La Brigantessa

by Rosanna Micelotta Battigelli

  “Have faith, Gabriella,” he reassured her again, his deep voice softening. “You will be safe with me even if we must evacuate.”

  She saw the sincerity in his eyes and felt ashamed that she had ever been taken aback by their strangeness. She had been so quick to attach a superstitious belief to his eyes, the belief that something that wasn’t normal was a bad omen, or worse, connected to the devil. She nodded, overwhelmed with humility, and caught his nod and a flash of a smile as he left.

  Chewing small bites of the coarse rye bread, she prayed for his safety and the people of Calvino until her eyelids felt heavy….

  And now, even after a few hours of deep sleep, she still feels the same, the memory of her time in Calvino no less distressing. She sits up, rubbing her eyes. Her hair has tumbled out of her bandana, and while she is rearranging it into a bun and adjusting the bandana, she hears footsteps approaching.

  “Signorina Gabriella?”

  Dorotea. Gabriella hurriedly steps out of the hut. “Yes?”

  Dorotea squints at her, the sun in her eyes. “The chief gave me instructions for you,” she says. “He had to leave early this morning with Tomaso to take care of some business. He is concerned for your safety and has asked me to take you to my uncle’s tavern on the outskirts of Gerace.” Gabriella’s face must have displayed surprise and uncertainty, for Dorotea quickly adds, “He said not to worry. He will meet up with us at the tavern after dusk, and then we will continue on to Calvino. Our informer has told him that Colonel Russo and his men have received word of the abduction of the son of a baron in the town of Siderno, and are occupied in pursuing the suspected brigand, which will allow the chief to return to Calvino unhindered.”

  Gabriella wonders aloud, “Stefano told me I would be safe here.”

  She sees Dorotea’s eyebrows rise at her use of Stefano’s given name. “You will be safe with me,” Dorotea says stiffly. “These are the chief’s orders.”

  “But what about Don Simone?” Gabriella says. “He is coming with us?”

  Dorotea falters. “Well…ah…no. He is staying here with the brothers and Gaetano. No danger will come to either of you,” she says more gently. “The chief wants you to have a proper roof over your head. And proper food.” She steps closer to Gabriella and places a hand around her shoulder. “You have seen the chief. He is not the villain the law makes him out to be. He told the band what happened in Calvino, and new plans have been made. One of those plans is to get you to my uncle’s tavern for now.”

  Dorotea’s voice takes on a note of urgency as her grey-green eyes gaze directly into Gabriella’s. “Please, Signorina. We must leave at once.”

  Gabriella stares at her for a moment. The brigantessa’s eyes don’t waver. Gabriella sighs. She is not looking forward to the ride down Monte Galante and through the countryside, but she trusts Dorotea more than she does the brothers, especially when Stefano is not present. “D’accordo,” she concedes. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  CHEWING ON THE TIP OF A REED, Stefano sits under the shade of a beech tree for a momentary rest, watching the figure of Dattilio get smaller and smaller until the mule path twists and he disappears from view. Although Dattilio’s tone was urgent, appealing to Stefano to return to the hideout until he sent word or came back himself to verify that Russo or his men were not lurking in the area, Stefano is not unduly alarmed. Nevertheless, he will call a meeting to plan an alternative escape from Monte Galante should their hideout be compromised.

  He rises, stretches, and pats Mastro affectionately before mounting. As the mule continues plodding its way up the narrow winding path to the summit of Monte Galante, Stefano envisions all the possible escape routes he and his band members could take. He has not even made this information known to them. No, there are some secrets better kept to himself. Divulging them could jeopardize his freedom….

  His mouth twists bitterly. He has a freedom of sorts, living the life of an outlaw. The freedom to roam over Mount Galante and a stretch of the Aspromonte range, ruling over his band like the Apennine wolf with his pack, keeping them in line as any competent pack leader would. And those who stray from his leadership end up like Dorotea’s husband Paolo, cornered and shot by the carabineers.

