Gabriella swallows. Bettina. The fourteen-year-old girl.
One of her eyes is swollen, and the skin around it has already darkened like the skin of an eggplant. Gabriella watches as she erupts into tears. “Papà refused to tell them anything,” she sits up, gulping. “They had received a tip that Papà was providing supplies for you and your band. I thought they would try to find the money you gave Papà to pay for his medicine, but they weren’t interested in money.” She covers her face with her hands. Stefano cradles her in his arms and between sobs, she says, “They killed him and then laughed about it as they were leaving. One of them returned to search up here, and when he saw me, he grabbed me and dragged me downstairs and…and…”
“Sh, sh,” Stefano murmurs. “Don’t talk about it anymore, Bettina. I will make them pay for what they’ve done, do you understand? Anyone who hurts my family or friends will pay if it’s the last thing I do.” With one arm he motions to Gabriella to approach. “Bettina, I have a.…a friend with me. She will help you while I go to the church and see what has to be done. Your mother and neighbours are waiting for me there. I won’t be long.” Bettina lays back down on the pallet and closes her eyes. She says, her eyes still closed, “Another officer came and dragged him off me, saying that Colonel Russo had given the order for all his men to leave Calvino at once. He had left the door open….The Colonel was on his horse, watching from the road. When he saw me on the floor, he smiled.”
Stefano curses under his breath, and Gabriella notices that his hands are both clenched. He glances at her without a word and leaves, the door slamming violently behind him.
Gabriella’s heart twists when she looks down at Bettina. The girl’s lower lip is quivering, her teeth occasionally clattering together. Gabriella stoops to caress her forehead and squeeze her hand. “I will bring you a cup of camomilla,” she murmurs. By the time the tea has steeped, Stefano has returned with Bettina’s mother, who embraces Gabriella tearily and takes the cup of tea from her.
Stefano leads Gabriella back to the church of the Madonna of the Poppies to help the families whose huts or houses were burnt down to settle for the night. Pews have been moved and the villagers are setting down whatever they have been able to salvage or recover, their voices echoing in a cacophony. Gabriella helps distribute blankets and food that have been collected by the boys and men of Calvino. She seeks out mothers who seem to have their hands full, trying to comfort screaming babies or restrain children who are overly rambunctious, and is gratified to see the appreciation in their tired faces.
She glimpses Stefano slipping coins into the palms of the villagers, reassuring them he would be providing them with more in the days and weeks to come. He vows to find ways of getting money to them even if Colonel Russo steps up his forces in the vicinity. Gabriella watches the men of Calvino embracing him, shaking his hand vigorously, patting him on the back. Some women are drying their tears, kissing his hands, blessing him aloud. Others are weeping noisily, wringing their hands, lamenting the arrest of their sons or husbands.
Stefano speaks to all of them, and to Gabriella’s surprise, none of them are hurling accusations of blame at him; no one is maligning him for being the cause of the attack upon Calvino. Some are yelling out curses to Colonel Russo and his diavoli, for who other than devils would set fire to huts with people and animals still in them? Destroy their homes and their means of subsistence? Ruin the lands on which they labour for the meagre pay that keeps them alive?
It is a miracle that nobody was killed as the flames devoured what they could. An old farmer named Rocco Taverniti emerged screaming from his hut, awakened from a nap by the crackling of flames on one corner of his straw pallet that swiftly reached his legs. He ran out of the hut and threw himself into a pile of fresh dung to snuff out the flames. His adult sons carried him to the river to clean him off, and after applying a cooling balm of aloe over his inflamed skin, his wife tore strips off her skirts to wrap around his burns. Feverish with shock, he was brought to the church, and his sons set him down on a pile of blankets in an alcove below the statue of his namesake, Santo Rocco, venerated for healing diseases and plagues of the body.
His wife is still hovering over him in the alcove, one hand clasping his and the other fingering the beads of her rosary.
