La Brigantessa

by Rosanna Micelotta Battigelli

  I have done it! He watches as Galante staggers backwards before tumbling over the edge of the mountain.

  Russo picks himself up, dusts himself off, places his pistol back in its holster, and lets out a deep breath. His heart still pounding, he strides to peer over the edge, and sees a series of sharp ledges and woodland skirting the impenetrable depths of a dark ravine. His stomach churns with mixed feelings. He wanted Galante alive.

  He can’t help feeling cheated. Cursing, he heads down the mountain.

  THE GUNSHOT IS LIKE THUNDER IN THE SMALL ROOM. Gabriella watches Alfonso begin to collapse. He falls backward, his head hitting the slate floor with a sickening thump. Blood oozes out of his chest like a blooming poppy. Dazed, Gabriella looks up to see the slit between the shutter doors widening to reveal Dorotea.

  Dorotea leaps into the room, her silver-green eyes surveying Alfonso’s body with a satisfied gleam. One side of her face is bruised and swollen. She is no longer wearing her bandana. Her hair is a rat’s nest.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Dorotea rasps, grabbing her arm. “Out the window.”

  Gabriella follows her, not because she wants to, but because she can’t stay with Alfonso.

  To her surprise, there is nobody about, nobody scurrying to question them. Dorotea helps her mount the mule and then jumps up herself before heading in the direction of the main road.

  Dorotea spurs the mule on, and Gabriella hangs on desperately, wondering at her chances of survival should she tumble off. After an interminable stretch, Dorotea slows the animal down until they arrive at a tapped spring off the road.

  The sun is high above them. Gabriella feels drenched and is glad to jump down and refresh herself. She pulls off her bandana, wets it, and after twisting it, wipes her face and neck. Dorotea splashes water over her face and drinks, and after letting the mule drink, she leads him away from the road and through a thicket. Gabriella follows her and when they come to a mule path, Dorotea turns to speak to her. “This trail will lead us back to Monte Galante and the hideout,” she says expressionlessly. “After a short rest.” She sits down on a grassy knoll, snipping off the nearby grasses absent-mindedly.

  Gabriella stares at her, her stomach churning. She hates Dorotea for having deceived her, for having sold herself to Alfonso, but how can she completely hate someone who has been a victim of Alfonso herself? Gabriella cringes at the sight of Dorotea’s face and torn clothes.

  Dorotea turns as if she can feel Gabriella’s gaze on her. Her mouth is drawn in a thin line and the expression in her silver-green eyes has hardened. “He took the money he owed me,” she says. “And my dagger.” Her jaw clenches. “And he put his filthy hands on me. I would have killed him if I could.”

  “He tried to…to take advantage of me, too,” Gabriella chokes on her words. “My father tried to stop him, but AIfonso pushed him down the stairs and he died.” She cannot prevent the tears from streaming down her face. “Alfonso came after me again and I stabbed him. It was the only way to stop him.”

  “But he didn’t die,” Dorotea says slowly. “Is that why he came after you?”

  Gabriella nods. “Don Simone wanted to bring me to a safe place.” Her words catch in her throat. “He knew the law would be on the side of a wealthy landowner, not a peasant, no matter what the reason.”

  To her surprise, Dorotea nods.

  “We had to place my brother in a convent.” Gabriella chokes up. “Don Simone thought that it would be the best thing for now. And he was going to bring me to another place, but we were stopped—”

  “By Roberto.” Dorotea’s eyes pierce hers. “And rescued by the chief.”

  Gabriella wipes her tears with her mother’s handkerchief. “Stefano told me about his sister, how she was brutally raped by the man she worked for. Stefano said I reminded him of Patrizia….”

  The expression on Dorotea’s face makes Gabriella falter. Dorotea thought Stefano was interested in me. She watches as Dorotea turns away, pretending to brush off a fly. So that was why she had no problem making a deal with Alfonso….

  Gabriella looks at Dorotea’s angular face, her willow-thin body. The dark purple splatters on her cheek. Poor creature. Like any animal in the woods, she had to do what she could to ensure her survival. And survival for a brigand or brigantessa has its own rules.

  “We should go.” Dorotea jumps up and turns to the mule.