  She was lucky she hadn’t ended up riddled with bullets like him. She had strayed behind him to refresh herself at a mountain stream and he had ventured ahead, ignoring Stefano’s earlier orders to stay at the hideout after receiving a tip that some carabineers were combing the foothills for signs of brigand activity. From his vantage point, camouflaged behind a stand of pines, Stefano had seen at least a dozen carabineers advancing up the flanks of the hills like ants.

  Paolo ignored Stefano’s warning, driven by the desire to lay in wait for one particular carabineer who had harassed and threatened Paolo’s family and friends. Pressing ahead, he fell into a trap, and was instantly surrounded by four carabineers who opened fire simultaneously. Hearing the shots, Dorotea retreated as stealthily as she could. She arrived back at the hideout after a long trek, her face mottled from exertion and fury. “I swear I’ll find out who Paolo’s killers were,” she hissed, her gaunt face streaked with tears and dirt. “I’ll make them pay….”

  Stefano presses Mastro over to the thicket opening. He gives his bird call signal to Tomaso, who answers it and then repeats it, alerting the others to Stefano’s return. As Stefano enters the clearing, his band members come rushing out to meet him except for Dorotea. She must be with Gabriella. He dismounts, tethers Mastro to a sturdy branch of an arbutus tree, and swirls around to find Don Simone shuffling over to him as fast as he can.

  “Signor Galante!” The priest’s cheeks are fever-red and glistening, and he is gesturing wildly toward Stefano’s hut. “Signorina Gabriella is gone!” He gasps, swallows, and crosses himself. “I went to check on her after I awoke and there was no answer. Thinking she was asleep, I went back to my own hut.” He starts wringing his hands. “I returned after a short while, and when nobody answered, I went in. Gabriella was gone.” He blinks rapidly, and Stefano can see that his hands are trembling. “And Dorotea as well.”

  Stefano feels an intense heat building within his chest. What has Dorotea done? He has noticed her watching Gabriella a number of times when she thought nobody was looking. At first, Stefano thought they were simply looks of jealousy, but now he realizes it was more than that. Dorotea assumes that intense scrutiny when she is planning an act of banditry that she will carry out herself. What scheme is she involved in that has led her to disobey my orders and take Gabriella away? he wonders uneasily.

  He is sickened to think that Dorotea found a way to convince Gabriella to leave Monte Galante with her. But why? And where could they have gone? Where is Dorotea taking her?

  He turns quickly to the brothers. “Do you know where Dorotea went?”

  Roberto looks at Raffaele and then back at Stefano. “She said she was going on a lucrative mission…and it had to be just her, and that the girl would be helping….”

  Stefano’s nostrils flare. “Where?” he barks.

  “I’m not certain, but I think she said she would be stopping in at her uncle’s tavern outside of Gerace.”

  Stefano’s eyes flash dangerously. “Roberto and Raffaele, stay here and guard the hideout. I am placing Don Simone in your care.” He shoots them a piercing glare. “Do not move from here unless you get word only from me or Dattilio. Gaetano, stay close to the hideout. You may continue to hunt but not with firearms of any kind. Tomaso, scour the foothills, and I will venture out to Gerace. I intend to find Gabriella and Dorotea and bring them back with me.”

  He shoots a glance at Don Simone. “Keep praying,” he advises the priest grimly. “Gabriella needs prayers now more than ever.” He strides quickly to Mastro and with a nod at Tomaso before remounting, he heads down the mountain, one hand on the reins and one over the scapular of the Madonna at his chest.
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br />   PART VII

  ENCOUNTERS

  September 1862

  ALFONSO CLOSES HIS SHUTTERS and stretches out on the bed. The medicinal treatment the pharmacist in Gerace gave him seems to be effective; he hasn’t experienced any jabbing pain since he took the tincture of valerian root and willow earlier this morning.

  He enjoyed his solitary breakfast in the dining room without Valerio’s incessant chatter. The coffee was surprisingly good; the variety of breads, cheeses, and cured meats extensive. He particularly enjoyed the generous slices of soppressata, a delightfully oversized pork sausage seasoned with dried chili peppers and fennel seed.