Gabriella’s attention is drawn to a couple weeping over the loss of their animals, entrapped in a barn that was torched by some of Russo’s cavalrymen. The couple had cowered behind a thick arbutus hedge, helpless to save their animals. “Povere bestie,” she sobs against her husband’s chest. “Those poor beasts. Their cries are ringing in my ears. May God damn the men who could do such a thing. May He send them straight to hell, so they can roast in the flames, like my poor animals! May they know nothing but suffering to the end of their days!”
Gabriella turns away, sickened by the thought of any animal suffering in such a way. She notices Stefano murmuring something to the parish priest, Don Damiano, before handing him a purple bag that the priest immediately slips within the folds of his cassock. Moments later, while she is crouching to tend to the scraped knee of a youth no older than Luciano, she senses someone behind her, and turns to find the old priest watching her with a benevolent smile. “Che Dio ti benedica,” he blesses her, making the sign of the cross above her head. Gabriella, flustered, rises to nod respectfully, but someone has called out to him and he has already turned away.
By midnight, the din has subsided. The children are asleep on the makeshift beds, along with most of the parents, and the few that are still awake are either kneeling in front of a statue in the nave, whispering prayers, or saying a rosary at their pew. The heavy oak doors of the church are open, letting in a warm breeze, and some of the men have shuffled outside to sit either on the steps of the church, or on stone benches in the piazza, their low voices mingling with the rustling leaves of nearby eucalyptus trees.
Satisfied that the villagers are taken care of, at least for the present, Stefano informs Gabriella that they need to return to Calvino. Gabriella sighs with relief when they reach Mastro. For the entire journey back to Calvino, Gabriella closes her eyes and allows herself to press against Stefano, her arms and hands entwined around his waist, mustering just enough concentration to keep herself from falling.
RUSSO POURS HIMSELF A GENEROUS SHOT of brandy and savours it slowly before getting to the task of updating General Zanetti about his recent mission....
Illustrious General,
The region is buzzing with the news of General Garibaldi’s defeat at Aspromonte. The peasants seem to be quite sympathetic to his plight, despite the fact that he represents the newly unified Republic, the notion of which is confusing to them in their limited understanding of political affairs. Again, dear General, these simple folk are a contradiction unto themselves, which is, perhaps, the very reason there is so much turbulence in their lives. A violent, passionate people indeed!
As you recommended in your previous letter, I undertook a mission yesterday in Calvino for the main purpose of tracking down the brigand chief Stefano Galante and his band, as well as his supporters. As the villagers had no reason to expect such a manoeuvre, they were caught unawares, and as a consequence, my forces were able to apprehend a dozen men suspected of being either supporters or informers of Galante.
As family is usually the first to be implicated, I undertook to question Galante’s immediate family members myself. The senior Galante was the only member present; his wife and daughter were in the neighbouring town of Gioiosa Ionica, assisting a relative in childbirth. Although Luca Galante made his disdain for his son’s lawless pursuits quite clear, I could not ascertain with certainty whether his proclamations were genuine or feigned, and therefore, I instructed my assistant to utilize more rigorous procedures to encourage his truthfulness. Unfortunately, the brigand chief’s father became belligerent, having previously consumed a good measure of grappa, and forthwith attempted to strike my a
ssistant with a sickle.
My officer had no recourse but to try to protect himself, and rightly so, being a lawful servant of His Excellency King Victor Emmanuel, and an ardent combatant of lawlessness and corruption. The elder Galante collapsed and we were not able to revive him. Earlier, we discovered items that would indicate that Galante’s wife has been in contact with her son, and he has been rewarding her with some spoils from his robberies. I have every intention of pursuing my investigation upon her return to Calvino.
As I mentioned earlier, esteemed General, a dozen villagers have been arrested. They have been brought to the station and will be detained behind bars until I am satisfied with their testimonials. None have as yet provided any sufficient information as to Galante’s hiding place, but as with Galante’s father, they will receive forceful incentives to co-operate.
