Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  And it had become a favorite threat among the men—to be assigned cleaning duty, since Mom also required they be washed out several times a day in order to avoid spreading disease and infection.

  “Mayhap the guard was right,” Luca said over his shoulder, bringing my attention back to him. “Mayhap none but me exited the castello gates, minutes ago.”

  I smiled. “Forgive me, good sir. My mind is in a tangle this afternoon.”

  “Is that the source of your tears?”

  I looked toward him, but he wasn’t looking back at me. Was it so obvious on my face? Or was he merely that attentive?

  “In part.”

  “And Gabriella? Dario said she was ill…” This time, he glanced back at me over his shoulder, as he swayed in his saddle, following the easy gait of his mount.

  “She is well. Just feeling a little sick to her stomach. It shall pass.”

  His green eyes pierced mine and then he looked away. “Glad am I to hear it.”

  I knew I’d probably not fooled him. Luca was uncommonly keen, picking up things that I often missed. It was part of what made him a brilliant captain for Marcello. Between the two, they were pretty amazing in battle, and even in just leading the people of the castello, day to day. Managing the knights alone was tricky; all that testosterone in one place was like a simmering volcano, especially with the relative peace that had settled upon us the last fifteen months. That’s why this current building campaign was brilliant. The men sparred all morning, and worked on the wall, warehouse or in the quarry all afternoon. The heavy, physical work only made them stronger, a more fearsome fighting force. By nightfall, they were too weary to do anything but shove ample amounts of good food and wine down their throats and drag themselves off to bed, which kept them out of trouble.

  We edged around the second corner of the castello and the work site opened up. The forest had been cleared from about a city-block’s worth of land. I was sad for the trees to go, even though I knew that the growth posed tactical dangers, and we needed this space for what was to come. The men had cut the trees’ branches off and stacked the logs in enormous piles. The wood would be further cut, in time, stacked and dried—used all winter and winters to come, in Cook’s kitchen. “And we’ll cut the best of it into beams for the new apartments,” Luca explained to me.

  Here on this edge, the hill began to fall away into a second valley, and the plan was to make rooms, three stories tall. The Romans had housed guards and firemen in such a way, and the plan had Dad’s fingerprints all over it. As an archeological specialist in Etruscan and Roman topography, he’d dragged us around to every site possible. We’d hung out at Hadrian’s Villa, south of Rome, for a full week, the summer before he died.

  Before he died. It was weird to think about that, seeing Dad come into view now, so alive and well. He was beneath a small tent, open in the front, only there to shield them from the wind, rain and sun. Chin in hand, he studied a parchment, tacked to a table, beside Father Tomas, pointing to a section.

  I knew I couldn’t deny it—I’d do it all again to get Dad back. Go back in time. Stay here, even if it only meant we got to keep him. He looked up, then, and smiled at me and Luca as we approached. Whereas I favored Mom in looks, Gabs totally looked like Dad, all Toscana, from head to toe.

  Before…back home, we’d have to jump up and down to get his attention. Here, we always came first. As we did with Mom. That, too, was a cool thing about living here. It was another thing that would make me take the leap again. The Path to Improved Family Dynamics, I envisioned a title on a modern book. By Evangelia Betarrini. And inside, there’d be one sentence: Find a time portal and travel back to medieval Italy.

  “Buon giorno, figlia mia,” he said, coming closer. Good morning, my daughter. He still got a nerdy kick out of the medieval, formal phrasing we used around others.

  “What’s up, Coolio?” I returned, in English, smiling back at him.

  He chuckled. “Good to see you out of the confines of the castello.” He helped me free my feet from my stirrups and reached for me, easily lowering me to the ground.

  “So, your task is about done here, Lord Betarrini?” Luca said, laughter in his eyes. All around us was chaos, the very first stages of raw construction.

  Dad smiled back at him. “Undoubtedly. We might even have it completed tonight.”

  “Excellent, excellent,” Luca said, taking Dad’s outstretched arm of greeting in his. He turned when Father Tomas waved him over, and after silently asking my permission to leave my side, strode over to the priest and three men, pondering a wagon full of three mammoth, freshly hewn limestone blocks.

  Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me over to the small tent. “So, what will it be, honey? Want to work in the quarry? Dig a trench? Take an axe to some logs?”

  I laughed. “Not quite dressed for that,” I said, picking up my silk skirts.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “I have another task for you, then. He shuffled through the stiff parchment sheets in a stack and pulled one out. On it was an architectural schematic of the new castle wall. “Think you could give this a more artistic perspective, as a gift to Marcello? I think he’d enjoy it.”

  “Sure,” I said, taking the sheet from his hand and studying it. “You’re looking for something a bit more 3-D?”

  “Not only that. Softer. Romantic.”

  I smiled up at him from the corner of my eye. “Dad. This whole castle life thing is really getting under your skin, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “I just want to show Marcello—and the others—where we’re going. You can help them envision it.”

  “All right. I’m in.”

  “Excellent.” He turned away and grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment, ink and charcoal. “What’s your poison?” he said, offering both in his hands.

  “The charcoal, I think. To start.” Parchment was precious. Each sheet was about as expensive as a sheep. And charcoal was a bit more forgiving than ink.

  “Here you go,” he said, “feel free to take over my table and stool.”

  “Thanks.”

  He bent to kiss my temple, squeezing my shoulder, and left to greet six more wagons pulling in, hauling what looked like sand and stone.

  ***

  I worked for hours, constantly consulting Dad’s drawings, ultimately producing three different views—one from the outside, with the tall tower showcased fifteen feet above the others; one from the inside, looking up at the guards’ apartments, with a cutaway to show three, side by side; and another outside the warehouse, exposing a portion of the segmented stalls and levels.

  Luca came by frequently, trying to get a glimpse of what I was working on, but each time, I practically laid across them, blocking his view. “Nay, you must wait to see them! I’m not finished!”

  He muttered under his breath about women and their unreasonable demands, clearly curious as all get-out, but he always walked away with a wink or a bow.

  Dad got to see them first, as the day drew to a close, and Father Tomas clanged a bell, summoning the men in. He picked up one drawing after the other, whistling in admiration. “I do believe you have a future as an architectural artist, Lia.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, pleased by his praise, but recognizing the folly of his words. “Huge demand for those here in 1346.”

  He cocked a brow in my direction. “You never know. Seriously, babe. These are beautiful.” His eyes ran over the sketches again and he shook his head in admiration. “They show great care and skill. Marcello and Gabi will be so pleased.”

  Marcello and Gabi. All afternoon, I’d been able to forget them and their baby…

  “What?” Dad asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied me.

  “Hmm?” I shook my head and looked down. “Oh, nothing. Nothing. I’m glad you like them. I think Marcello and Gabs will like them too.”

  He considered me a moment and then Luca was there, and Dad was all about showing off the prod
uct of my afternoon’s work. I had a flashback to middle school, and Mom and Dad being in the halls on art night, finally recognizing that I had a little talent of my own…

  “These are inspiring, Evangelia,” Luca said. “They’ll encourage the men at their long task, as well as Marcello as he empties his coffers to complete it.”

  “There’s always the She-Wolf gold we can tap into, if we need it,” I said.

  “Yet another reason I need to wed you someday,” he whispered as he walked by, just out of Dad’s hearing. He moved to my other side, and when Dad looked away, added with a cheeky grin, “So I can get my hands on all that lovely gold as a dowry.”

  I edged away, feeling the heat of a blush. Because from the way he said gold, I had the distinct understanding that he spoke of something else.

  Me.

  I had to admit, I liked his pursuit. He was dogged and dedicated. And in Gabi’s shadow, back home, just emerging from a belated puberty and braces, I’d really never experienced that with boys. Here, the boys were men at an early age, just as the girls were declared women. And Luca…well, Luca was a man that no girl could ignore for long. And he clearly wanted me. I couldn’t get over that.

  “I see the truth of it now. You’re only interested in my wealth,” I taunted as he bent to lift me into the saddle.