  The bushes behind her open and a carabineer emerges, clasping Dorotea’s arms before she can reach for her pistol. He jerks them behind her back and handcuffs her before pushing her down to the ground. She grunts as she lands hard on her knees. Two other men appear, one in a colonel’s uniform. Gabriella, immobilized, meets the colonel’s eyes. He looks down at her, not unkindly, and calls her by name.

  “Signorina Falcone, I am Colonel Russo. My men and I heard your account of the circumstances that led you to go into hiding. You are no longer wanted as a fugitive. Please know that I will officially have your name cleared upon returning to the station in Caulonia. We will proceed there shortly.” He pauses, waiting for her nod of understanding. “Don Simone is there presently. I will see that arrangements are made for your accommodations for the night. At dawn, you can head to the Convent of St. Anna to fetch your brother.”

  Gabriella stares at him in disbelief. Colonel Russo’s expression hardens as he turns to Dorotea. “Bring her back to the station,” he orders his men. “Once she is behind bars, you can go in search of Galante’s other brigands.” He looks at the brigantessa disdainfully. She tries to struggle as one of the officers drags her off the ground, but he stuns her with a backhand to her unbruised cheek, and she lets out a tortured groan. Gabriella covers her face in distress as they walk away.

  “Come, Signorina. You are safe now. The brigantessa will be imprisoned for the rest of her sorry life, and the countryside has been purged of two of her cohorts as well.” He gives her a satisfied grin. “Yes, two members of the infamous Galante band are dead: Roberto Pellegrini and the brigand chief himself, ‘Il Galantuomo.’”

  DON SIMONE IS NOT ABLE TO HOLD BACK HIS TEARS when he hears the news that Colonel Russo has arrived and that Gabriella is with him. He makes the sign of the cross and murmurs a prayer of gratitude to the Blessed Virgin for granting his request that Gabriella be found and safely returned to him. These last few hours since Colonel Russo departed to search for Stefano and Gabriella have surely aged me, he thinks with a heavy sigh.

  In the small waiting room at the station, he has spent the time thinking of all the possible situations Gabriella might find herself in. He didn’t want to believe that Gabriella was dead, or injured, or suffering in any way. At one point, he yelled out, desperate to stop the thoughts swirling around in his head. Tormenting him. A carabineer on duty came over to reassure him that the Colonel or his forces would find Gabriella. Don Simone began reciting the rosary without his beads. Yes, he hoped Russo would find her, but that would certainly mean her arrest.

  He lost track of how many decades he went through. How many Sorrowful and Glorious Mysteries. Occasionally, he would drift off, his eyelids drooping in exhaustion. When he finally opened his eyes after a particularly long stretch, he realized that dusk was approaching, and the bad thoughts reignited. Scenes flashed through his mind incessantly: the sight of Roberto, his hand a bloody pulp and his brain shattered; the body of Lorenzo, broken and bleeding; the mask of horror and shock on Gabriella’s face in the barn; Gabriella huddled next to Luciano on the mule cart, her body barely bigger than his; the frightening encounter with the two brigands in the mountains of Aspromonte; and the rescue by their chief.

  Stefano Galante. For all that he is a wanted outlaw, Don Simone prays that he won’t end up like Roberto. Yes, he has sinned, but he has more good in him than evil. Don Simone has always sensed it, from the time he rescued Gabriella from Roberto, from the way he tended to her injury and fever. He has caught the br
igand chief gazing at the valley from his mountain ledge, his hand clasping his scapular, his lips sometimes moving in silent prayer. How could anyone with such devotion for the Madonna be unworthy of forgiveness and redemption?

  Absorbed in his thoughts, Don Simone does not hear the carriage wheels come to a stop in front of the station. But when the carabineer suddenly leaves and then returns moments later with the news of the arrival of Colonel Russo and Gabriella, Don Simone jumps up, overcome with emotion. Wiping away his tears, he opens his arms to her when she precedes the Colonel into the room. She says nothing, but she clings to him, hiding her face against his cassock. Colonel Russo nods to Don Simone before ushering the carabineer into an adjoining room. Leading Gabriella over to the bench, he murmurs, “Don’t worry, my child. I’ll find a way to prove your innocence.”

