her hand clawing his arm. “They tried to make my husband admit he was providing you with supplies and weapons, and when he tried to deny it, they smashed his head against the fireplace.” She covers her face with her hands and when she opens her bloodshot eyes, they are directed at Gabriella. “One of them took my daughter on the floor. On the floor.” She gives an uncontrollable shudder. “Bettina is only fourteen.”

  Stefano steps forward and embraces the woman. He murmurs something in her ear, but Gabriella cannot hear what he is saying. He turns to the group and urges them to gather at the Church of the Madonna of the Poppies, where he will return after checking on his family, once he determines that it is safe to do so. He tells them that their dead husbands have become martyrs and will suffer no more in this earthly hell. He orders the boys and the few men who are in the crowd to gather blankets, food, water, and whatever weapons they can find, and to bring them to the church, for there will be many more villagers needing comfort and support tonight.

  Stefano takes Gabriella by the arm and leads her away from the group. He takes a darkened path around the periphery of the village and then cuts through a field and past an animal enclosure. The goats and the sheep seem unsettled, emitting strident bleats. Even they know something terrible has happened, Gabriella muses sadly.

  “My mother’s house,” Stefano says suddenly, and his voice wavers for a moment. He rushes inside, his cloak flapping behind him and while Gabriella waits, she prays that his mother and sister have not been brutalized.

  She stiffens when she hears footsteps approaching and is relieved to see a boy, not an officer, hiding in wait for Stefano. “The Signora and her daughter are not home,” he tells her, out of breath. “My mother saw Stefano heading in this direction and wanted me to give him this message. They went to Gioiosa Ionica; the Signora’s niece is expecting her baby.”

  “Thank you, Alberto.” Stefano emerges from the house, relief in his voice. “Take this to your mamma.” He reaches inside his cloak pocket and a moment later hands the boy several coins. Alberto runs off and Stefano gazes at Gabriella. “He didn’t mention my father. I’ll just go and have a look around.”

  Gabriella is thankful for illumination provided by the half-moon while she waits for Stefano. Her thoughts are dark enough, with the horrors she has just seen and heard.

  She startles at Stefano’s return and then searches his face. It is expressionless.

  “My father is dead,” he says. “The animals have been released. Men were there; you can see boot prints on the ground leading to the stable.”

  “How?” Gabriella whispers.

  Stefano takes a deep breath. “It was obvious he was beaten. I found him lying in cow dung.”

  TONINO WAKES UP IN A SWEAT. Plagued by an onslaught of nightmares, he has barely slept after hearing the news about Gabriella. In the first dream, Gabriella appears at the crest of the mountain, holding Luciano’s hand, when a line of infantrymen charge and run at them, bayonets gleaming in the sun. In the second, Gabriella is lying on top of a mound of bracken, tied up under a chestnut tree with a cord around her ankle. A big hulking man whose face is obscured advances toward Gabriella. Tonino runs to stop him, aware of his dishonourable intentions, but his legs cannot make any headway. When the man sinks to the ground in front of Gabriella, blocking her from Tonino’s view, Tonino wakes up screaming, “Let her go or I’ll shoot you!”

  Moments later, Tonino is sitting up in his bed; the novice Caterina is wiping his face with a cool, wet cloth and telling him to calm down and take deep breaths. Sister Emilia enters, opens the shutters, and proceeds to inspect the bandage on Tonino’s cheek. “No fresh blood,” she says, nodding approvingly. With deft fingers, she removes the bandage. “The cut has closed nicely, but it won’t hurt to apply a little more salve to it.”

  While she is applying a balm of aloe, rosemary, and honey, the abbess enters. Tonino raises his hand to block Sister Emilia from continuing her ministrations. “Abbess, I must leave! I must let my family know I am alive. By now they must have heard something of the events at Aspromonte. And I must find Gabriella and bring her and Luciano home.” He hears his voice break. “I’ll find some way of clearing her name.”

  The abbess’s eyes flutter and she hesitates. “Signor Tonino, outwardly it seems that your injuries have shown healing. However, we are not just concerned about your physical well-being. You have suffered a great trauma—”

  “I appreciate your concern, Abbess. But knowing Gabriella is somewhere out there in God knows what kind of trouble is far greater suffering for me. I can’t just wait here and do nothing.” He turns to get out of bed but falls back, gasping at the sharp pain in his ribs.

  “Signor Tonino,” the abbess says softly but firmly. “Your ribs need time to heal. We cannot see the exact damage you have suffered inside.”

  Grimacing, Tonino forces himself to sit up again. “Please, Abbess Emanuela. I will be fine.”