  He paused, his face perilously near my neck. “Why yes, m’lady,” he said, consciously letting his warm breath wash over my bare skin. “What else could it be?” I started to edge away, laughing, but he took firm hold of my waist and lifted me up. He put my feet into the stirrups and grabbed hold of the reins, still smiling, as was I. That was happening a lot lately. The two of us, grinning like idiots, as I gave into what I assumed was inevitable.

  Inevitable.

  I finally admitted it to myself, then.

  I wasn’t only falling for Sir Luca Forelli.

  I’d been his all along.

  Alessandra asked to join the sisters in the morning, to break their fast. Mayhap she’d learn something today about Castello Forelli. Her father would demand every detail, and be sorely disappointed if she returned with only stories of their fine food and kind company—especially if her mind continued to linger over Lord Rodolfo Greco. One never knew what knowledge might be useful…and the elder Lady Betarrini seemed ready to let her venture farther afield today.

  They escorted her into the Great Hall, and Alessandra’s eyes widened at the sight of table upon table of men and women eating bowls of porridge and cutting slabs of cured ham onto each plate. Her mouth watered. Trays with rounds of cheese were passed around, along with loaves of bread. The castello held far more people than she had imagined, and the meal, despite the early morning hour, was more akin to a feast than merely breaking one’s fast.

  “A good morning to you, wife and sister!” called Lord Marcello as he spied them. “And to you, Signorina Donatelli. My friends, please greet Signorina Alessandra as one of our own. She will abide with us until the morrow.”

  The women they passed nodded in friendly welcome, and the men shouted and smiled in her direction. Alessandra blushed furiously, called out in the midst of seventy others, but she had to admit she felt their warmth. It surprised her. She thought they might be wary, cold even, with one of the enemy among them. Mayhap their sheer numbers made them feel invincible.

  Alessandra took a seat at the head table between Evangelia and her mother, across from Lord Betarrini, Luca and Lord Greco. Alessandra reached for the pitcher of water, her mouth suddenly dry at the mere glimpse of Rodolfo. Did she feel the heat of his appraisal or did she imagine it? She dared to look up as she set the pitcher down.

  He lifted a cup as he swallowed a bite of bread. “Per favore, signorina,” he mumbled, asking her to fill it. There was no way out of it without appearing rude.

  Warily, she took hold of the pitcher handle again and poured.

  He gave her a wise smile and lifted the cup in a silent salute. “How do you fare this morning, friend?”

  Her headache was inescapable, worse again. But she was weary of taking the medicine and sleeping the days away. “Well enough to cross the border,” she said.

  Action around her ceased for a moment, and then hurriedly set in again to cover the tension.

  “You shall be back among your own soon enough,” he said easily, sipping some water. “Why not take the opportunity to join me in envisioning a fully realized peace between our republics while you yet abide with us?”

  Alessandra turned her attention to the steaming porridge set before her. A maid came by and poured thick cream on top of it. Lia offered her raisins. Lady Adri offered her sugared walnuts. Alessandra accepted both. And when she took her first bite, she closed her eyes in wonder. Never had she had anything atop her porridge but cream. And the porridge at home was always pasty. This had an altogether different texture, nutty and glorious, intermingling with the sweetness of the raisins.

  “You like it, Signorina?” asked a round woman, from over Luca’s shoulder.

  “Cook, this is Signorina Alessandra,” Luca said, gesturing toward her.

  “Glad I am, to know you,” Cook said.

  “And I, you,” Alessandra returned. “Truly, this is the best porridge I’ve ever eaten.” What harm was there in complimenting the cook for her fine meal?

  The cook smiled in pleasure, lifting another spoonful to fill Luca’s bowl again. “Be sure to get a bit of that ham as well,” she said, gesturing down the table. “Looks like you need more meat on those bones.”

  “Leave her be, Cook!” called a knight from the nearest table, obviously listening in. “Her bones appear in fine order to me!”

  The other knights around him guffawed and hit him on the shoulder.