  Gabriella’s head jerks up. “Oh Don Simone, of course you don’t know…Colonel Russo overheard me talking to Dorotea about Signor Alfonso. He knows everything.” Her eyes fill up. “I don’t have to run away anymore.”

  Don Simone intertwines his hands and shakes them toward the ceiling. “Grazie, Dio mio.” He clasps Gabriella’s hands, beaming. “You see, my dear, I told you to have faith that God would take care of you.” He smiles reassuringly. “And now that the Colonel knows what happened, I’m sure he will pursue and arrest Signor Alfonso.”

  Gabriella takes a deep breath. “Signor Alfonso is dead. And Dorotea has been arrested. They’ve brought her here.” She looks at him pleadingly. “So much has happened, but I can’t bring myself to talk about it now. I just want to get Luciano and go home.”

  Russo re-enters, with the carabineer behind him. “It’s too late to head back to Camini now,” he says. “Once Dorotea is given a cell, you and Don Simone will be accompanied to the Monastery of the Capuchins in Gerace. And tomorrow you can retrieve your brother at the Convent of St. Anna. From there, you will be provided a mule and cart to bring you back to Camini.” He smiles benevolently. “And the story will end happily for us all.” He nods and leaves, motioning for the carabineer to join him.

  Don Simone puts a protective arm around Gabriella. “This nightmare will be over soon,” he murmurs. “Thank God. We will sleep well tonight. I will say extra prayers for Tonino and Stefano Galante. I don’t think the chief will fare well when Russo finds him.” He shakes his head, his mouth pursed.

  Gabriella’s body stiffens; her face is a grey veil. “Stefano is dead, too,” she chokes out the words.

  Don Simone gasps; he slumps down on the bench, wringing his hands. He thinks of Roberto and wonders if Stefano met a similar fate. “Dear God, I thought I knew what justice was, but now…now I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Justice?” Gabriella’s eyes are smouldering. “You know what justice is, Don Simone? It’s an excuse for the law to commit the horrible crimes they profess to fight against.” Her body is trembling. “And that kind of ‘justice’ is the work of Satan himself.”

  WHEN GABRIELLA WAKES UP, she stares at the unfamiliar ceiling and it takes her a few moments to realize where she is. Her gaze settles on a simple crucifix on one wall and she slowly makes the sign of the cross. She pushes away the twinges of guilt for her lapse of faith and reminds herself what Don Simone has told her on many occasions—that everyone has times when their spirit falters, especially after the unexpected or tragic death of a loved one.

  Thank you, God, for keeping Don Simone and I from harm. And Luciano. I am sorry if I have offended you. Suddenly, her eyes prickle and she squeezes them shut, overcome with humility. She reaches under the covers and plunges a hand in her pocket to retrieve her mother’s handkerchief. She dabs her eyes and then traces the embroidered initial with a sigh. Please let Tonino be alive.

  Her stomach clenches and she realizes how terrified she is to go back to Camini and discover that Tonino is dead. If only she knew that he was alive. She would be filled with joy, knowing everyone she loved would be reunited in Camini with her. Yes, she would still be in mourning for her father, but having Luciano, Tonino, and dear Don Simone would give her a reason to be happy. She rises and walks to the cell window. A rooster crows from a nearby courtyard. It makes her think of the morning the hen crowed for her mother and the time it happened to her. Her mother died, but she is still alive. Her misfortunes have not killed her.

  Gabriella takes a deep breath. The window opens under a canopy of chestnuts; their scent is particularly fragrant at this time of year. She looks down at her brigantessa clothing. Alfonso Fantin was my Goliath, she muses. And she mustered the courage to battle him with the tools she had. With no one to help her. Except Stefano. Her fists ball up. She will have to do the same in Camini. She will have to muster the courage to resume some sort of life for herself and Luciano, especially if Tonino is—

  She brushes the thought away. She will find out soon enough if he is alive, and until then, she will think only of Luciano and her responsibility in raising him. And the sacrifices she is going to have to make….

  An exchange in the courtyard below breaks through her thoughts. She sees two Franciscan monks gathering herbs from glazed pots, murmuring in excited tones.