  Now, hands crossed over his sated stomach, Alfonso considers whether he should wait at the tavern for the rest of the day or venture to the monastery and churches clustered on the foothills. It has been a day and a half since he spoke with the owner’s niece. Dora, he believes her name is. No, Dorotea. As for Colonel Russo, he has not made an appearance at the tavern as yet. Could he have already left the area?

  Absorbed in his thoughts, he barely hears the knock at his door. As the tapping continues, he jumps up, then strides over to the door. The youth who served him the wine the night before last is standing before him, his hands entwined.

  “Signor Fantin, I have a message from Signora Dorotea.”

  Alfonso’s eyebrows lift. “Prego,” he nods, his stomach lurching with excitement.

  “She is wondering where you would like to meet. She says she has some news to give you.”

  Alfonso studies the youth’s face for a moment. From his impassive expression, Alfonso concludes that he knows nothing about Dorotea’s news. “Tell her to come here,” he says, and seeing the instant look of shock on the boy’s face, realizes that it would not do for the owner’s niece to be in his room unescorted. “Is there a private salon where we might meet?”

  The youth’s forehead wrinkles as he ponders the possibilities a few seconds before shaking his head. “The only salon we have is being used at the moment.”

  Impatient, Alfonso fishes a couple of coins out of the pouch inside his vest and hands them to the boy. “Well, how about you tell her to come here. Then, when she returns to the kitchen—our meeting shouldn’t take more than a few minutes—you may come up and I’ll give you the other half for your trouble.”

  Money solves so many of life’s problems, Alfonso thinks with a smile as the youth bolts away. He paces the room, opens the shutters. He wonders if he dares hope Gabriella will be with Dorotea. At the tentative knock a few moments later, his heart drums even faster.

  It is only Dorotea. He motions for her to enter and then closes the door. With her back to him, he quickly turns the key in the lock position. He pivots to face her. “Did you find her?”

  She looks at him for a moment and then nods, biting her lip.

  “Well?” Alfonso tries to keep the annoyance out of his tone. Her grey-green eyes look glazed, almost frozen, reminding him of the icy etching on windows on a winter day. Her face is even more bony and pale in the light of the day.

  “She is waiting in one of the rooms.” Dorotea begins to say something else, then hesitates. She wants the money promised her, Alfonso realizes. He slides his hand into his vest pocket. Without counting the money that he extracts, he gives her a handful of coins and she nods, slipping them into an outer pocket of her skirt.

  “What room is she in?” he asks evenly.

  “She’s in room six on the main floor, the room down the hall from the kitchen.”

  Alfonso nods. “Where did you find her? Was the priest with her? How did you get her here?”

  Dorotea looks like she is not sure what information to divulge. He takes a step closer and she blurts, “She was in the Aspromonte mountains with the brigand chief Stefano Galante, as my cousin mentioned. The chief left to do some business, and I told Gabriella that he had asked me to bring her to my uncle’s tavern for safety, since Colonel Russo and his forces were in the area, scouring the mountains and valleys for any sign of either of them. He would come back for her later.”

  Alfonso stares at her intently. “It sounds like this Galante has gained Gabriella’s trust.”

  Dorotea’s eyes narrow. Her jaw tenses, and Alfonso purses his lips. Dorotea is jealous. A dozen thoughts jumble together all at once, and then, suddenly, everything becomes clear to him. The boots. The dagger. Dorotea is a brigantessa. She is part of Galante’s band and has known exactly where to find Gabriella the whole time. And now she has pulled one over on her chief, bringing Gabriella to the tavern while he is away. Her motives? Jealousy and greed. She wants Galante for herself as well as the money. Alfonso would be willing to bet the church lands that he is right on every count.

  He will not let her get away with her deceptions, though. She might think she has the upper hand in her little game, but he intends to play his own game with the wench. He grabs her by the forearm. “Did the bastard touch my niece?” he rasps. “He’s had her for days. Am I to believe that the brigand chief nicknamed ‘Galantuomo’ was truly a gentleman with a beautiful young woman like Gabriella? What kind of a fool would believe that?” He grabs her by both shoulders. “Tell me what he did to her. Tell me!”