  Luca sent a warning look over his shoulder, but when he turned back around, he clearly hid a small smile.

  “Ignore them,” Lia whispered. “They’re like a bunch of children in the morning, all full of Cook’s good meal and a night’s slumber.”

  Alessandra nodded and took another bite. She was as hungry as she was after a full day’s hunt, and yet she’d done little but lay about. Mayhap it took more sustenance than she imagined, to heal from a wound such as hers, and fight the constant headache. A thick slice of ham was set upon her trencher, as was a chunk of bread. Then some soft, creamy cheese. She ate and ate…until she became aware of Marcello and the others gazing over drawings on parchment.

  “These are extraordinary, Evangelia,” Marcello enthused, perusing one after the other. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, m’lord,” Lia said with a single nod. “It’s thrilling, is it not? To envision what is to come?”

  “Indeed. I think we’ll put them up on the wall so all can see what we labor toward.”

  Alessandra didn’t know what they were talking about, but she ached to find out. Undoubtedly, it was something else her people needed to know about.

  She felt it then again. The heat of his gaze. She looked up to find Lord Greco’s eyes upon her, and they blazed with alarm. Did he sense what she was after? She frowned and took a defiant bite of bread, even though her belly protested it was more than full. Mayhap he’d done the very same thing—tried to obtain information his people could use. But he had turned away from their own, from the Fiorentini, the people of his ancestral home. She chewed until the bread became paste in her mouth, watching as the drawings were passed from man to man, the women sidling in for a peek and squealing, until someone took them and nailed them into a panel that another had brought in.

  “Do you wish to see them?” Lia asked, when half the men had left the hall, and the nobles at their own table rose.

  “Nay,” Lord Greco said, loudly, drawing the attention of their table. “She is not to see them.”

  “Rodolfo,” Marcello said, frowning in confusion. “We have no secrets from our new friend. And she is our guest. Be at ease. Anything she discovers will be known by her kinsmen soon enough. Our expansion is far from secret.”

 
Rodolfo opened his mouth as if to disagree, then abruptly shut it. “As you wish, m’lord,” he muttered, with a bow of his head. A young priest, round and bald, set his hand on Lord Greco’s shoulder. “Brother,” he said, “might you assist me with something outside?” Rodolfo sighed and reluctantly followed him out, never looking back in Alessandra’s direction.

  When he was gone, she felt able to take her first full breath.

  “Forgive Lord Greco,” Lia said. “Your arrival has brought up old difficulties for him.”

  “He needn’t feel conflicted,” Alessandra said. “Unless he regrets his traitorous acts.” It was out before she could stop herself. “Forgive me, m’lady,” she blurted. “Clearly, I am as conflicted, being here among you, as Lord Greco finds himself.”

  “Pay it no heed,” Evangelia said softly. “Castello Forelli…coming here for the first time brings up all sorts of contrary feelings. Until it doesn’t.”

  Alessandra puzzled over her words, but rose and followed her out. Lia either had thought twice about showing her the drawings, or their exchange had made her forget. Servants buzzed around the tables, clearing trenchers and bowls and knives and mugs. Others grouped around the sketches, now pinned to the panel. From what she could glimpse as they passed, Castello Forelli was in the midst of a major expansion; the footprint of the property would be half-again as large, if she’d judged it correctly.

  There could only be one purpose for such action. The Sienese intended to make the castello stronger than ever. And launch an attack on Firenze from the security of her walls.

  She glanced at Evangelia, her head throbbing more than ever. These people spoke of peace and acted as friendly hosts. But she could not forget who they truly were. Sworn enemies.

  ***

  Alessandra strolled alongside Evangelia and Lady Betarrini in the courtyard, puzzling over what she might learn that could aid her people. Such information would help shield her from her father’s wrath when he came to collect her. She shivered at the thought of his fury. He’d never cared for her independence, her “mannishness,” as he called it. Ever since her mother had died of the fever, he’d never known what to do with her. And his frustration frequently dissolved into yelling. Since her brothers died, things had become much more dire…One thing might change their future. If she could only do this one thing…