Would that we could carry out our mission without the use of extreme measures, but as has been proven innumerable times, the scourge of brigandage in this territory has only been deterred or extinguished by the same means with which the brigands conduct their affairs. An eye for an eye! This biblical law of retribution seems to be the only law these brigands understand.
And so, dear General, we will continue to use any means at our disposal to ensure a successful mission. For this occasion, it meant setting fires, smoking some of the suspected informers out of their hovels, and imposing pressure on those we questioned.
We left the villagers with no doubt as to our position and scope of our military operation. We gave them the succinct message that they would have a reprieve during the night and for an additional day, providing them with ample time to figure out how they would deliver Galante to us, or else direct us to his hideout. Those who co-operated would receive a monetary reward and immunity from hanging or imprisonment. I truly believe, General, that this tactic will prove to be fruitful.
I anticipate the success of our mission in the next few days, not only in capturing the brigand chief Galante, but also in finding a young woman who is presently under his protection—a peasant by the name of Gabriella Falcone, who, after stabbing a landowner, fled her hamlet of Camini with her brother and the parish priest. The landowner, Alfonso Fantin, approached me to pursue the girl in order to make her pay for her crime. So, dear General, my intention is to capture and arrest both a brigand chief and a brigantessa, the former for the crime of murder, and the latter for attempted murder.
As always, I send my warmest thanks for your continued support in this and all my missions, and I avow my utmost respect and compliance for your every command. Signed on this, the 7th day of September in the the year 1862.
With faithful obedience, I remain, your servant,
Lieutenant Colonel Michele Russo
THE RIDE BACK SEEMS ENDLESS. Gabriella can feel every rut in the road, every vertiginous curve. She clings to Stefano frantically, her stomach heaving. By the time they reach the foothills of Monte Galante, Gabriella is cringing from stomach cramps. She does not realize she has cried out, and when Stefano reins in Mastro and dismounts, helping her step down, he searches her face with narrowed eyes. “Sit down for a few minutes,” he orders, and pulling out a flask from his saddlebag, instructs her to take a drink. “More,” he says after her tentative swallow. “You look like the Holy Ghost.”
Gabriella complies, shuddering as the alcohol burns a path down her throat. They sit without talking for a few moments, looking out at the valley below.
“How are you feeling now?”
Gabriella clenches her jaw. Her stomach is still agitated, but the sadness and helplessness she felt when she arrived in Calvino has been replaced by something much stronger. Fury. Fury for the plight of Stefano’s neighbours, and at the senseless barbarity and lust of the carabineers. Disgust at their abject disregard for justice. Justice! How disillusioned she was to think that the enforcers of the law would be upholding it. Whether or not the villagers had leant Stefano any support, they were condemned. Made to pay for Stefano’s lawlessness. Gabriella realizes with horror that if this is what they would do to an entire village, her fate or that of Stefano’s, as wanted outlaws, would be far worse.
Stefano repeats his question. Gabriella turns to meet his gaze. His look of genuine concern makes her eyes well up. “I feel sick for what has been done to those poor people. To Bettina and your father. To those who have had nothing to do with you. And even to those who have supported you. Brought you some bread or fruit. They didn’t deserve to suffer. To die! To have their homes destroyed, set on fire. To have their wives and daughters violated. What kind of law is this?”
“I am a wanted man, Gabriella. Wanted for attempted murder.” Stefano’s voice is calm. “The law will use any means to find me.”
Gabriella shudders. She is also wanted. She may have escaped being violated by Alfonso Fantin, but how can she escape the law forever? And what will they do to her when they find her? How will she ever find a way to convince them of her innocence so she can reunite with Luciano and return to Camini? And to Tonino, if he is still alive….
“Andiamo. Let’s go, Gabriella. We’ll be safe on Monte Galante. Have faith.” He helps her remount, and as they ascend the mountain slope, with the scent of resin in the sultry breeze and wisps of fog suspended over the black depths of ravines, Gabriella acknowledges that perhaps faith is, after all, the only thing that she shouldn’t run away from.