  Dorotea winces. “Don Simone was with her much of the time.”

  Alfonso feels his anger mounting. “Even at night? Where did she sleep?” He shakes her, and her head lops against his chest and then back. Her eyes widen. Alfonso pushes Dorotea back onto the bed, his excitement mounting. She stumbles and in a moment, he has pinned her to the bed. “Did he touch her here?” He covers her breast with one hand and squeezes roughly. “What about here?” He yanks up her skirt and slides his hand up her leg. “Did he take her virginity? Tell me, you brigand bitch.”

  Dorotea begins to writhe and manages to move her head forward enough to sink her teeth into his left arm. He cries out and retracts his free arm to whip her across the face. He catches her hard on the cheek and ear, sending her skidding off the bed. Her dagger falls out of her boot and clatters onto the floor. Alfonso swipes it and advances. She is breathing hard, one side of her face already swelling and mottled red and purple. Her bandana has fallen off, and her hair is a tangled swirl.

  “Give me the key to the room,” he growls.

  She reaches into a pocket of her skirt and hands it to him. She begins to back away, her eyes blinking rapidly. Alfonso follows her. As she reaches for the handle, still facing him warily, he lunges at her and with a heavy swipe of his arm, knocks her over. She tumbles sideways, her head hitting the wooden post of the bed with a loud crack before she crumples to the floor, moaning.

  Alfonso leans forward, extracts the money from her pocket, and puts it back inside his vest. Her whimpering both disgusts and excites him. He drops down, lifts her skirts, and tears her leggings off. She groans as he flattens her and begins writhing. His release comes quickly, and after several moments of intense breathing, he rolls off her clumsily. Her face is turned away, her jaw slack.

  He reaches for her bandana on the floor. Standing above her, he pats the sweat off his face. With a sneer he flings the cloth at her. The brigantessa is getting everything that she deserves. “Thank you for your trouble, puttana di brigante.” Taking a deep breath, he heads for the door, the key to room six tight in his hand.

  DON SIMONE TAPS HIS FOOT NERVOUSLY as Tomaso follows Stefano out of the clearing. If ever he has felt powerless over anything, it is right now. How did this happen? How could Gabriella be convinced to leave the hideout without me? He shakes his head dolefully, walking in circles around the stumps in the gathering place. He searches his mind for words of comfort and wisdom from the Bible, with the hope that they will help ease the terrible guilt he feels for not protecting Gabriella better.

  The sound of someone clearing his throat reminds Don Simone that he is not alone. He stops and realizes that the brothers are each sitting on a stump, watching
him. Roberto has refilled his pipe and is tapping the tobacco down while gazing at him stonily, the bruising exacted by the chief still visible on his face. Raffaele, with whom Don Simone has not had any contact since he splattered him with vomit, is tapping his foot against the edge of the stone, his eyes as murky as his expression. Don Simone notices him glancing at the ring that is back on his finger and now wishes he had deposited it within his cassock, out of sight.

  Who is to say that Raffaele won’t attempt to retrieve it, or do something worse, now that the brigand chief has left? Don Simone is hard-pressed to imagine what moral tenets the brothers adhere to, if any, since they joined Stefano’s band. But perhaps he is being too harsh. Yes, they had every intention of abducting Gabriella and using her to satisfy their animal passions—or at least Roberto did—but perhaps, like their chief, their initiation into brigandage was a result of a situation that forced them into committing a crime. It could have been poverty, or desperation, or injustice that had propelled them to resort to such measures….

  Don Simone stifles the fear that is threatening to overcome him. He is in the company of two criminals, yes, but he must believe that the good Lord has better plans for him than allowing him to perish in the wild Aspromonte. He must think about Gabriella now, not himself. And yes, of course, he must pray for Gabriella’s safety. He will not stop praying until she is standing before him, untouched and unharmed. Looking past the brothers to beyond the clearing, he wishes he could just find a way to go in search of Gabriella.