  “Can you believe it, Brother Sebastiano? A brigand’s pouch left in front of the monastery steps. Brother Salvatore says it was filled with coins and that the abbot was overjoyed, for now he will be able to arrange for repairs to the chapel that have not been undertaken since the earthquake of 1783.”

  “It is a blessing indeed, Brother Rocco.”

  “And the abbot says that there is enough money in that little purple bag to provide more charity meals to the hungry. God knows the peasants haven’t fared any better since Unification.”

  As the monks walk off, basket of herbs in hand, shivers run down Gabriella’s arms. She looks across the valley to the dark mountains in the distance. There is a halo of mist encircling them and the dawning sun is just starting to illuminate their heavily wooded slopes. One of those mountains is Monte Galante. She gulps. Could Stefano have survived? Could one of his supporters have informed him as to the situation with Alfonso and my whereabouts? Is this his way of sending me a message?

  She shivers again. Mere days ago, she thought of the brigand chief as nothing less than a monster, yet now she feels a surge of hope that he is alive and has thwarted Colonel Russo and the forces of law. For it is the law that failed Stefano, his sister, and countless others who have been trod on by the wealthy and entitled, and who have suffered injustice and humiliation with no recourse but to take to the hills and skulk like wild animals with the constant threat of pursuit, capture, torture, and death. Or life imprisonment, if luck is on their side.

  Yes, she prays fervently that Stefano is alive, for he deserves better than to be hunted down like a wild boar and ripped apart by the dogs that disguise themselves as lawmen. He deserves to be cleared of his crime, an act that anyone might be pushed to commit when a family member’s honour is compromised.

  Gabriella draws in a quick breath as something flickers in the distance. She squints but sees nothing. A bird, perhaps. She knows that she is being foolish, that nobody on those slopes could possibly see her, but she waves anyway. With lifted spirits, she leaves the cell and goes in search of Don Simone, ready to head to the Convent of St. Anna. She can’t wait to hold Luciano in her arms again.

  “I’m sorry, Signorina Gabriella,” Don Filippo says kindly, then adds moments later, “Don Simone is battling a high fever. He can’t possibly accompany you further. When he recovers, he will return to Camini.”

  Gabriella swallows. “But how will I—?”

  “Brother Rocco will take you to the Convent of St. Anna. And then he will see you and your brother safely home in Camini. Coraggio, Signorina. All will be well….”

  TONINO PUTS ON HIS BOOTS. Even they have been cleaned and polished. His clothes, washed and pressed. His wounds, tended and healing. The Sisters of the Convent of St. Anna hav
e looked after him like family, feeding him soups full of “substance,” as Abbess Emanuela liked to say. Soups that not only satisfied the body’s needs, she assured him, but the spirit as well. The nuns grew or raised everything they cooked, taking pride in their every effort to honour the Creator for the gifts He provided.

  Tonino owes them so much. He wishes he had something to offer them to show his appreciation of their benevolence, not only to him, but also to Luciano.

  The boy has thrived under their care. Tonino has watched how they have tended to him like doting aunts, encouraging him to finish the last spoonful of the wild fennel or pigeon soup, or instructing him in some way, such as how to snip off leaves of basil properly from the pots in the courtyard, or how to soften the fibres of linen or broom by pounding them with a manganeddhu, a wooden pallet, before the Sisters can begin to weave them into blankets, rugs, or fisculi, the small wicker baskets used to hold ricotta cheese.

  Tonino feels an ache in his chest thinking about how Gabriella must be suffering, being separated from Luciano. And not knowing where she is or if she’s safe. He has convinced the Sisters that he is well enough to return home. He must inform his family that he has survived the battle at Aspromonte, and then set out to find Gabriella himself.

  Moments later, he is explaining this to Luciano, kneeling in front of the boy, who has been snipping herbs for the cook in the courtyard.

  “I will find Gabriella and return with her to fetch you,” he murmurs, clasping the boy’s small hand. “Then we will return to Camini. I promise.”

  “And Don Simone?” Luciano says brightly, his eyes wide.

  Tonino smiles. “And Don Simone. We can’t forget the good priest.”

  He squeezes Luciano’s hand and rises. Abbess Emanuela and Sister Caterina are standing behind the boy, their faces gleaming under their wimples despite the fact that the sun hasn’t even reached its mid-morning strength.