STEFANO PEERS BETWEEN THE FOLIAGE of a lentisk bush. He is almost certain that the whistle he heard several moments earlier originates from one of his informers, but he will not act precipitously and advance into the glen without first verifying the identity of the person.
Dorotea informed him in private that the informer would be waiting at their usual meeting spot early in the morning, when the man’s boss would most likely still be sleeping. Stefano left his hideout on Monte Galante and descended the mountain with Mastro, tethering him under a beech tree and then continuing down the slope on foot, pausing every few moments to listen for the signal.
It could very well be a trap. Stefano is not so naïve as to believe that one of his informers could never be pressured to reveal what he knows about him. Anything could make a man blurt out a confession. The promise of money. The threat of torture to himself or his loved ones. Not only is a suspected informer vulnerable to the will and force of the law, but even more so are the brigands in the chief’s band.
Stefano does not allow himself to trust anyone implicitly. Even if one’s intentions are honourable, one can be made to bend easily under the right conditions. He is well aware of a number of brigands who succumbed and betrayed their chief. Used the excuse that they needed the bounty money to take care of their children, who were dying of starvation or sick with malaria. Or simply decided that being hanged was too high a price to pay for their loyalty to their leader. The incentive of receiving immunity from any of their previous crimes as brigands and reacceptance into the village or town from which they fled to go into hiding, has always attracted a band member who was tired of life on the run, tired of never knowing how many days he would have to go hungry before the next meal. No, he would not be such a fool as to jeopardize his own life by trusting anyone completely.
Stefano’s ears suddenly pick up the soft tread of footsteps on the mossy ground, and his eyes narrow, anticipating the appearance of his long-time friend and informer since he has been in hiding. If Stefano had to trust anyone, it would be him. He has known the old farmer since he was a youth, travelling about the villages and hamlets seeking work as a day labourer. He would often stop at the farmer’s hut, located in the valley between Gerace and Calvino, and rest for a few minutes while his old friend gathered some chicory or wild fennel for him to take home to his mother.
Despite his grizzled appearance, the old man has an intelligence and intuitiveness that have served Stefano well. The latest information he gave Dorotea has been invaluable. Russo’s intention to
move his forces into Calvino was not a surprise to Stefano. His friend has been fastidious in his observations of Colonel Russo, since being hired as his driver, handyman, and manservant. Now Stefano is anxious to find out the details of Russo’s next move.
Stefano smiles as the old man emerges from the thicket. As he advances into the sun-dappled glade, Stefano gives a soft whistle to announce his presence before stepping out from behind the lentisk bush.
“Salve, Dattilio,” he smiles. “Come and share a flask of wine with me. I’m anxious to hear your news.” He extends a welcoming hand. “Let’s sit down.”
Dattilio nods. He takes the flask from Stefano and gulps thirstily. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and frowns at Stefano. “Russo wants your head in a jar,” he rasps grimly, “just like the brigand Agostino. He’s had it in for you since you attacked his carriage.” He spits to one side. “The bastard has been more demanding than usual since he took up with that puttana. She treats me like a leper. If I knew I could get away with it, I’d show Signora Liliana what an old leper is still capable of.” He makes a crude motion toward his genitals. “She and Russo both need a good lesson,” he grunts. “And if I can’t teach it to them, then I hope you can.”
THE STRIDENT CRY OF A GOSHAWK cuts into Gabriella’s dreams. When she realizes it is real, she opens her eyes. The sun is beaming through the slits of the hut’s ceiling. Gabriella shifts to look over at Stefano’s pallet and is not surprised to find it empty, although she has to admit that she is disappointed. Stefano’s presence brought her some measure of comfort when they returned from Calvino. He followed her into the hut, retrieved some bread from the basket near his pallet and handed it to her, insisting she eat it to settle her stomach and to preserve her strength. He procured another flask, this one filled with just water, and left it by her pallet. He would be back shortly, he told her, after meeting with his band to discuss their plans should Russo succeed in tracking them.
La Brigantessa Page 32