  “And how do you intend to help Gabriella if you can barely move? Allow yourself one more day at least, Signor Tonino. Have faith that Don Simone has found a place of refuge for Gabriella and that she is in no danger. In the meantime, we will fortify you with a hearty bean and lentil soup.” She smiles. “It is full of iron. Surely your ribs will be stronger after a bowl or two.”

  Tonino sighs and nods. The abbess is right. He can’t imagine riding a mule or even sitting in a cart in his condition. He must rest. He leans back and watches the sisters leave the room and then a thought occurs to him. Perhaps it would help if Sister Emilia were to bind his chest…. A whirring noise catches his attention and he gazes at the window. A hummingbird is suspended in flight by the jasmine flowers, its red throat and green body glimmering like jewels, its wings fluttering too quickly to be perceived by the human eye. For some strange reason, the sight of such minuscule perfection brings Tonino some comfort, and for a few moments, he allows himself to believe what another part of him wants to doubt—that God is keeping Gabriella safe.

  GABRIELLA STARES AT STEFANO. His father is dead. Yet Stefano’s face is not showing any shock or sorrow. His mouth is drawn into a thin line, and his eyes are narrowed, causing his brow to furrow, but his expression is otherwise impassive.

  When the boy is out of sight, Stefano says, “It’s out of my hands for now. I moved him to a corner, on a bed of clean straw.” He turns away and Gabriella stares at his rigid back, wondering what emotions must be churning deep inside him. Is he feeling guilty for his part in his father’s death, no matter how indirect it was? And what about the havoc wreaked upon Calvino in order to track him or the people that have a connection to him?

  “We must return,” he rasps, and without waiting for her to reply, he turns back in the direction in which they first came. She has no choice but to follow him, ever conscious that in her male disguise she is also a target for any carabineers who may have lingered in Calvino to see if Stefano would appear. She stumbles over brambles and is glad that she is not impeded by her skirts. Picking herself up, she hurries to try to catch up with Stefano. He seems barely aware of her presence, and she wonders why he wanted her to come with him in the first place. She recalls the look of dismay on Don Simone’s face when he found out that Stefano was taking her to Calvino.

  He tried to dissuade the brigand chief, but Stefano merely lifted his eyebrows at Don Simone’s nervous supplication and assured the priest that Gabriella was as safe with him as with Don Simone.
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  Gabriella watched the anxiety and uncertainty settle on Don Simone’s face, and she instantly felt a rush of affection for him for caring about her. No, it was more than affection; it was love. Her eyelids prickled at the acknowledgement that Don Simone had been in her life for as long as she could remember, and he had watched over her and nurtured her alongside her parents, who had devotedly served him. He had always been family.

  After Stefano left her to get ready for the journey, she rushed over to Don Simone, telling him about the chief’s sister and reaffirming that Stefano had no bad intentions when it came to her.

  “Take this,” Don Simone urged, handing her his wooden rosary. “I will have a small measure of peace knowing the good Lord is accompanying you. May you be blessed as are these beads, and may you return safely and speedily to me.”

  Gabriella hesitated. Surely Don Simone hadn’t forgotten how she felt about God’s place, or rather, absence in her life. She took a deep breath and with a resigned nod, placed the rosary in the pocket of her trousers. As Don Simone’s face brightened, Gabriella conceded to herself that considering his feelings ahead of her own wasn’t as painful as she thought; in fact, she had to grudgingly admit that her small gesture of acceptance brought her a measure of peace as well.

  Now, heading to the Church of the Madonna of the Poppies, Gabriella fingers the beads in her pocket against her mother’s handkerchief. Although it must be well past midnight, some of the villagers they pass are huddled on doorsteps, their faces dappled from the glow of candlelight, their voices rising and falling. Some are heading to the piazza and the church, carrying blankets and baskets of food. Small children are still up, some disgruntled and crying, some running about in a frenzy. A smell of burning still lingers in the air.

  Suddenly, Stefano turns down a narrow lane. He stops at an arched wooden doorway, knocks, and enters without waiting for anyone to open the door. Gabriella steps inside and follows Stefano through several dark rooms and up a few cement stairs to a second level before he stops abruptly. A shaft of moonlight enters an open balcony door and Gabriella sees the person Stefano must have been looking for. The girl is huddled on her pallet, her eyes fluttering open as Stefano approaches. She recoils when his shadow looms over her, but then relaxes when the moonlight reveals his features. “Bettina,” he murmurs, drawing the blanket by her side over her. “I’m so sorry this happened.”